367 Days Read online

  And, judging by the way his dark eyes darkened and his hand tightened ever so slightly, he felt it.

  In the end, though, he exhaled loudly enough for it to almost be a sigh, then moved off the bed. "Come on. I have something for you and then I need to take this lug for a walk before we order."

  With that, Slim climbed off the bed, using it to stretch out long with his front paws on the floor, his back ones on the bed, his back arched, letting out a loud, long yawn.

  "Yeah, Slim, your life is tough," Sawyer said as he walked into the hall, his dog following behind him with interest, likely knowing it was time for him to go outside. "Come on, Riya," Sawyer called when I paused. I followed him back into the living room to stand on the outside of the kitchen counter whereas he was on the inside. A simple brown shopping bag was sitting on the countertop with a S inside a diamond logo on the front. "That's for you," he said simply, pulling open a drawer and finding a leash that made Slim let out a loud whimper as Sawyer leaned down to clip it on his collar.

  "What is it?"

  "Shit you need," he said simply, moving with his dog toward the door. "Be back in twenty and we can talk food."

  With that, he was gone again.

  Almost a little hesitantly as if there were snakes in the bag instead of "shit I'd need", I reached for the bag and half turned it over, letting the contents fall onto the counter.

  I'd be damned; it was shit I needed.

  This shit included: a toothbrush, travel size shampoo and conditioner in good brands, deodorant, girly razors and shaving cream (pink tax included, no doubt), a bra and pantie set, a pair of yoga pants, and a simple black zip up sweatshirt with the same S in a diamond logo as the bag.

  My hands went for the bra immediately, brows drawn together because, well, as all women know, it was hard enough to pick out a bra for yourself and you were the one who had been carting around those things every day since puberty. You never really knew. Sometimes your usual thirty-six C was too small or too big, depending on the brand and even the time of the month.

  So when my fingers pulled up the label and I saw, indeed, a thirty-six C, I couldn't keep my mouth from falling open.

  No way was he that observant.

  In my experience, most guys couldn't tell you their woman's pant size even though they had been peeling said pants off said woman for years.

  With a head shake, wondering if maybe he had gotten the information from Ashley who had intimate knowledge of the body parts in question, in all my body parts in fact, I collected all the items and moved them into the bathroom, waiting for Sawyer to get back.

  He walked in a couple minutes later, releasing Slim who moved over toward his giant water dish, drank two-thirds of it, then dripped the other third of it over the whole kitchen floor.

  "Can I take a shower?" I asked, as I had been waiting to for their whole walk.

  Sawyer's brows drew together. "I said to settle in, Riya."

  "No, um... I meant... am I done being poked and prodded? I won't be destroying any evidence or anything, will I?"

  His face softened a little at that as he reached into one of his cabinets and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. "Nah, babe. You're all done being examined. I mean," he said, smile going a little wicked, "not that I would mind..."

  "Okay then," I cut him off, smiling a little because I knew he was only trying to lighten the mood. "On that note, I am going to take a shower."

  He nodded at that. "Is pizza alright?"

  "Pizza is always a good idea," I agreed, moving away. "But if you put pineapple on it, I'm revoking your man card."

  To that, he chuckled slightly. "Meat lovers?"

  I looked back over my shoulder. "Now you're talking."

  "Want me to pour you a glass?" he asked, nodding toward the bottle of whiskey.

  "No thanks. I'm good," I said, going into the bathroom, closing, and locking the door. It wasn't that I couldn't use a drink. It was more that I could never drink it straight, especially not whiskey. As much as I hated to admit it, it was all about girly drinks for me. Give me a good cosmo or margarita and I was a happy camper. Straight liquor? God, no.

  I stripped and jumped in the shower, taking my sweet time getting every thing back in order, not caring if that meant the pizza got cold. I needed to feel more normal again.

  By the time I finished, maybe twenty minutes later, my legs were so sore they were shaking. I toweled off and climbed out to stare at myself in the mirror with a feeling of bone-deep helplessness.

  A year was gone. And something was wrong with my body. Never, not once in my life had the act of showering caused freaking muscle fatigue. That was insane. I had always taken decent care of myself. I wasn't model thin or overly muscular, but I made sure something green hit my mouth every day and I went to the gym an average of three days a week to keep things looking how I liked them to look. I could spend a night out dancing and not wake up with sore leg muscles.

  I dropped the towel and looked at myself in the mirror for the first time since waking up, seeing the small changes. I was thinner like I told Sawyer, though not enough to make my ribs stick out or anything like that. But I looked just a little weaker, a little more frail. Whatever definition I had in my arms and shoulders and tummy were gone, leaving just smooth skin. My hair was shorter, but not so short that it made me look all that different. My brows had grown in, but I kind of liked how they looked a little fuller. And, as odd as it was to say, my skin looked better than it ever had before.

  Then there were the weird things.

  Like my boobs hurt so bad. Really, it was like I was two weeks late for my period and they just kept getting more sore by the day. And my lower belly was a little bloated. Again, maybe a PMS thing, though that was never a thing I dealt with before. And, finally, I was hot. Literally. Like maybe I had a fever but I was pretty sure I didn't.

  "Know you have a lot of landscaping to deal with," Sawyer's voice called through the door and I snorted a little at the bluntness, "but the pizza is here."

  "I'll be out in a sec," I said, looking away from myself and focusing on getting dressed. I pulled on the panties and got myself into the bra, finding a small bit of relief from the soreness, then pulling on the pants and shirt, combing my fingers through my hair, and heading back out.

  "Better," he said, nodding as I walked out, getting paper plates out of a cabinet then moving toward the pizza box that had two foil to-go containers with plastic tops sitting on top. "Salad," he said, moving one toward me. "And I made you a cocktail."

  I stopped from pulling the top off the salad, brows drawn together. "You made me a cocktail?"

  "Babe, when I offered you whiskey, you looked like I offered you a pickle juice and anchovy shot. Figured you liked your drinks with some mixer in it."

  He was almost scarily observant. I guess that went with the job. He wouldn't be a very good private investigator if he was completely oblivious to details, even minor ones.

  "I do," I agreed, popping off the lid of my salad and pouring the house dressing over it. "So what did you make me?"

  "Fuck if I know. It's vodka with cranberry and orange juice."

  "That's called a Madras," I said with a small smile, reaching for the glass gratefully.

  "Interesting booze knowledge," he said, pulling out slices and putting one on each plate.

  "I took a bartending class for fun once. Some of it stuck."

  "Want to eat here while making stupid as fuck awkward small talk," he started, giving me a look, "or eat in front of the TV?"

  God, what was even on the TV anymore? "TV," I said, grabbing my plate and putting it over the salad while reaching for my drink.

  "How about some news? Help you get up to date on some shit. Got an election coming up."

  I didn't even know who the candidates were. "Sounds great," I said as I sat on the couch, putting my food on the coffee table.

  "Once more, with a little enthusiasm," he declared, reaching for the remote. "Just fucking with you. Th
is election is a shit show. How about some mindless reruns instead?"

  "Better," I agreed, head spinning. There would be time for catching up. Tomorrow. I deserved to let my brain have a bit of a break for the night.

  We ate in relative silence, the only conversation being him asking if I wanted another slice (I did) and a refill on my drink (yes to that as well).

  "Alright, if I know one thing, it's when a woman is silent for over an hour straight, she's got something on her mind," Sawyer said, walking back and sitting down beside me on the couch.

  "I have a lot on my mind. I think that's kind of normal when you are missing an entire year of your life."

  To that, he nodded, letting his hand land on my knee and giving it a small, reassuring squeeze that I would have thought was completely uncharacteristic of him, but he did it easily, without so much as a hint of hesitation.

  "Look. It's been a fuck of a day. You look beat. Hit the guest room and get some sleep. You can start putting your life back together tomorrow. Okay?" I nodded, taking a deep breath, and reaching to grab my plates and drink. "Leave it," he demanded in a way that left little room for argument. "Goodnight, Riya."

  "Goodnight," I said, giving him a small, grateful smile and heading toward the hall. I went into the room beside the bathroom and found the guest room. It was another deep color, this time a blue that was almost black with white trim and a lily-white comforter. The sheets underneath had a blue pattern mixed into the white. Somehow, despite the dark colors, there was a softness to the whole thing that I found comforting as I moved toward the bed, slipping off my bra, and climbing under the sheets.

  Despite my long nap earlier, I felt more tired than I ever had before.

  So I slept.

  Sawyer was right, I could start rebuilding my life in the morning.

  FIVE

  Sawyer

  I was rinsing the dishes when I watched Slim get up off the floor near the couch and wander leisurely down the hall. Curious, I leaned over the counter to watch him. Sure enough, he planted himself down in front of the guest room door with a long yawn, making it clear he was calling it a night after a long day of doing nothing.

  And while the giant beast usually slept on the foot of my bed at night, I had a sneaking suspicion that he would be keeping guard in front of her door instead.

  He was fickle with his loyalty like that.

  Plus, who wouldn't want to protect the pretty damsel in distress?

  I had just put the leftover pizza in the fridge when my cell vibrated on the counter, getting my attention. I knew it was Barrett before I even picked it up. He was on top of earning his money.

  "Hey, what ya' got?"

  "Not as much as you'd probably like," he started with, preparing me. "I have the file in your email. In English."

  "Alright. Give me a Cliffsnotes," I demanded as I moved back over to the living room to have one last drink before I called it a night too. It was going to be a long as fuck day the next day.

  "Riya Sweeney, adopted at age seven to Mike and Allison Sweeney who were forty at the time, childless, professionals in business and culinary arts respectively. Her birth records were sealed as it was a closed adoption. Riya, luckily, didn't have any physical or emotional abuse in her foster homes. At least none was reported. She was an A and B student all through school. She did lacross in high school and had one long-term boyfriend by the name of..."

  "Eric O'neil," I offered, it being the first name on her list.

  "Yeah, that's him. Jock. Football. He went to California for college which is likely how they broke up. She took some community college classes before landing a front desk job at the IVF clinic where she has been for about six years. She lived on her apartment on Maple for five of those years after moving out from her parents house at twenty-one, then living with another boyfriend..."

  "Derek James," I supplied.

  "Yep. For two years and then another boyfriend..."

  "Timir Lee," I added, surprised that three out of the five men she had been with, thus far, were long-term boyfriends.

  "For one year. I guess at that point, she decided to do her own thing. From what I can tell, no one actually lived with her on Maple. She paid her rent on time. Her credit rating was good. She tucked away the small inheritance from her parents as well as the sale money from their home into an account and only seemed to touch it when she needed a downpayment on a car."

  "So you're saying she did everything right."

  "Pretty much. Nothing criminal. She doesn't even have a parking ticket on record."

  "Alright. What about her work and health records?"

  "Work... good. They keep everything on file there. A lot of liability in a place like that. She has no warnings or write ups. As for health..." he started, flipping through pages. "She was pretty on time with her check-ups, both normal and gyno. She was on the Pill from the time she was sixteen until eighteen when she stopped refilling."

  "Mental health?"

  "Never seen a shrink. I mean, not that that means anything. But she's never been on any medication. No holds. No suicide attempts. And, given how steady her life has seemed, I wouldn't say anything points to her being nuts. There's nothing erratic, no bad periods. She was living a good life and then... she stopped living it."

  "What about the last two names I sent over?"

  "Right. Um. Chris Miller is just... I don't know, man. I think that might have been a one-night stand or a short fling. I can't find him anywhere on her old social media, not even in a group Instagram picture. Definitely wasn't a boyfriend."

  "And the last?"

  "Well, gotta say... there are about eighty Michael Robinsons in a twenty mile radius..."

  "You couldn't narrow it down?"

  "No social media about him either."

  "Alright," I said, exhaling. "Anything else?"

  "Not really. Her phone records were, well, typical. Lots of use of data and almost no actual phone time. She had a few friends she saw here and there, but no best friends. She went to Shane's gym. She went to movies. Really, just a normal girl."

  "Who dropped off the face of the Earth for a year."

  "Hear back from Ashley yet?"

  "No. She pulled some strings at the lab to get the tests run, but she won't hear back until tomorrow. Considering it is usually a week out for that kind of thing, I can't bitch."

  "So you're taking the case?"

  "Fuck if I know," I said honestly as I kicked my feet up on the coffee table. "But I got her crashing at my place right now."

  There was a long pause at that. "You have her crashing at your place?"

  "Yeah."

  "Alright, so you keep three safe houses around this county for situations like this with all amenities... but you brought her to your place instead."

  "I had shit to do. It was closer to bring her here."

  "Yeah, sure," he said and I could practically hear the smile he had on.

  "Say it," I demanded, knowing he was going to eventually anyway.

  "Bringing her back to your place has nothing to do with her being gorgeous then, huh? If, say, Riya Sweeney was Roy Sweeney with sixty extra pounds and meat-oily skin, instead of some exotic goddess..."

  "Exotic goddess is a little romantic for you, Barrett."

  "Just making a point."

  "She's in the guest room," I said, leaving out the fact that she had been on my bed and that my comforter likely smelled like her.

  "Sure. But for how long?"

  "Alright I think that's enough brotherly bonding for the night. Or a lifetime. I'll send the check first thing tomorrow."

  Barrett chuckled, knowing he had found a weak spot, likely cataloging that fact for later. "Alright. Keep me updated on this one. It's an interesting case."

  "Yep," I agreed, ending the call.

  Interesting case was an understatement.

  Most of the time, I was drowning in 'catch my cheating spouse' cases. Or, just as often lately, 'track my missing drug-addicted
child, spouse, friend' cases. Or, occasionally, a 'this person stole my identity and I need them tracked down' cases. After a while, it all became the same.

  But a woman who, barring proof she wasn't off her rocker, was missing a year of her life with no idea why, yeah, that was some refreshing shit.

  Though, I wouldn't deny that what Barrett said was at least partially true. I did have safe houses where I could store her while I figured her shit out. They were well-stocked and likely more comfortable for her than staying in her private investigator's house. That being said, a part of me thought that, after a day from hell, maybe the last thing she really wanted was to be alone with her thoughts. Plus, my place was safe with me and most of my staff one floor below and Slim with her. Granted, he seemed like a lazy fuck, but he could get off the floor and scare off someone when he needed to.

  It had very little to do with the fact that I liked looking at her. While I did, I knew better than to get involved with clients.

  And I damn sure didn't dip my wick in crazy.

  If she was.

  I genuinely thought that wasn't the case, but I was no shrink.

  She had no history, which was a good sign. But people could snap at any point so it was really just a waiting game until the tests came back the next morning.

  On that note, kitchen cleaned, doors locked, I made my way to the bedroom and called it a night, shaking my head at Slim the guard dog at his post outside the guest room.

  Another twenty-four hours and things should be a lot clearer.

  --

  I, being a morning person by nature thanks to my time in the military, always got up just before the sun rose. I took out Slim who was willing to leave his post for his morning walk. Then I brought him back, brewed the coffee, and hit the streets for a run. When I got back to shower, I was somewhat surprised she hadn't woken up yet given how early she crashed the night before, but figured that her mind and body maybe needed a rest.