Page 29 of The Fixer

“Let me help. Let me weed through it and put some order to it. Give me the day and I’ll give you a starting point. There may be more treasures hidden in here.”

She rose then, and I wanted to go to her, to hold her, to take away those tears. But under Mateo’s watchful eyes, everything in me screamed to walk away. As a compromise, I placed a hand upon her back, prodding her back to the table and the piles of paper there.

The filing system Mateo spoke of on Charlie’s computer was similar to what we’d found inside his desk. Papers thick with crayon and pictures drawn in colored markers were randomly strewn among contracts, payroll records, and other business papers. Each picture was labeled with Eliza’s name, and her age and the date it was drawn. It seemed the man kept everything, the art from his daughter as important as his own work.

I kept an eye on the time, kept an eye on Eliza as she sat in her chair. Toned legs crossed, black skirt tastefully covering her cream-colored skin. Those fucking freckles tempting me as much as her lips wrapped around the end of her pen. The chime of an incoming text was a welcome distraction from where my thoughts kept going. I snagged it off the table beside me and bit back a cry of delight.

“What is it?” she asked, and I schooled the smile tugging on my lips.

“Lunch.”

“Lunch?” Mateo turned from the computer monitor, brows drawn before one rose in question.

“I ordered in. Be right back.” I left them there and stepped out of the room, taking a deep breath for what felt like the first time since Mateo caught me tugging at my sleeve. From the top of the stairs, I could see the delivery girl standing at the front desk, a too-large black hoodie open over a too-thin white tank top, the red fabric of her bra showing through. Her black jeans, slashed at the knees and thighs, were at odds with the tight bun that held her slicked-back golden hair.

The woman fidgeted like a junkie as I descended the stairs, but her skin and eyes were clear as I approached. I pulled some cash from my pocket and counted it out into her hand until the yellow sticky note I’d scribbled on earlier laid on top.

Elizabeth Dawn Westbrook.

“That everything?” she asked, the lilt of her voice as smooth as Tennessee whiskey.

With a nod, I took the bag of sandwiches from her outstretched hand. “For now.”

Her lips twitched. “If you’re still hungry later, we’re open late.”

“Great. I’ll be sure to order more.”

She spun on her heel, her black combat boots thumping against the tile floor as she left. I nodded at Vera at the front desk, raising the bag in my fist. “Interesting delivery people, but the best sandwiches in town.”

Relief and understanding swept her features as the woman saw the name of the sandwich shop on the bag. “You let me know if you need anything, Mr. Jet. I’d have been happy to order for you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Back upstairs, Mateo and Eliza hadn’t so much as moved. I handed them their sandwiches and felt warmth replace the stiffness in my muscles as Eliza took her first bite. Her eyes rolled back and she let out a little moan, chewing as if it was the best thing she’d ever had. The way she licked her lips, then licked the sauce that had pooled on her thumb…

Mateo cleared his throat with a gentle cough, and it reminded me to remove the temptation from my mind. To not think of her that way, of the things I wanted to do to her. I needed to remember my suspicions, all of them, and treat them like the truth until they were disproved or confirmed.

The stacks of papers shifted throughout the afternoon, and by evening, when clouds darkened the horizon and the sounds from the office below us rose and fell as the staff left, there was little remaining. Eliza gave a small sigh, pushing the final pile she’d been sorting through to the side. Her head fell to the table, cushioned in her arms.

“I’m so tired,” she murmured into the wood. “I just want to go to sleep.”

You should eat first. I bit back the retort on my lips, bit my tongue to keep from coddling her when I knew it was the last thing I should do. Mateo rose from the desk, stretching out his long limbs before grabbing his bag from the floor.

“I better get home to the missus. Eliza,” he said as he stopped in front of her and extended his hand, “it was a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for allowing me to help you today.”

A sad smile pulled at her lips as she shook his hand. “Will you be back tomorrow?”

“Will you?” Mateo indicated the dwindling pile of paperwork. “Looks to me like you’re mostly done.”

She gave a shrug, glancing around the room.

Her eyes didn’t fall on me.

“I’m sure there’s more to do. I still have no clue what I’m doing here.”

The man reached into his pocket, pulling out a neon orange scrap of paper, and held it out to her.

“Jingle Bell Rock?”