Iain

After Michele left, I lay in bed for a while longer, too tired to get up, but not tired enough to let sleep claim me again. My bed felt cold and empty without her. Having a woman in my bed two nights in a row should have sent me running for the hills, but somehow it felt more than natural with her.

The day before had passed by in such a whirl: Waking up next to her, seeing her apartment, going to the hospital, coming back here. She had looked so cute helping me make lunch, and then, afterward…

My dick stirred remembering her lips around it, her shiny hair in my hands. She was so perfect, so sexy. And she didn’t even know it.

I hadn’t felt this close to a woman since Emily. I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant. I’d spent so long swearing off relationships. I hadn’t had sex in over a year. I had been burned so badly that I spent the last four years telling myself that finding someone wasn’t worth it. I would have never been able to predict that the woman I was hired to find, that Brandon had hired me to find, would have made me feel this way.

I missed her already, which was a fact my mind wanted to recoil from. Missing her meant that I was already invested, that I had abandoned all pretense that I was able to avoid feeling something for her. I hadn’t wanted to become emotionally involved. It was just something that had happened.

And now, I’d taken her to the hospital to meet my dad, and my mom. Was that a stupid choice? I wasn’t sure. I wouldn’t be surprised if my dad called me sometime today to ask me about her. I really wasn’t sure what I’d say.

Dragging myself out of bed, I headed to the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee. Michele and I didn’t discuss when we’d see each other again, but I had a new case and had to get started on it today. Taking a mug to my bedroom, I sat down at my computer and logged in, checking my email.

My client, a man named Roger Deloid, had emailed me details and pictures of his wife. He wanted picture proof that she was cheating, and he wanted to know who she was cheating with. He said she’d been acting funny for months. They’d only been married two years.

On the phone with him, I had to shake off the dirty feeling I got thinking about taking another case while my mom was sick in the hospital. I also had to shake off the nagging feeling that the last case I took was from an abusive liar who wanted me to hand over his wife like a pig for slaughter.

But this was my job, my livelihood. I had to do it.

I began my preliminary searches on Roger’s wife, ordering background a background check and then losing track of time as I found her Facebook, Pinterest and Twitter. She wasn’t very active on the latter two sites, but her Facebook was active and public. Most cheaters weren’t dumb enough to post hints, but she shared a photo just last week of a shirtless, tatted up guy with the words “Don’t ask for sex. Pick her up and carry her to bed like a Viking.”

I snorted aloud at how idiotic it was to post something like that, especially to the 732 friends she had. It was tasteless, but it also made me think of Michele. Scared, uncertain Michele - who’d had so many choices taken from her by her fucking dick husband. She didn’t have to say it, but I could see it in her eyes. Staring at the photo, I could easily see Brandon agreeing strongly with that quote.

I grit my teeth, remembering his initial phone call, and how eager I’d been to help him find his errant wife. I was an idiot, too. I could only hope that I was making up for it.

I took a screenshot of the post and saved it to a folder. I spent about ten more minutes filtering through her posts, most of them junk and not helpful for the case. I glanced through her likes, her friends, her photos.

Closing my laptop, I stood and went back to the kitchen, pouring another cup of coffee. I thought about my mother, lying in that hospital bed. She said that she was glad to see me happy. Bitterly, I wondered just how true that was.

Michele handled her own shitty situation with such grace. She was a good person, inside and out, and she’d spent too much of her life under the thumb of a tyrant. A woman beater. Only a fucking coward hit women, and my blood boiled to even contemplate it happening to her. And what was worse was the PTSD she had over it. She didn’t have to say that, either: I’d seen it enough in the Army to know the look people got when they relived their memories.

What could I do to help her? I’d only been able to buy her a little time, if any at all. It was only a matter of time before Brandon found out where she was, for real this time. No more hints, no more guesses. He’d know exactly where she lived and where she worked. And when he found out, he would come for her.

I clutched the mug in my hand tighter. I would absolutely not let Brandon take Michele anywhere. If I could help it, if I could control it, Brandon wouldn’t come close to her. But I couldn’t be everywhere at once, and I certainly couldn’t be in her presence at all times.

So what could I do?

I ran through all the options. I could go to Indiana myself. No, that was stupid, and pointless. It’s not like I could force Brandon to do anything. I could hire someone to go for me, to rough him up and scare him away. But that idea was ludicrous, and I didn’t think it would work, even if I tried it.

Like a shark, he’d come circling back, teeth bared.

I thought about urging her to seek divorce herself, to file a restraining order. The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Why wouldn’t she try to sever herself from him?

But was it my place to tell her what to do?

And then I thought of telling Michele that she wasn’t safe, that I couldn’t protect her, and that she should consider moving somewhere else, somewhere Brandon would never guess she’d be. She would be safest that way, but she’d be gone. Out of my life, as effortlessly and quickly as she had entered it.

Like she was never even here at all.

I couldn’t be sure that she’d do it even if I suggested it. She had the beginnings of a life here, however small and isolated. Living in the shadow of fear was hard, deafening. Had Brandon not hired me, she may have even relaxed, eventually. Made friends, found someone new, someone that wasn’t me. Maybe Brandon would have given up and sought divorce himself.

I didn’t want to imagine her with someone else, but I did want to make sure that she was safe, content, and free to make her own decisions.

I just had to figure out exactly what that meant.