Chapter 1
My eyes blurred as I tried to blink my dry lids open. My tongue felt like sandpaper as I licked my lips in an attempt to moisten them. The light streaming through the cracks in the blinds made my head pound. I felt like I wanted to vomit, but at the same time, I wanted to chug a gallon of water.
I used my best detective skills to piece together the missing memories from the previous night. I was clearly hungover, so I must have drunk more than I originally planned to. I recall going to the bar for a couple of beers with Carlos before he had to go home to his wife and kids. In my mind, I could clearly recount just about everything we talked about in that hour. I filled him in on what it was like to have a sudden flash of fame after solving my first murder case and he told me about his son’s third birthday party. We both reminisced about our EMT days and agreed that we never missed the work. We were both in a better place, career-wise, now.
Then, the memories get hazy. Disappointed that he had to leave and I only had an empty apartment waiting for me, I drank another beer alone. As I went to the bar to settle my tab, a hand grabbed my shoulder.
“Damn it!” I hissed to myself, wishing I could just smother myself with my pillow and end my misery.
My bedroom door creaked open and the smell of eggs and sausage permeated the space, making my stomach roll. In the doorway stood my ex-girlfriend, Marcie, wearing nothing but an apron over her silky undergarments. A toothy smile stretched across her freckled face and her auburn hair swished around as she giggled at the state of me. I’m sure she thought she was being coy and cute, but to me, she reminded me of a villain from a children’s movie, taunting me because I couldn’t escape her clutches.
“I haven’t seen you drink like that since the early days of our relationship,” she said, sitting down on the corner of my bed—the one we used to share before I packed up and moved away from her.
“What the hell happened?” I asked, feeling absolutely miserable.
“We had a few drinks and caught up on everything that happened since you ran out on me. After I read about your case in the paper, I knew I had to talk to you.”
“We just talked,” I concluded.
“We just talked,” she confirmed. “Then, we started to get a little hot and heavy. You just can’t extinguish the old flame we have. I drove you home and you invited me inside. I think you can piece together the rest. I just wish you could remember what we did on that bed. I know I’ll never forget it.”
I covered my eyes with my palm and groaned. I had sworn to myself that I would never talk to Marcie again, let alone invite her into my apartment. She was like a vampire, ready to suck the life out of me. I’d made the fatal mistake of inviting her inside.
“I’m not surprised you have a headache,” she said. “I told you to drink some water before falling asleep, but you never seem to listen to me. Do you want a little vodka in your orange juice?”
“No,” I said, trying not to gag at the thought. “How did you drive me home if you were drinking?”
She frowned. “I had two drinks over a two-hour period, so I was good to drive.”
Now I was confused. “Then how did I get so drunk?”
She smiled again. “You were knocking them back. I could hardly keep up with ordering you new ones.”
I blinked, my eyelids slamming together like metal trashcan lids. “I don’t understand.”
She looked sheepishly at the floor. “I figured after all I put you through, it was only right that I buy you a few drinks. I know it can’t make up for everything, but it was the only gesture that came to mind at the time . . . besides what we did when we got back here.”
“I told you my address and invited you in?” I asked skeptically. My sober self would never dream of doing such a thing.
She blushed. “You got a little—handsy—at the bar. You wanted to take me to the bathroom and have your way with me. The thought was exciting, but it would have been difficult in execution because the stalls were so small. So, you convinced me to take you home so you could finish what you started.”
I had to wonder if she was telling the true story. While I could be weak when it came to sex, she could be manipulative when she wanted to be. It wouldn’t have surprised me in the slightest if she pushed the drinks on me in hopes of loosening me up to the point where I would do whatever she wanted me to do. If she put the idea of sex in my head, it seemed reasonable that my drunk self would agree to it.
I hated myself for letting Marcie back into my life. I also hated her for weaseling her way back into my life, but that was another story. I couldn’t have her in my home, not after what she did to me. She had to go. Now.
“Well, breakfast is ready,” she said, twirling around in my apron. “I made all of your favorites. Do you want to eat in the kitchen or should I bring it to you?”
“Out,” I said, squinting my eyes shut.
She frowned. “What?”
“You can’t be here. This was a huge mistake. I don’t exactly remember what happened last night, but it should have never happened. You have to go.”
Her confused look turned into a scowl. “This is the thanks I get? I drove you home last night. I made you breakfast. You walked out on me without so much as an explanation. You ignored me for weeks. When I read about your case, I realized that what you do is much more dangerous than I ever imagined. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you and we weren’t on good terms.”
“We weren’t on good terms because you cheated on me,” I said firmly. “When I collected my belongings and terminated my lease and my utilities, you threw a complete fit. You only wanted me around because it was cheap and convenient for you. That’s the only reason you found me and got me to let you into my home. Do you really think we can fix our broken relationship?”
“Yes.” She pouted. “I made a mistake in a moment of weakness.”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t as if you drunkenly kissed an attractive stranger in the heat of the moment. You carried out an affair, right under my nose. You made plans. It wasn’t some spontaneous fling. You had a relationship with someone else. Where is he now? Why can’t you mooch off him?”
She furrowed her brow even deeper. “He’s not in the picture.”
“Did his significant other find out about you too?” I asked.
She pursed her lips. I had clearly struck a nerve.
“It was a mistake,” she said softly. “I want to be with you.”
“Well, that makes one of us,” I said gruffly.
“How could you really think that?” she whined. “We have so much history together.”
“And that’s come to an end. Please, just leave. I never planned to let you know where I moved. Promise me you’ll never come around here again.”
“What about everything we’ve been though? I was the one who supported your dream of being an investigator.”
“I think you told me that it had better pay as well as my EMT job,” I said dryly. “I remember your being worried about having to get a job.”
Now, Marcie was flustered. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.
“Leave,” I said firmly. “Leave me alone. You know that I’m back home now. You know that I’m doing just fine. Don’t pretend that you’re worried about my wellbeing now. All of your excuses for why you wanted to contact me are now invalid. You’ve got your closure—I don’t want you. Please, just go so I can go back to bed.”
Marcie huffed as she tried to think of a retort. Finally, she just smacked her lips and gave me a smirk.
“Fine. You may feel that way now, but you won’t forever. When you change your mind about me, you can give me a call.”
She tore off the apron and threw it on the floor, revealing her curvy body in its full magnificence. Marcie had always been too attractive for me, but I never complained. Despite my annoyance, I found myself wanting to touch her.
She slowly pulled on her clothes from the night before, making a big show of it. I tried not to watch, but I was weak. It made me hate myself even more for giving a big speech about not wanting her, then finding myself craving her.
Finally, she stared at me, waiting for me to change my mind. When it was clear that I wasn’t going to, she left in a huff, the scent of her perfume trailing behind her. With a slam of the front door, I relaxed into the bed feeling miserable but slightly relieved.
“You’re such a dumbass sometimes,” I whispered to myself. I walked into the kitchen, took a few bites of the meal she prepared, then threw it in the trash. I didn’t have the appetite. Then, I got into the shower and rinsed off the smell of bad decisions.
While I wanted to go back to sleep, I had work to do. I recharged my dead phone to find that I had missed seven calls while I had been incapacitated by Marcie.
In the days following my return home from the island, my clout as a private investigator had increased. I still had my usual clients calling me for my services, but now I had a whole new list of potential clients who wanted me to solve personal mysteries. I had to turn down so many people looking for a PI to solve cold cases and search for long-lost relatives because I didn’t have the time to take every call. I gave some preference to the clients I had worked for in the past because I still needed money to pay the bills. But the prospect of always having steady work was an attractive one, and I found myself daydreaming of another big mystery with an even bigger payout.
I began to flip through the voicemails, listening to the ones with phone numbers I recognized. The first one was from one of the cases I took immediately after I returned from the island. The client was a friend of a friend who suspected her business partner was gambling away the company’s profits. It didn’t take long for me to find the guy at an underground poker game and chat him up. From the information he spilled to me and the balance sheets the client provided, we had enough evidence for her to take the guy to court and get her money back. I had already been compensated for my work, but she was just calling to let me know that her partner decided to settle and was resigning from the company and had made a plan to pay her back the money he’d stolen.
Feeling a little better about myself, I listened to the next message. This one was from another of my bounty hunter clients, telling me that I had plenty of work if I wanted it. I wrote his name down on my list of potential jobs and deleted the message. These jobs were a dime a dozen and sometimes boring, but occasionally, I’d get a good one that gave me the rush I was looking for. That, and I could always rely on these people to keep my bank account from running dry. With some new clients, I didn’t know if I could trust them to pay me for my work. I enjoyed being able to help out a concerned client and give them some closure and peace of mind, but I couldn’t do it for free.
The last call was from Max. I was surprised to hear his voice on the message because he was calling from a phone number I didn’t recognize. After I listened to it once, I replayed it to make sure I got all the information.
“Hi, John Boy!” his cheery voice said. “It’s your buddy, Max. Listen, I was just calling to let you know that I was back on the mainland. I decided to pack up and move a little closer to my family. I know, I know, you’re probably shocked to hear that I left my perfect island home. I’m sure you’re very busy at the moment, being a big-time detective and all, but I’ve got a little problem that I wanted to talk to you about. So, when you have the time, give me a call and we’ll catch up. It’s no rush, so don’t worry about that. I’m sure I’ll hear from you sometime this week. I’ll talk to you then.”
I pushed my list of potential jobs to the side and called Max back. He made his problem seem unimportant, but whatever it was, it was big enough to get him to come back to the mainland. To me, that sounded like an emergency.
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