LUKE

 

I’ve broken her. Not broken her completely, but that was never the intent. I’ve forced her to look inside and break down the first of many walls. From the time I first stepped foot on her porch, I could tell she wouldn’t be willing to be open with me. And if she wasn’t going to be open with me, there was no way I was going to be able to help her deal with the problem at hand—a problem I’m still not even sure exists.

And there are already obstructions at play because her story is sounding very familiar to me, not beat by beat, but there’s this undercurrent that I can’t quite shake. An undercurrent in the letters she’s been receiving that seem to go hand in hand with the texts I’ve been receiving.

I’m not about to show her my hand and all my cards in it, but I’ve got a gut feeling that somehow her letters and my texts are related, and I’m trying to figure out the connection. The best-case scenario? There’s no connection and I’m simply reading into things that aren’t there. The worst-case scenario? That she’s the one who’s been texting me.

She’s beautiful but carries the looks of someone who might be dangerous—sleek, long black hair and eyes that burn into me. She carries herself like there’s mountains of lies riding on her shoulders, and with every step, it’s like she’s sinking into the hardwood floors from the sheer weight of her lies.

While we’re frozen in place, each staring into the other’s eyes, I’m reminded that I need to be careful when it comes to damsels in distress. She might be one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever laid eyes on, but that doesn’t mean I should trust her right off the bat.

“Why don’t we go sit down and continue this conversation?” I say, to which she nods before she leads me back into the living room.

Unprofessional or not, I can’t help but to notice the way her ass looks in those jeans, tight and taut. I force myself to look away, anywhere else. I glance around at the walls and take notice that there are no photographs anywhere to be seen, only pieces of art.

It’s not the biggest house in the world, but for the area, it’s big enough. Two stories tall with updated features all throughout the space and with million-dollar views of the mountains in the distance with a clear skyline, void of the smog typical of most part of Los Angeles.

She’s got money and that could easily be one of the motives, but though she has money, she’s not anywhere close to being in the same league as the usual victims of money-related crimes.

We take a seat on opposite sides of the coffee table with her on the couch and I in the chair. She runs her palms nervously over her jeans as she fights to look anywhere but straight at me.

“Where did you grow up?” I question, beginning with easy questions with the intention of building a framework from there. “Was it around here?”

“I come from an affluent family in Burbank.” She nods gently. “My folks certainly weren’t rich by any measure compared to many of the inhabitants there, but they inherited property that’s worth far more than it used to be. My mother was a school teacher, a noble woman, while my father contracted with various construction firms over the years.”

“I’m sorry to hear.”

“Sorry for what?”

“To hear of your parents’ passing,” I point out lowly.

“How…?” She stumbles over her own words and then stares me down with ice-cold intensity. “How did you know that?”

“You told me.” I clear my throat. “Not in so many words, but you speak of them in past tense, indicating that they are no longer alive.”

“Right.” She bows her head and sighs. “They passed away while I was in college.”

“And being an only sibling, you inherited their estate.”

Her eyes lock with mine again, her head shaking gently, as if she’s confused how I know so much about her, but the truth is that I don’t. I’m just damn good at my job, almost too good.

I can’t help a wicked grin that begins to creep across my lips, tragic considering the subject matter. I catch myself just in time and straighten myself in the chair, clear my throat again. “You’re dead set on the idea that you don’t have any enemies, however, did your parents?”

“Not that I know of.” She winces slightly, her teeth mashing against her lower lip. “They’ve been gone for years and years, so I don’t suspect they have anything to do with this.”

“I think you’d be surprised to find how long something can fester,” I say, trying to dig answers out from underneath the surface. “I can’t tell you how many cases I’ve seen where someone is being followed or stalked or harassed, and the person in question, the figurative man hiding in the dark, ends up being someone long-forgotten from the past.” I tap my hand against the arm of the chair, contemplatively. “Do you think there’s someone from your high school that could have anything to do with this?”

She shakes her head incredulously and draws a heavy inhale, almost like she’s annoyed. While I find that my charms are irresistible to many women, I also find that I can wear out my welcome at record speed. “Why would you suspect that has anything to do with anything?”

“Don’t you find the timing suspicious?”

“What are you talking about?” she questions, and it only makes me more suspicious of her. She’s holding out information from me. “I left high school behind a long time ago.”

Instead of telling her what I’m talking about, I jump to my feet and cross back to the mantle to pick up a high school reunion invitation I had seen earlier while standing in the exact same spot. I flash the card for her to see. “I’m talking about this.”

“That…” She rolls her eyes and sighs. “I’m not going to that.”

“That wasn’t my question.” I toss the invitation onto the stack of letters on the coffee table—just one more piece of evidence and intelligence. “But perhaps it would be a good idea to go.”

“Everyone at that school except for my friend is dead to me.”

“The same friend who gave you my card?” I twist to face her before I have the chance to step back down. She nods an affirmative yes, and it makes me question the message I had received yesterday, the one that read: The white knight in shining armor will soon rise up against the tides to fight against the dark knight, but he’ll lose, tuck his tail, and run because some princesses don’t need saving.

I stand there lost in my own daze as I try to place the pieces of the puzzle together. It seems more than a little strange and more than a coincidence that I received a message that I would be coming to the rescue of a princess, and while I’m hesitant to label Ella a typical princess, she’s certainly an ice-cold one.

“Do you trust your friend?” I inquire casually, as I drop back down into the rather comfortable chair.

She moves to speak but pauses and draws a breath. “Kara doesn’t have anything to do with this, and I don’t know why you’d even suggest that.”

“Right.” I nod, not wanting to show her my hand. “Like I said, I need to be thorough, and in the sake of being thorough, let’s just not assume anything for the time being.” I shake my wrist and glance down at the white-gold watch lining it to check the time. “For the time being, let’s just assume that whoever is sending you these suspicious letters has nothing to do with this reunion of yours, and let’s pretend for the time being that we’re still at square one—”

“We’re still at square one,” she points out, interrupting me. “You’re looking at your watch like you have somewhere to be.”

“Nowhere to be in particular, but I’d like to follow up on a few leads.” I rise to stand up and collect the letters off the table, leaving the reunion invitation behind. “Do you mind if I take these to examine them further, perhaps see if there is any forensic evidence that’s been left behind.”

“Just wait…” She holds out a steady hand and squints her eyes. “Before you pick those up and run out of here, I need to know that you’re going to take my case.”

My eyes shift sideways as I find myself somewhat dumbfounded. “I thought that much was clear.”

“I haven’t heard you say it.”

“The implications though—”

“There’s a difference between an implication and saying it.”

I smack the stack of letters against one hand as I eye her curiously. “Why don’t you trust people?”

“Why don’t you trust people?” She shoots my question right back at me, and she’s more than right. She, too, is able to read between the lines, and I can’t lie, I find her more and more intriguing with every exchange. “You’re not answering my question.”

“Yeah…” I laugh softly. “I don’t trust people because I’ve seen the worst of human kind.”

“You were in the war, right?”

I can’t help but to chuckle lightly again. “You’re quite the observer.”

“Maybe.” She reaches her hand out to shake mine, the inverse of our very first initial contact. “I don’t trust a lot of people, Luke, but even though you’re still a stranger, I find myself trusting you.”

“Touché,” I say, and though I’m still suspicious of her, something tells me that I should trust and believe her. Something tells me that she’s in more danger than she appears and that instinct overpowers any feelings of mistrust because I’m not the guy who can sit back and watch the world burn all the while knowing I could have saved someone if only I’d let my guard down. “I’m going to take these letters back to my IT guy and I’ll be in touch.” I step to the door, pull it open, and then step out onto the front porch before turning back around to face her. “I promise, one way or another, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“And when you do, I hope it just turns out that I’m being paranoid.”

“Remember…” He wags his finger at me, as a grin ripples across his lips. “It’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

She rolls her eyes and her cheeks blush slightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Keep your doors locked, just in case, and if you think of anything or need me for any reason, don’t hesitate to call.”

“All right.” She forces a smile as she nods and closes the door just before I race down the three wooden steps to land against the hard concrete of the sidewalk, and as soon as I land against the hard surface, out of the corner of my eye, I notice something peculiar.

A man with a dark, black helmet sits atop a street bike with a phone held high in his hand. Based on my experience, it seems to me that he’s taking photos of either myself or Ella’s house. I immediately avert my gaze as to not draw suspicion that I’ve seen the man, as I continue to make my way to my car.

Just as I reach my car, I duck behind it and circle the side of it. I race to the luxury SUV parked in front of me and scale the side of it and then the car after that until I’m standing right behind the man on the bike. He’s still taking photos as I approach him and just as I’m about to make my move, he cocks his head slightly before pushing his phone into his jeans and revving his engine.

I dart forward, but I’m too late.

He speeds away, and I know that—by time I get back to my car—he’ll be long gone, but I manage to catch the license plate that reads: CAT. I take a quick glance back at the house and resolve that I can’t leave right now. Another piece of the puzzle has fallen into place, and I need to make Ella aware of it. I shake my head with aggravation, as I race back across the street and up the steps of her house.

I land a quick knock against the door and Ella opens it almost immediately…but something’s wrong. I can see it all over her face. Her eyes are puffy and red and black makeup lines stain her cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” I question, as she holds the door half-open, her head peeking through the limited opening. She swallows a nervous lump in her throat, her mouth quivers, she’s about to say something… Only she doesn’t. Instead, she tries to push the door shut. I stop her attempt with a quick reflect, throwing my own hand against the door. “Seriously, what the hell is going on?”

I wait for a second longer before pushing the door open with force and stepping inside. On a normal day, I’d consider my approach unethical to say the least, but there’s nothing ordinary about today. Not anymore.

“I don’t know what’s changed in the last sixty seconds,” I begin, “but something has obviously happened.”

“You can’t be here,” she says deadpan, cocks her head slightly over her shoulder to face me. It’s easier than looking me dead in the eye, I suppose. “You need to leave,” she says, even lower than before.

“What?” I stammer. “Not even two minutes ago, you were thanking me for my services, and now you’re telling me I can’t be here?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“This doesn’t make any sense.”

She drags the back of her palm over here forehead that’s now sweating. “I just changed my mind. There’s nothing to be concerned about, and I need you to leave.”

I point out through the open curtains, point squarely at the cars lined up on the curb of the street. “Does this have anything to do with that man who was out there taking photos?”

“What?” she questions with exasperation digging against the back of her throat. “What man?”

My teeth bite against my lower lip as I shake my head, trying to figure out just what in the hell is going on, but I’m coming up with nothing. “Something is going on, and I can’t help you unless you tell me what.”

“That’s the point.” She swallows and wets her lips, forcing the fakest smile I think I’ve ever seen. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, that there’s nothing going on and that I don’t need your services anymore.”

I’m firm in my resolve though. “And I’m telling you that I think you’re full of shit.”

“Fine,” she huffs and darts past me to palm her hand around the doorknob. “I’m full of shit, but you’re fired.”

“Fired?” I question with a slight chuckle. “You can’t fire me.”

“I just did,” she seethes through gritted teeth, and that’s just about when I begin to realize she’s being serious. “So you need to get out of my house before I have to call the police or something.”

“You can’t fire me.” I shake my head, still in a state of shock, my head in a complete tailspin. “You technically haven’t even hired me, considering we haven’t even talked about payment for services—”

She rips the door open and gestures for me to exit. “And we’re not going to talk about it because like I said, this is over.”

“No….” I scrunch my brows and stammer out lowly, “It’s not over.”

“It is,” she yells, reaching forward to grab my arm. She drags me towards the front door and then pushes me, but she’s not strong enough to force me outside. “What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” I spin to face her fully, bracing one hand against the frame of the door. “There is nothing wrong with me, but you’re either a sociopath or there’s something you’re not telling me.”

She shrugs with apathy weighing heavy on her shoulders, exhales softly. “The only thing wrong with me was that I was stupid enough to bring you here for nothing.”

“You’re really doing this, aren’t you?” I nod, trying to take it all in, but it’s a hard, bitter pill to swallow. “You’re going to push me away faster than you invited me in and you’re not going to tell me why.”

She pushes me gently with one hand against my chest, but it’s enough that I stumble backwards just enough so that she’s able to close the door on my face. I hear the lock latch into place immediately after, and while I stand there still stunned, I glance over at the oversized living room windows to see her rip the curtains closed.

Nothing about this makes sense. Nothing except for the fact that something has obviously scared her, and I’m going to figure out what. If my hunch is right, that somehow the messages I’ve been receiving are related to the letters she’s been receiving, then I’m just involved in this as she is.