Sitting in the hotel desk chair, I gazed out at the city as my brush slid across the canvas. I checked into the hotel late last night, got absolutely no sleep, and was so wound up by six in the morning that I went and stalked the art stores around Brookings. I needed to relieve the stress that was preventing me from sleeping. I needed to take a nap before I dove more into Mr. Kent and his connection to Zach.
There were whole chunks I was missing, and my connections I used for cases were mysteriously not getting back to me.
I had a feeling Mr. Kent was controlling more of the strings than I thought. The more I did the hunting, the more I felt like the hunted. I hated this feeling of being watched and yanked around on a chain. I wanted to deliver the results I promised my boss without jeopardizing the little bit of integrity I still held onto. I compromised my passion for painting in order to pay bills. I compromised my better judgment and took a job as a private investigator that I had no business taking. And now, I felt like I was compromising the only thing I still felt made me true to who I was.
My ability to be honest.
I was keeping Zach in the dark, I was lying to my boss, and I was trying to cozy up to a very rich man who had ulterior motives for hiring me. I felt like I was in a spy movie, and I was secretly the person of interest.
I took a deep breath before I moved my brush against the canvas again.
There was something methodical to painting that settled me. There was something soothing about repeating the same actions over and over again, yet getting a different result every single time. Painting took planning and vision, but it also took strength and grace.
When I painted, nothing else in the world existed. Not anyone’s preconceived notions of me, not anyone’s outward interpretation of me, and not the stereotype people assumed I fell under. When I painted, I was drawn into another world I created as I went. My wrist had a mind of its own, and the only thing it needed was an image of what I wanted. Or a feeling I wanted to portray. Or a dream I wanted to bring to life.
Sometimes, I didn’t need anything at all. Sometimes, all that was needed was a goal, and the goal for that morning was to relieve stress. The rest was up to my wrist.
My phone vibrated on my bed, and I grinned when I saw it was a text message from Zach. He was checking up on me, making sure I was all right. I was shocked he wasn’t angry in the message, especially since he woke up alone. All he wanted to know was if I’d gotten checked into a hotel okay.
I shot him a message back and told him I had gotten checked in just fine, but that I didn’t know how long I was staying. Then, a phone call came through. A phone call I was shocked to be receiving.
“Mr. Kent,” I answered. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, Miss Conwell. Everything is just fine. I hope our conversation yesterday didn’t ruffle any feathers.”
“I understand that this case is very personal to you, and I have more information for you, if you would like to hear it,” I said.
“I would love to.”
“First off, the surveillance. I saw Mr. Harte late last night when I got back into town. He seemed just fine, though a bit tired. He was taking a shower when I showed up.”
“Did he say anything to you?”
I thought back to the words he breathlessly uttered in the shower, and I had to bite back a shiver ricocheting up my spine.
“Not much, no. Just that he had to work in the morning. He offered me a place to stay since I hadn’t checked into a hotel yet, so I took advantage of that kindness.”
“Anything to get an answer,” he said. “I like it. Did you find anything?”
“I did. He left his computer unlocked, and I found a great deal of documents about you.”
The man fell silent. Only the sound of Mr. Kent’s breathing could be heard, and it was unnerving. Now I wished I’d waited to have this conversation with him in person.
It seemed like he had been caught off-guard, and I wanted to see his expression. There was so much you could tell about a person when they were caught off-guard.
“What types of documents?” he asked finally.
“Nothing bank account-wise if that’s what you’re asking, but he did have the company website pulled up. Some personal history on you, your whereabouts, and where you vacationed. It looked like he had your official itinerary as well. I’m not sure how he would’ve gotten that, but my guess is he either hacked into your system and obtained it, or he knows someone in your company and they’re feeding him this information. Mr. Kent, from what I observed, it doesn’t look like he’s stealing from you. Rather, it looks like he’s tracking you.”
The phone call fell silent again, and I allowed those words to sink in. That was why everything was so off, because it felt like Zach was tracking my client. My client thought he was stealing, but if someone was stealing something electronically, then why was there a need to keep tabs on the owner of the company?
If anything, someone stealing would want to erase any connection like that. Having folders filled with files on the person someone was stealing from was not only incriminatory, but it practically seals a criminal’s fate.
It would take someone with advanced cyber security knowledge to do what Mr. Kent was accusing Zach of doing, and Zach simply didn’t have those skills. Sure, he understood firewalls and how to protect things with a password, but Zach exhibited none of the signs of a thief.
He wasn’t meticulous, he wasn’t attempting to erase his tracks, he wasn’t taking large sums of money, and he wasn’t pompous. He had a personal ethics code that he lived by, he had lived in the town of Brookings for most of his life, and he didn’t harbor any of the residual personality traits of someone who lived a criminal lifestyle. He wasn’t a drinker or a gambler. He wasn’t a drug user, and he wasn’t guarded.
All of those simple personality traits, when combined, threw red flags to investigators like me, but Zach possessed none of them. Not just some of them, but none of them.
“So, you don’t believe Mr. Harte is stealing from me?” Mr. Kent asked.
“That’s not what I said. I said it appeared as if he isn’t. Some things don’t add up, but some things do. In order for me to get a good look at the overall picture, I’ll need—”
“Well, Miss Conwell, this conversation has been very eye opening. Thank you for fulfilling your duties. I will leave your boss a glowing review of your work.”
“What?” I asked.
“I will no longer be in need of your services,” he said. “Your job is complete.”
“I’m not sure why. We haven’t solved anything yet.”
“There is no need to follow this man around anymore. Your work has been superb, and I am thankful for it. Don’t worry. I will be paying the full amount that your boss and I agreed to, even though I will not need you for the entire month.”
“Mr. Kent, I’m not sure what’s—”
“Have a good day, Miss Conwell.”
My client— or rather, ex-client— hung up the phone call so quickly I couldn’t even get my question out. What the fuck had just happened? Why the hell had I just been fired? He didn’t tell me I had been fired, but that was exactly what it felt like. I hadn’t solved anything, I hadn’t answered any fucking questions, and I was no closer to figuring out why the fuck Mr. Kent needed me to watch this man in the first place.
I had been played, and my hand began shaking as my phone fell to the bed.
I turned toward the canvas I was painting on, and tears began to well in my eyes. What the hell was that man going to tell my boss? What was going to happen to Zach? I sat on the edge of the bed as tears slowly ran down my cheeks, and the exhaustion I felt in my bones slowly started to take over.
Where the fuck did I go from here?
I couldn’t go back to my job. That much was for certain. I had plenty saved up, despite my living expenses and my student loans, but I didn’t know what I would do from there.
I wanted nothing to do with researching people. I wanted nothing to do with tracking people down. I wanted nothing to do with criminals or connections or police departments or any shit like that.
But I also couldn’t stay here.
If I stayed here, I would keep digging. If I stayed here, I would keep researching. So long as those questions lingered in my mind, I would look at Zach and see them every single time.
I’d eventually break down and tell him everything, and I knew he would be upset. I would destroy this oddly perfect little thing we had struck up, and then I would have nothing.
Nothing and no one, except for Kami. Who was busy as fuck with her own business and her own life that was flourishing because she didn’t make shit decisions.
My phone began to vibrate, and I almost chucked it against the wall. I picked it up and saw that Zach was calling, and I debated on picking it up. My eyes ached with lack of sleep, and I had a pounding headache, but I knew the moment I tried to lay down, my eyes would spring open and magnetize to my forehead.
So, I picked up the call and readied myself to tell him everything. Just like I almost did last night.
“Hey there,” I said.
“You sound like you got about as much sleep as I did,” he said.
“Listen, I’m sorry about leaving. I just—”
“You came in very distraught. I’m just glad you got checked into a hotel without getting yourself in trouble.”
“Think I can’t take care of myself, Harte?” I asked, grinning.
“Everyone is capable of doing stupid things when they’re tired and emotional,” he said.
He didn’t even know how much truth he was speaking at that moment.
“Working today?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’m not supposed to get off until around eight, but I was hoping I could stop by and see you.”
“Zach, I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I said.
“I want to take you somewhere,” he said.
“Where would we be going?”
“It’s a surprise. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll be there at nine to come get you.”
“Nine o’clock? I’ll be passed out face first by that point.”
“Not if you sleep now,” he said.
“And you won’t be exhausted after work?”
“It’ll be worth it to see you.”
I closed my eyes and allowed his words to drift along my ears. His voice was so soothing, but it always dropped a few octaves whenever he paid me a compliment.
My heart was hammering in my chest, and I could hear my blood rushing through my ears. I laid down onto the bed with my canvas dripping with paint, and already I could feel the mesmerizing tune of sleep hum darkly into my ear.
“I can’t stay,” I said breathlessly.
“Then give me one last night,” Zach said. “That’s all I ask.”
I slipped underneath the covers, and the sound of his breathing lulled deeply across the recesses of my mind. Every single curious part of me was piqued with interest. Every single part of me that craved answers was screaming for my lips to say yes. I sighed into the phone as I pulled the covers up to my chin. Then I relinquished the wheel of my body over to the curious side of me.
Because deep down, I wanted to see him one last time.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be ready by nine.”
“Which hotel are you in?” he asked.
“The original one. The one you followed me to when my purse was left behind at the grocery store.”
“I’ll be downstairs waiting for you on my bike,” he said.
“I’ll see you then.”