367 Days Page 3

  "So, while we're here," Sawyer said as soon as she moved away, "why don't I get a little more background on you."

  "Um, okay," I said, nodding a little tightly.

  "Tell me about your life before it went to hell."

  He really didn't have a delicate or benevolent bone in his body. I guess when it came to private investigators, you generally wanted more of a Pitbull than a Golden Retriever, so maybe it was a good thing he wasn't treating me with kid gloves.

  "There's not much to tell. I lived in an apartment on Maple. My parents died six years ago. Or, ah, seven, I guess."

  "How?"

  I winced at that, inwardly cringing at the rudeness of the question. "My father died from a massive coronary. My mother, I don't know. I guess it was just genuine heartbreak. They were really in love, even after all their time together."

  "Alright. Parents in love, both dead. What else? Boyfriend?"

  "No. No boyfriend."

  "Work?"

  "I worked in the fertility clinic," I said. "I told you that already."

  "Did you like your job?"

  "Ah," I said, smiling at the waitress who dropped off my water and coffee.

  "That's a no," he said, bringing his coffee up to drink black while I reached for a creamer and one sugar.

  "It's not a no. It's complicated."

  "How is liking your job or not complicated?"

  "I work at a fertility clinic. I see peoples' dreams of parenthood come true or die every day. But I am also a child who was in the system and adopted to a loving family who couldn't have children of their own. They said that not being able to have them naturally was a sign to them from the universe that they were meant to adopt. And because of that mindset, I got to get out of the system and learn what a family really was."

  "So it bothers you that people do IVF?"

  "No," I rushed to say, shaking my head. "No. I understand it. And it is great to see people realize they are going to have a baby. But there are times, when I watch people come in for the fifth try, that it is hard on me. I mean, there are so many good kids in foster care and in group homes, so many kids who will age out of the system and never have family. They will have nowhere to go on Christmas, no one to lean on when life gets tough. If my parents had kept trying instead of adopting, that would have been me. So, I'm just kind of torn about the whole thing I guess."

  "But you still worked there."

  I shrugged. "Most people don't have the luxury of absolutely loving every aspect of their jobs."

  "Alright. I'll give you that. What else? Friends? Hobbies? Habits?"

  "This is relevant?"

  "A year of your life is missing. That doesn't just fucking happen to people all the time. I think every small detail would be relevant."

  I couldn't fault that logic. "I had a couple people I would go to dinner or have drinks with, but no really tight friendships. I worked out at the gym on Willow..."

  "Shane Mallick's gym."

  "If you say so," I said, shrugging. "I like going to movies. I occasionally went to a concert or comedy thing. That's really it. I didn't take any weekly classes or anything."

  Wow, it was interesting to see your life laid out like that. Actually, it made it seem a little flat, empty, borderline sad.

  "Did you have any pets?"

  I shook my head. "They weren't allowed," I said, a hint of annoyance in my voice. It always annoyed me that because there were a couple jackass, inconsiderate pet owners in the world, they screwed it up for the rest of us.

  Our food arrived and I was in the process of chewing on a piece of bacon when Sawyer said, out of the blue, "I am going to need a list of all the guys you've fucked."

  I choked hard enough for the older men sitting at the bar to our side to ask if I was alright. "That was tactless," I shot at him, shaking my head.

  "Sorry. Didn't realize you were a delicate, withering flower. Would you prefer I ask for the list of men you have made slow, sweet love to?" he asked, giving me a wry smile as he brought a forkful of pancakes up to his mouth.

  "You're kind of an asshole," I said, unable to stop myself.

  "I've been called worse," he said, clearly not offended. "Riya, look, people don't just show up behind dumpsters; they're put there. The most likely suspect for something happening to a woman is her current or ex lover. That's just how the world works. So I need to know who you've been with so I can vet them."

  "There," I said, shaking my head, "was that so hard?"

  "Hard? No. But more long-winded," he said, smirking, as he grabbed his paper menu and ripped a piece of it off. "Excuse me, babe," he said to the passing waitress, giving her a megawatt smile to make the annoyed, impatient look fall from her face. "Can I borrow a pen?" he asked and she reached into her apron and handed him one.

  "Sure, honey."

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as he turned back to me and handed me the paper and pen. I took them with a sigh and jotted down the names before pushing them back at him.

  He looked down, brows lowered for a second, before he looked back up, brow raised. "Five? Come on, now," he said, shaking his head.

  "Come on now... what?" I asked, not understanding.

  "No way you're twenty-fucking nine years old and only fucked five guys."

  "Right. Because that's such an unreasonable number."

  "Looking how you look, yeah, babe, it's unreasonable."

  "So all pretty girls must, by design, sleep around?"

  "Not a sexist thing. Pretty people of both genders tend to get around more."

  "That's insulting."

  "That's how things are."

  I rolled my eyes, reminding myself that being jaded and cynical was likely a side effect of a job that showed him a lot of the ugly parts of life. I never gave that kind of thing thought before, it never having been a part of my life. But cops and investigators tended to see the ugly parts of human nature- the murder, stalking, beating, mugging, spousal abuse, cheating, lying. People with sunny, upbeat personalities would burn out fast in jobs like that. I guess it was good for me that Sawyer Anderson was a prick.

  "So, who is the president right now?" he asked, making me roll my eyes.

  "I don't have amnesia."

  "It can be selective. You go through something traumatic, you can block it out."

  "Yeah, but everything else would remain."

  "Got a point there," he said, leaning across the table to take a forkful of my hashbrowns.

  "Hey," I said, big-eying him.

  "I got the breakfast potatoes with mine. Granted, they're fucking banging, but I want a bite of these."

  "You could ask."

  "I could," he agreed, giving me a close-mouthed smile as he chewed my food.

  I shook my head, focusing on eating for a minute while Sawyer shot off a series of rapid texts. "So what now?" I asked when he set his phone away and resumed eating.

  "We wait for your test results."

  "But I mean..."

  I meant, what? That I needed an immediate solution? I needed answers within the next hour because I didn't know what to do with myself? Even if he was the best private investigator in the country, there was no way he could solve my case in a matter of hours.

  "Hey," he said, his voice a little softer as he reached across the table and touched the tips of my fingers for a second before pulling away. When my eyes met his, his head ducked slightly. "What is it? Can't help if I don't know."

  "I have nowhere to go," I admitted. "I mean, well, that's not true. I need to go to my old apartment and see what the landlord did with my stuff. And I need to find a place to stay and get my life back..."

  "Alright, alright," he said, half-laughing at my very serious issues. "You lost a year, babe. You aren't going to get it all back in a day. You need to take it easy."

  "I can't take it easy. I have to..."

  "Look, after lunch, I have some shit to do. Once I get that handled, I will take you over to your old place and see what we can
do about getting one thing scratched off your to-do list."

  Okay. That was something at least. I could... I dunno, sit in the marina until he got back from whatever work he had to do. It wouldn't be that bad.

  "You can crash back at the office building," he supplied, making the plan even better.

  I was starting to think he wasn't so bad after all.

  "Okay, that will work," I said with a nod.

  "Hey, strange question," he said, taking the bill from the waitress and tossing some money on it as we finished up our food.

  "Strange question?" I prompted when he didn't ask.

  "Whose clothes are you wearing?"

  I started at that, sitting back against the booth and looking down at the garments in question. And, for the first time, that clicked. He was right; they weren't my clothes.

  "What the..." I said, shaking my head.

  I had on a pair of some sort of linen pants, something I never owned. In a light cream color, that I wouldn't buy because I would worry about staining it. And the blouse was just a bit... old for me. It was a floral white, tan, and brown color in a lightweight, almost see-through material with large buttons up the front. I wouldn't have picked out something like that for my mother when she was alive, let alone for myself.

  I looked up, mouth parted a little. "How did you know?"

  "You mean aside from the fact that they're fucking hideous?" he asked, smiling. "They don't fit you right. Women with bodies like you don't wear a shirt that is two sizes too big and pants that make your ass look flat when it's not."

  "I could just have terrible fashion sense."

  "You could. But you don't. Those clothes aren't yours. What were you wearing when you left for work last year?"

  That was easy. Because, fact of the matter was, a year didn't pass for me. Leaving my house and going to get coffee, it might as well have happened that very morning, not a year and two days ago.

  "I had on skinny jeans in a distressed gray color and a white sweater. V-neck. And, ah, black wedge bootie heels." I paused, a little embarrassed for the next part. "The panties I have on are mine. But my bra is gone."

  He nodded, not teasing me about that like I was thinking he might. "Is your hair longer?" he asked, making me reach up toward the ponytail and pull it out of the elastic band.

  I ran my fingers through it, settling it like I usually did around my shoulders. My brows drew together and my mouth fell open as I felt toward the ends. "It's... shorter," I said, feeling it toy with the tops of my breasts where it used to cover them. "Someone cut my hair?"

  "Seems that way. Anything else not the way it usually was?"

  And that's when a couple images flashed through my head about my exam. One of the biggest reasons I was so insecure about getting a physical? Yeah, it was because there had been no shaving or waxing. And I meant... anywhere. Underarms, legs, bikini. It was all wild.

  As if somehow picking up on my embarrassment, Sawyer shrugged as he slid out of the booth. "Don't worry. I got some razors and shaving cream," he offered, leading me out the door and back onto the sidewalk. "Anything else?"

  "I had trouble pulling your door open," I admitted. "I feel weak."

  "Are you thinner?" he asked as we walked back toward his office building.

  I felt my shoulder shrug. "Maybe a little? Not much, but I maybe had just a slight bit more padding going on than I do now."

  One hell of a diet, losing a year of your life.

  "No, this way," Sawyer said when I moved to climb up the steps to the front doors to his office.

  My brows knitted as I followed him around the side and then the back of the building where he stopped beside a thick steel door and stabbed in a long code to the little square security box there. The door opened and I was ushered inside. There was no door to enter the back of the office, but a staircase that led upward. I felt my spine stiffen.

  "Relax, babe. There's nowhere for you to be in the office that won't be uncomfortable so I am letting you crash at my place for a bit," he informed me, taking off toward the stairs at a jog.

  His place?

  He lived above his office?

  And, what's more, he was going to let me roam around his personal space?

  He didn't even know me.

  "Come on, Riya. I really do have places to be," he called from above me and I moved toward the stairs, gritting my teeth as my legs objected to the climb every single step of the way. "Not kidding about being sore," he said, turning to another door with another punch code and then pulling a door open, ushering me inside. But he didn't step in with me. "Help yourself to whatever you want. Play with Slim. But stay in the building until we're sure you're safe. I'll be back when I'm back."

  And with that, he left me alone.

  FOUR

  Riya- 4 hours

  Sawyer's apartment was somewhat similar to his office in that it was neat, streamlined, and very masculine. I, never being one to have a ton of fluffy, girly stuff laying around, found it almost a little comforting.

  The floors were the same deep hardwood from the floor below, but where the walls downstairs were gray, the walls in his home were a rich coffee brown. All the trim was white and the U-shaped kitchen to the left of the door was full of white cabinets with butcher block countertops and stainless steel appliances. There were stools butted up against the outside of the kitchen counter, but no actual dining space. Sawyer didn't exactly seem like the dinner party kind of person.

  Directly forward was a large living space with a long brown leather couch on the left wall and two armchairs in a brown and black pattern facing the front windows of the building. On the wall to the right, directly beside a hallway that, I imagined, led to the bedrooms and bathrooms and the like, was a giant, only-men-need-such-big-ones TV.

  To the right was a desk butted up against the wall with an impressive amount of clutter sitting on top, like maybe he used it more to throw random crap on than do actual work.

  I took a breath and moved toward the living room, peeking down the hall before I walked in, maybe a bit more paranoid than I usually was. But there were no dark corners to hide in so I moved on down.

  The first door to my right was a bathroom. It had a lighter than his usual palate cream tile and a giant walk-in shower along with a double vanity with wood-framed mirrors and overhead lights. And, to my surprise, there was a tub too. A nice soaking one, rectangular and deep, perfect to unwind after a hard day.

  I moved toward the door across the hall.

  And, well, I met Slim.

  That is to say, I walked into the master bedroom to find a slightly lighter brown on the walls, wood dressers, and a wood bed frame and headboard holding a giant, truly massive bed that had a rich patterned comforter on top.

  But on top of the comforter, was the biggest freaking dog I had ever seen in my life.

  I knew enough about dog breeds to recognize an English Mastiff when I saw one. I had seen countless pictures of them over the years- all hulking bodies, droopy eyes, and endless slobbery jowls.

  Slim was, well, not slim. He was huge. I was pretty sure if I laid down next to him, he would be longer than me. And he definitely outweighed me by a good hundred pounds. He was a rich gray-blue color with a thick brown leather collar. His tags jingled musically when he lifted his giant head and let out a truly half-hearted "woof", before dropping his head again.

  "Great guard dog you are," I said, moving in because I figured if Sawyer told me to play with him, that he must have been friendly. "Hey buddy," I said, sitting down at the edge of the bed and carefully reaching out to let him sniff my hand. And I swear the beast raised a brow at me like I was out of my mind, then snorted on the hand in question, and rolled onto his side to give me his belly.

  When a dog gave you his belly, especially on first introduction, you pet it.

  So I did.

  And soon, lulled by his friendly giant, lazy presence, and overwrought from the events of the morning and part of the afternoon, I slowly d
rifted off to sleep beside him.

  I woke up to the sound of Slim's trademark half-hearted "woof".

  "Shh," I whispered to him, reaching out toward him and feeling the side of his jowl against my hand, patting it.

  "He's alerting you to my presence, the timid little ass," Sawyer's voice said, amused, almost affectionate when talking about the dog, making me roll slightly so I could watch him walk into the room. "Looks mean as hell, but I swear he would help a burglar carry out the TV," he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and taking Slim's big head between his hands and rubbing, making his tail wag hard, slapping into my thigh with enough pressure to hurt.

  "What time is it?" I asked, the windows in his bedroom being behind the bed and, even then, shrouded with heavy, room darkening drapery.

  "Seven-thirty, give or take," he said casually, like it was no big deal.

  But it was a big deal. I had slept for five hours with his massive beast and wasted the whole day. We hadn't even gotten anything done.

  "Shit ran later than I planned," he said and I figured it was his version of an apology. "We can get to your old apartment first thing in the morning."

  "But..." I started to object, sitting up quickly and having to slam my hands down wide, one of them landing on Slim's back and he let out a grunt at the impact.

  "Whoa," Sawyer said, hand reaching out suddenly to grab my shoulder, pushing back enough to hold all my weight if I needed him to. But I didn't. "You alright?"

  "Lightheaded," I admitted, my brain feeling like it was swishing around in my skull and my eyes unable to focus for a long moment. "That's weird."

  Sawyer's hand slid from my shoulder and glided up my neck, cupping my jaw to tilt my face up to him just as my vision seemed to clear again. "Really curious to see how your blood work comes back. But maybe we should get some more food in you in case it's a sugar thing," he said.

  I wasn't sure if he realized it, but I was almost overwhelmingly aware of the fact that his thumb was stroking upward over my cheekbone, the sensation feeling way too good after way too bad a day. Really, that was the only explanation I could come up with for why the sweet, chaste contact sent a visible tremor through my body.