Too Much to Lose (15 page)

I nod, arms folded to resist
the temptation to step in and stop Mitch from charming the panties off her.
This is how Mitch works. It makes him really good at his job. People instantly
trust him—men and women alike—and he can get around anyone when needs be. It
doesn’t mean I like him flirting with Jess though. “It’s in your phone,” I tell
her. “Put it in earlier.”

“You were looking at my phone?”

“Just to put the number in.”
She doesn’t need to know I was checking out her messages and contacts too. Not
that I found anything. The girl has no friends and there’s no way she’s dumb enough
to leave evidence of criminal activity on her phone. “If you need anything,
just give Mitch a call.”

She swings her gaze between us.
“Not you?”

“I need to check out your
apartment,” I remind her, “and I’m meant to be working.”

“Oh, I see. Sorry, of course.”
Her forlorn look makes me groan inside.

“I wouldn’t leave you with
Mitch if I didn’t think he could keep you safe.”

Mitch nods. “This is what I do,
Jess. You’ll be perfectly safe with me around.”

White teeth come out to nibble
on her lip. “I know. Thank you, I appreciate it. I’m sure this will all just
blow over soon enough.”

“Let’s hope.” I glance at my
watch. “You’d better get going.”

“Okay, see you later.”

“Have a good day.” I eye her
ass in those tight suit trousers as she goes and sigh.

“So, this is the girl, huh?”
Mitch nudges me.

“Yeah.”

“Doesn’t look like a hardened
criminal to me.”

“Yeah, well you haven’t seen
her in leather.”

Mitch’s lips twitch. “I can
imagine. But still there’s something about her. She’s scared, Hunter.”

“So would I be if I stole fifty
k,” I snap. I don’t need Mitch questioning me.

He holds up his hands. “Hey,
I’m just saying what I see. It’s your job, man. I just hope you know what
you’re getting yourself into.”

“Mitch, if I’d have realized
what I was getting myself into, I’d never have accepted this job.”

“Then quit.”

“It’s not that simple.” I don’t
elaborate. Mitch doesn’t need to hear about my money problems. Last thing I
want is pity.

He shrugs. “Well, it’s your
career.”

“It is,” I say firmly. “Just keep
an eye on her. She’s not convinced but I think we’ve got someone gunning for
her. Whether it’s to do with her activities or what I don’t know. Anything unusual—
anything
—tell
me. I’m picking at straws here. If this is because of something she’s done, I’m
better off finding out sooner, not just because of the job, but we can’t
protect her if we have no idea what’s going on.”

“And if it turns out she has
taken that money? What then? Do we still protect her?”

I clench my jaw and mull his
words. That occurred to me too. Do I just leave her to suffer the consequences
of her actions? “I don’t know. Let me do my job first, then we’ll figure out
what to do next.”

Mitch sighs. “Man, when did you
got so jaded?”

Jaded? Am I that bad? Sure
Richie screwing me over tarnished my opinion of people a little but I didn’t
think I was
jaded
. I thought I wasn’t seeing things clearly because of the
effect Jess has on me but maybe Richie has clouded my judgment. Either way, the
only thing that will solve my dilemma is finding out what Jess is hiding. It’s
something—maybe the money, maybe not. But until I know everything about that
woman, I can’t make any firm decisions. And I sure as hell can’t begin to trust
her yet.

“I’ll see you later,” I tell
Mitch, ignoring his statement, because, hell, he’s probably right. “I’m going
to pick her up so you can head home then.”

“Sure thing. See you later.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

Mitch grins. “Why would I need
anything?”

I roll my eyes. “And don’t let
her come to harm.”

“Hunter, it will be fine. Go do
your detecting shit.”

Taking in a deep breath, I
shake my head and go back to the car. It takes me a while to work through the
morning traffic to Jess’s apartment. The sandstone monster of a building seems
all the more oppressive today. My heart makes itself known in my chest. What
am
I going to do if I find out she’s taken that money? Shit, I can’t believe
I’ve got myself into this mess. Am I really doubting what her uncle told me? Why
waste money to send me on a fool’s errand? I weigh up what I know. She’s smart.
With a head for numbers. She must be planning
something
. But it just
doesn’t jive with the Jess I know and I’m not easily fooled.

I stomp up the stairs and pause
in front of her door. No indication of forced entry or anything. I open the
door, pausing to take a look around the cold apartment. Funny, it always seemed
grim but without Jess in it’s like a wasteland. There’s no more letters waiting
for her, no sign of the stranger from last night.

My search starts in the kitchen
where I saw that mysterious letter. Still can’t find it but without the need to
tiptoe around, I can do a decent exploration. Everything is clean from the tops
of the cupboards to the grouting between the dingy tiles. Hardly the behaviour
of a hardened criminal or someone planning to make a break for it. Given the
sparse state of the kitchenette, it doesn’t take me long to finish searching.

The search of the living room
proves fruitless and there’s nothing in the bathroom apart from the odd bandage
or two. I try not to recall Jess’s soft fingers skimming my side and the way
she chewed her lip with concern. What kind of a con woman plays nurse?
Concentrate
on the job, Hunter.
Examine the place, find the money, then worry about
what the hell to do with Jess.

Entering her bedroom brings a
whole load of memories—ones that make my blood zing through my veins. The
pounding remorse surges through my brain and I have to shake it off. I rifle
through her drawers, search on top of her closet and inside it but come up with
nothing. Not even damned dust bunnies. I turn my attention to her bedside
table. The one on the other side contains the pills I brought over, a bottle of
perfume and some moisturizer of some kind. Now I have to tackle the cabinet on
her side. This could be it and I’ve been putting it off for some reason. If
she’s going to keep anything that will hint to where the money is, where better
than by your side at night? My hand trembles a little as I open the drawer.

There, under several different
varieties of make-up, is the letter I’d seen. I draw it out and study the
address. Guildford. Where she’d been living before she came to London? Carefully
I peel open the letter and slip it out. The paper is creased as if it’s been
folded and refolded several times. Words are smeared and illegible, some ruined
by the creases and others by what looks to be water. Tears perhaps? This has to
mean something, but what? Why keep a letter you can barely read?

I skim over it repeatedly to
garner what I can. It’s an apology of some kind. Whoever wrote it didn’t know.
Didn’t know what? Jess’s name is clear at the top but the ink disintegrates as
it gets further down the page. My heart does a little jolt as I study one word.
Carl, it says. Jess’s uncle. Someone’s been writing to her about him. Other
words start to come together now. The writer doesn’t blame Jess. She hopes
she’ll move on with her life.

“Shit.” Sinking onto her bed, I
shake my head. This has to be about the money.

I glance at the envelope again.
I need to make a trip but it’s already nearly lunchtime so it will have to wait
until tomorrow. In the meantime I’m going to have to concentrate on not
touching Jess. The gnawing ache in my chest tells me this letter is the key somehow.
Everything is about to come unravelled and I’m not sure I really want that.

Hunter

Three days and several phone calls later, I head to
Guildford.  The address turned out to be a hostel and it seemed Jess lived
there briefly. I swipe the image of her living in a place like that when I
debate turning around and heading back to her. From the hostel, I’ve tracked
down her workplace—the pub she worked in just after her disappearing act. And
then I had to track down the old owner who now owns a club. So far my calls
have proved fruitless. So a visit to the owner seems in order and one of the
staff told me he’d be in today.

It takes me over an hour to
reach the place on my bike. Set on a hill, the bulk of the town is spread
between two streets. I park in a lot close to the club and walk over to the
large brick building, its neon sign currently unlit, while I fight to forget
what it had been like to spend evenings with Jess or how she sweetly said
goodbye as I dropped her off. Jess curled up on the couch with big fluffy socks
on and some cute tartan shorts has become my new fucking fantasy I think. I
spent most of the night considering peeling those damned socks off and kissing
the arch of her foot. The uncertain girl from the first night had dissipated
and in its place was a woman who is close to irresistible. Only the knowledge
that I planned to dig further into her past prevented me from trying anything.

Palms clammy, I push open the
door to the club and two women swivel to face me from behind the bar.

“We’re closed,” the blonde one
says, pausing mid-swipe as she cleans down the bar.

In the light of day, the club
looks bare and lifeless. The empty dance floor covers the back, and a DJ Booth
waits patiently for someone to bang out some tunes. The bitter tang of cleaning
fluid pervades my nostrils when I approach the bar, but clearly the floors
haven’t been cleaned yet as they’re sticky underfoot.

“Sir,” the blonde drops her
cleaning cloth and glances at her dark-haired colleague, “we’re closed. You
shouldn’t be in here.”

I paste on a charming smile and
her stance softens. I resist smirking. Looks like I haven’t completely lost my
touch, even if Jess doesn’t fall for it. “Is there any chance of speaking with
the manager?”

“We’re not looking for any new
suppliers,” she says warily.

“I’m not a supplier. I need to
speak to your boss about an ex employee. A missing person’s case.”

She draws in a breath. “Missing
persons? Are you a cop?”

I shake my head. “Private
Investigator.”

“Oh, cool.” A smile breaks
across her face and her shoulders ease back.

I skim my gaze over her.
Pretty. Decent figure. Not my type. Not anymore anyway. I prefer… shit, I
prefer Jess. I’m not sure I even have a type now. I’m a fucking sucker for a
hot brunette rock chick.

“Let me take you up to the
office,” she offers, grin turning flirtatious.

“Sure.” I smile back. I don’t
want to piss off the gatekeeper quite yet.

“I’m Bella,” she informs me and
leads the way out a door in the rear and up some stairs. We pause outside the
door to what I assume is the office and she faces me, tucking a hair behind her
ear. On Jess I’d find it charming but on Bella, not so much. Everything she
does is deliberately flirtatious. With Jess, it’s all natural.

“Wait here, I’ll let Mr Harris
know you’re here. What’s your name?”

“Hunter O’Reilly. O’Reilly Investigations.
Tell him I’m looking into the disappearance of Jessica Callahan.”

“Hunter,” she practically
breathes and I mask a shudder. “I’ll be right back.”

Bella slips in the door and I
tap my foot as I wait. I hear muted voices but nothing out of the ordinary. The
door opens again and Bella beams at me as if she’s just solved world hunger.
“Go on in. And if you get the chance, stop for a drink after.”

“Thanks, Bella. I appreciate
it.” I don’t respond to her invite. All I want to do is finish this job and get
back to Jess. Whatever comes out of this, I’m becoming convinced we can work
through it.

Kyle Harris rises from his seat
when I enter and I shut the door behind me. He offers a hand and I take it,
surprised by the strong grip. He’s a wiry man, slightly owlish. Not the
depraved businessman I thought he might be.

“Please take a seat. Excuse the
mess.” He waves at the papers scattered over his desk. “How can I help, Mr
O’Reilly? Bella said you wanted to ask about Jessica Callahan?”

“Yeah, I spoke to the owners of
The Bell and they said you owned this place now.”

The grey-haired man chuckled.
“Decided to get out of the pub game and go big. Regretting it now. I spend half
my time dealing with incompetent or unreliable staff, and drunken idiots
smashing the place up. Give me a village pub any day.”

I nod sympathetically. “You
owned this place long?”

“Just over a year. Still
finding my feet. Anyway, you wanted to know about Jessica?”

“Yeah, my client is looking for
her,” I lie fluently. “The last place she worked was the pub.” People are more
likely to give you answers if they feel sympathetic.

“Poor girl. I hope she is okay—I
hope you find her.” Kyle runs a hand through his cropped hair. “She was a sweet
kid. I don’t know what had happened to her before but she was desperate for a
job. I thought she’d probably run away from somewhere but she never said.”