The Messenger (Professionals Book 3) Read online

  Because what she was looking back at was herself.

  Going to work, coming home much later, going to the gym, getting takeout, having brunch with her mom, going to the movies with her sister.

  There was a picture of her window shopping at a pet store.

  One of her getting out of her car, her skirt hitched up much higher than she would have allowed anyone else to see.

  Another with her sitting in her car at work, hands clutching the wheel, head resting at the very top of it.

  Just tired it seemed at first.

  But there was another snap a moment later of her looking up, makeup running.

  I forced my eyes away from the endless pictures, a part of me wanting to look, to see all the parts of her life. The other part of me, though, knew that this was not how she would want me to see her, when she wasn't aware, when she wouldn't have wanted to be seen - in weak moments, in compromising moments.

  I moved toward a different wall, finding handwritten pages, the chicken scratch making it actual investigative work to figure out what was written there.

  The first page had basic facts. Full name, address, work, known hangouts.

  The next had a list of, well, all of us. Along with scribbled notes.

  I snorted when I saw a note next to Gunner's name that said Bad blood. Why?

  My stomach knotted as I scanned down to my name, knowing that if he noticed the animosity between Jules and Gunner, he no doubt picked up on the situation with me and her.

  Kai. In love with her. She's either oblivious or uninterested. The poor sap.

  It was better than I expected.

  My head turned over my shoulder, seeing Jules still simply scanning the seemingly endless photos of her, trying to, I imagine, piece it all together as well.

  I turned back to the paperwork, figuring it would give me a lot more than any of the pictures would.

  The next sheet I reached for was more in-depth information on Jules.

  Height. Weight. Shoe size. Food preferences. Cup size. And, right there at the bottom, a different list. One I didn't quite get until I read a few of the lines.

  Fantasies.

  The bastard wrote down a list of the things she liked - or wanted to try - in bed.

  Unable to help it, my hand curled inward from where I was holding it, crumpling up the words into a tight ball, crushing it in my palm, the anger a rather foreign, uncomfortable thing as it worked its way through my body, getting my veins heated, my skin crawling.

  I swallowed back the acidic taste to my saliva, forcing myself to go to the next piece of paper, just finding basic little life notes, little tidbits about herself she had given him, things he wanted to appear to remember. So he could come off like the doting, perfect boyfriend.

  I mean... how far was he willing to take this?

  If he hadn't gotten into her bank account this morning, would he have fully committed? Married her? Gotten his name on her accounts, so the money was his as well?

  Then leave her?

  Hell, leave her possibly pregnant? To raise a baby on her own?

  Jules was a careful person, a woman all about timelines. She would have made sure there were no oopsies before the wedding. But she also wanted to be a mother. And likely before she got too much older. I would bet that she would have ditched contraceptives, and let nature take its course pretty soon after the wedding.

  I moved to the small square folding table with a matching chair set up like a desk against one wall, finding a mass of paperwork that made me suddenly feel I needed to get my things in order on my own desk.

  I pulled out the chair, sitting down, knowing this was going to take a bit with the sheer number of documents there.

  Pieces of Jules' mail

  An old bank statement showing the hefty savings she had meticulously accumulated having worked for Quin since he opened. Every damn bit of it was hard-earned too.

  And he saw it as an easy way to set himself up for a couple years.

  There was another sheet of paper in his chicken scratch, a bunch of random words and number combinations.

  Except none of them were random.

  Her mother's maiden name.

  Her sister's birthday.

  The name of their childhood golden retriever.

  Her zip code.

  From the looks of things, he'd been trying to figure out her passcode for her account for a long while, jotting down every bit of information thrown at him.

  I couldn't help but wonder what actually did it, what was right, what parts of her past she used to protect her present.

  And why today?

  Of all days, why and how had he figured it out on what was supposed to be their wedding day? Had she said something to him? Or had he found something when he had gone back to the apartment that he had never noticed before?

  Burning questions, all.

  Finished, I pushed out the chair, moving to stand, turning to check on Jules, see if she was managing to process the information better than she had been a moment before.

  Seeming to sense the motion, she slowly turned from where she was holding a picture of Gemma, her head thrown back, laughing, everything about her radiating light and love as she so often did.

  "It was never real," she concluded, tone hollow, lacking any emotion at all, just a dead recount of the situation as though it didn't involve her. And certainly not her heart. "What's that?" she asked, jerking her chin toward my hand, one I hadn't realized was still clutching that one piece of paper. The one I knew she didn't want to see. The one I knew would shatter her calm.

  "Nothing," I objected, moving to take a step to the side as she advanced me.

  "It's not nothing. If it was nothing, you wouldn't be trying to protect me from it," she shot back, knowing me maybe a bit too well.

  "Jules, this stuff he wrote down... it's not important."

  "It's important to me," she specified, brow raising, getting a bit of her spirit back. The kind that said she would stop at nothing to get the paper in my hand, to read what I so badly didn't want her to. "Give me the paper, Kai," she demanded, moving in right in front of me, hand going outward, fingers curling impatiently. "Fine," she grumbled when I didn't hand it over. Her hand closed over mine, fingers wiggling between, snagging the piece of paper, pulling it out of my closed fist.

  I leaned back against the wall, the air exhaling so hard out of me it almost sounded like a sigh as I watched Jules carefully unroll the paper, try to flatten it out so the awful handwriting was more easily seen.

  It took a minute.

  As it had with me.

  Just going over the basic things like her size that, while invasive, wasn't anything to be freaked out about.

  I could see it the moment she realized what the other list was.

  Her lips parted.

  Her eyes widened.

  Her breathing simply stopped.

  "Oh, my God," she whimpered, seeming to lose whatever strength she had that had kept her on her feet.

  She slowly sank down, knees hitting the ground.

  Both hands were still holding the paper, pulled so tightly that it looked about ready to rip down the center.

  A fracture started in my heart at the complete and absolute horror on her face.

  Because if there was one thing that should be sacrosanct, it was the intimate parts of you, the things meant only to be shared between partners. Because you would never give that to a person if you didn't think you could trust them with it, that they would value it, that they would respect it enough to keep it private.

  And here it all was, written on paper for anyone to see. For him to analyze. To possibly use against her. Use to manipulate her.

  "Hey," I started as I lowered down in front of her, not sure I even had the right words, but knowing I needed to try to find them. For her. For her sanity. To get that horrific look off her face. My hand reached for the paper, pulling it away, surprised when her fingers allowed it, crumpling the page up again, dropping i
t, and reaching to snag her chin, forcing her face up, giving it a second before her eyes found mine. "He's a conman. This is what conmen do. They study you. They find information on you."

  "He wrote it down," she hissed, trying to take a deep breath.

  "Yeah, Jules. But, I think, for his eyes only. Nothing here implies anyone other than him was involved."

  "And my eyes. And your eyes." Her voice did that hitching thing again, but her eyes were completely dry.

  "I stopped reading," I told her, watching as her eyes closed hard. "No, look at me," I demanded, giving her chin a little squeeze. "As soon as I realized what it was, I stopped reading. Your secrets are yours to keep, Jules. And I would never betray you like that."

  Either simply knowing me, or hearing the sincerity in my tone - or both - she gave me a short nod. "I know that," she agreed, letting out a breath that made her body tremble with its intensity.

  "What's going on in there?" I asked when she just continued to sit there, looking off to her side, but not seeming to see anything at all.

  "I don't even know," she admitted, and I knew it was another sucker punch to her pride to even say such a thing, for a woman so sure of herself to feel so utterly lost. "What are you thinking?"

  "I'm thinking there's nothing here to go on. He likely took his electronics. He's meticulous in his research, so I think he would be smart enough to take anything pointing to his plans. I think we need more to go on."

  "He had a job," she suggested.

  "But did he really?" I asked. "He fabricated a whole life..."

  "No, he had a job," she insisted. "In a building. I've been there. I surprised him with lunch or dinner when I could get away for an hour."

  That made sense, really.

  This was a long con.

  Don Juan jobs often were.

  It took a while to gain a woman's trust.

  Longer to get access to her finances.

  If he didn't have enough of a savings from a previous job, he would need to support himself through the research and implementation process.

  "What'd he do?"

  To that, she let out a humorless snort.

  "Accounting," she supplied, reaching up to rake a frustrated hand through her hair.

  "Road trip?" I asked, trying to keep my tone lighter, trying to keep her from going too deep in a hole while there was still so much work to do.

  "Kai..." she said, shaking her head.

  "What?" I asked, brows drawing together, not entirely sure what that tone of voice was, pretty certain I had never heard it before from her.

  Her head shook again. "I can't ask..."

  "You're not asking. I'm offering," I cut her off, tone a bit final, not wanting her to think there was any doubt or hesitation for me.

  "Kai, it's my concern, not yours."

  "It concerns you, Jules, so it concerns me too."

  I didn't care that maybe that was saying too much, showing my hand, proving that all these months I had just been playing a part, that my feelings were now as they always had been.

  I watched, waiting to see the recognition, but all she gave me was a slow exhale, closing her eyes like she was attempting to find some patience or strength - or combination of the two.

  "What happens if we find nothing at his office either?"

  "Jules, if there is one thing I have learned from working with Quin - and everyone else - it is that there is always something. No one is good enough to erase everything."

  "Except Finn," Jules interjected.

  "Except Finn," I agreed. "But I very much doubt that Gary is anywhere near as good as Finn. There will be something somewhere to go on."

  "And then what?"

  "Then we track the lead."

  "It could take a while."

  "Yeah, it could," I agreed.

  "You need to work. I'm, ha, I'm on my honeymoon for three weeks. No one will notice me gone. But you... you need to be there."

  "I need to be on this case," I countered, shrugging. "I will feed Miller a story. She will buy it."

  Of course she would.

  Because she never would have figured me for a liar.

  I felt a stab of guilt at having to do it, but if someday it all came out, Miller would understand.

  "And what if Quin needs you?"

  "Jules, honey, let me worry about me, okay?"

  "I'm going to worry too since I am what is getting in the way of your work."

  "Listen, what is going on with you is more important than Quin maybe getting pissed with me, okay? So stop. This is my priority right now. You're my priority right now. So, let's stop talking about it, and get working on it. Yeah?" I asked, getting to my feet, reaching down to offer her my hand.

  She looked up at it for a long moment, her brows drawn together over her light eyes.

  Just when I was sure she was going to refuse it, was going to get to her feet herself, her hand slid into mine, tentatively at first, then curling in as mine did, allowing me to carefully pull her up.

  "Yeah," she agreed, giving me a nod even as her shoulders squared, her chin lifted, her spine went to steel.

  And that was the Jules I knew.

  But, I realized, that was not - as I had thought - the whole picture, the whole woman.

  Maybe some would feel like a dream was shattering to realize that the woman they had loved was only a part of who she really was.

  But all I could feel as we left the apartment was excitement. Even pleasure. That there was more to know. That there were parts of her that I would get to know that others would not.

  Selfish, maybe.

  But true nonetheless.

  -

  Flashback - 10 months before -

  "Ladies," Kai's voice broke into the quiet moment Miller and Jules were enjoying in the sitting room on the second floor.

  Miller had been crashing there, being on-call for a job, and figuring it would be easier to stay close in case she was needed.

  Jules had been cleaning out and restocking the fridge as she did a few times a week - always keeping the place prepped in case of emergency clients coming in, needing a place to stay.

  Miller had come out, convincing Jules to get off her heel-clad feet for a few moments, both of them sitting on the couch talking about her upcoming case.

  "How did you know we would be here?" Miller asked, seeing the cardboard carrying tray of coffee. And, well, his hot chocolate. Since that was all he drank.

  "Quin said you were crashing," he supplied, handing Miller her coffee. "And Jules always restocks on Tuesday nights," he added, giving Jules that look he always gave her. His usual puppy-dog look, but mixed with longing and devotion. She reached for her coffee, giving him her usual pleased, but somewhat oblivious look right back.

  "You wanna sit and shirk responsibilities with us?" Miller suggested, waving a hand toward the chair.

  Kai looked over at it, a mix of tempted and resigned to his fate. One that would take him clear across the country to piss off a rather large cocaine smuggler. You know, just another day at the office for him.

  "I got a job. But you ladies have fun. And make sure Gunner or Finn walk her out later," he added, talking to Miller about Jules. "She's too stubborn for her own good sometimes," he added, moving off to the door, leaving as quickly as he had appeared, but creating something new in the air around them, a new dynamic, something that Miller felt the need to comment on.

  "You can't tell me you haven't thought about it."

  "Thought about what?" Jules asked, taking a sniff of her caramel coffee before tasting it. It would be perfect. Because it always was. This was Kai they were talking about here. He always got your order right. That was just how he was.

  "About Kai."

  "What about him?"

  "Oh, come on," Miller said, rolling her eyes. "You had to have thought about giving him a try."

  "And why would I do that?"

  "You are a young, vibrant woman in an office full of Grade-A dudes, that's why."

>   "This is work," Jules insisted, as Miller figured she might. All this time, and she had never seen her so much as eye-bang any of the guys. And they were all eye-bangable. Even if you didn't actually want to go there. For work or, well, personality reasons.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. Is it no longer work-appropriate to have a functioning vagina? What do you do, unscrew it before you come in every morning? Come on."

  "I'm seeing someone."

  Ugh.

  Yes.

  Gary.

  Who no one - save for her - liked.

  The pretty boy with a good resumè. And a shitty personality.

  I guess there was no accounting for taste.

  Who was she to judge?

  She hadn't had an actual relationship in... well, she wasn't even sure.

  "So what? You haven't always been with him. Tell me you haven't considered Kai. Especially with how into you he is."

  To that, her body jerked back, but Miller had a feeling it wasn't necessarily surprise. Just shock. That someone else had noticed? Or had the lack of decency to bring it up?

  Miller had never been accused of being completely tactful.

  Call it being the only girl in an all-boys club. She picked up on their completely tone-deafness to subtlety a long ass time ago.

  "He's never said anything to that effect," Jules insisted, back ramrod straight.

  "Right. And you are dead, dumb, and blind to boot."

  "Miller..."

  "Don't 'Miller' me like I am being ridiculous. You're the one who has had that man trailing after you like he's in a goddamn rom-com since the day you started here. And you are going to try to act like you don't know?" Miller asked, head bobbing to the side a bit, pure attitude. "He's cute," she insisted. "Tell me you at least see that."

  "He's cute," Jules confirmed, as if such a thing needed confirmation. Saying Kai wasn't cute would be like saying Gunner wasn't hot, regardless of her personal feelings about him.

  "And sweet."

  "And sweet," Jules agreed.

  "And funny, interesting, talented, well-mannered..."

  "Yes, all those things too."

  "Then what's the problem?"