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Chapter Ten
Reid
Should have looked right, princess.
I stood next to Alex in the shadows of the alleyway that adjoined the Midtown Bank Café as we put off making our separate entrances into the event until the last possible minute.
Color me surprised when I heard the click, click, click of high heels and then caught sight of my favorite petite blonde puzzle that I just can’t seem to figure out - my walking, talking coincidence in stilettos.
Mine.
She looked around like maybe she was searching for someone before crossing the intersection over to her sleek, black sports car with tinted windows and custom fitted black rims. Fitting…for a mafia princess.
“She’s hot as fuck, right? She’s like a tiny stick of dynamite just waiting to explode. She’s fun sized…” Whatever Alex was planning to say next was cut off with one swift elbow from his wife knocking the breath from his lungs and quite possibly cracking a rib.
He’s messing with me. It’s a good thing I know his game because if I didn’t, he wouldn’t still be standing. He’s not wrong about anything he said, but the fact that the words left his mouth and not mine pisses me the fuck off. And the fact that, that pisses me off only makes me that much angrier at the entire situation.
“She’s not staying.” The realization that she was leaving before the event even began hit me as she pulled out of her parking spot and down the adjacent street.
“Appears that way, but what does it matter?” He shrugged nonchalantly. “I sent the files up the chain of command; they also agreed that we have nothing tying her to this case. I’m here tonight for personal reasons, and to make sure you don’t do anything stupid – lucky for me, it looks like your stupid decisions just left in a sweet little sports car, so I’m off the hook. In case you needed a reminder, you’re here to verify that Bill and Shelia have nothing to do with our current case now that they’re back on U.S. soil. As far as everyone in that building knows, we are in no way connected. Are you ready?”
“Jesus, guys, I’ve been ready. They put the tiny cakes out ten minutes ago and the demon that lives in my stomach is about fifteen seconds away from clawing its way out and destroying everything in its path.” Emily pushed off of the wall we were leaned against with a grunt that sounded more male than female, she is just one of the boys after all.
“That was a lovely visual, Straton. Why don’t the two of you go on in, and I will follow in a few minutes.” I pulled the heel of my leather loafer up behind me as I crossed my arms over my chest, and continued to hold the wall up with my body in the dark recesses of the alley wishing more than anything that I was in my combat boots and not these damn frat boy shoes.
I received an invitation tonight to appear on behalf of the Chapman Group. Obviously, my father was above making an appearance, and since I worked this claim, that responsibility landed on me. I couldn’t have planned it better because I haven’t seen Bill and Shelia in over a decade. I need to speak with them, if only for a minute, to confirm my suspicions that they aren’t involved in any of the illegal shit my father has his hands in.
I stood against the wall counting down the minutes, unable to keep my thoughts from wondering what Holly needed to do that was so important she would miss this event. She’s been working on this project for weeks, and tonight will be the first night the finished product is revealed to the city and its patrons, and yet she left before it even began.
It’s not any of your business.
One of the things that makes me such a good agent is my ability to control my emotions in any given situation. I’m a chameleon of sorts, I adapt to any situation I’m thrown into with ease and precision. I’m constantly in the zone, but Holly is doing something to me. She’s messing with my ability to maintain that control, and I can’t figure out how she’s doing it. So, sure, maybe Alex cleared her as a suspect from this case, but I can’t clear her from my fucking mind as easily.
???
“Would you look at that, Reid Chapman, so nice to see you could make it tonight.” I recognized Beth’s voice speaking from behind me before I even turned, the distinct slow southern drawl of her words giving her away.
I spoke with Bill and Shelia when I arrived, and they were exactly how I remember them from decades ago. They’ve always been like family to me. Hell, more so given the current circumstances. It was apparent within just a few moments of our conversation that they were merely nearing retirement age, and ready to travel instead of run a full-time business. There was no evident malicious intent, nor was there any indication of illegal activity involvement with my father or his colleagues.
I watched on earlier as the ribbon for the café was cut and from my corner in the back of the crowded establishment, it appeared as though they named Beth their new partner and future owner of the café. Beth preened under their praise, as if maybe in some way they are her family too.
If working this case has taught me anything it’s that blood doesn’t make you family. I live out the majority of my life in a lie, if you want to look at it that way. Ninety percent of the time I’m not who I say I am. Hell, half the time I forget myself. Even then, if I truly am who I say I am – like right now – I’m really not who I appear to be. My inner circle is small because it has to be, and the people inside of that circle are the people that I consider my family.
I turned slowly, expecting to meet Beth’s blue eyes, but instead I was first met with a pair of dark brown eyes. Asher Cohen, world renowned chef, and widow. Doesn’t look like he’s so lonely anymore. I make it a point to know all of the players in each and every case I walk into, even the ones that initially appear to be of no significance, like Mr. Cohen here.
What’s more interesting? Asher Cohen purchased my penthouse in the Shaeffer building. He’s living in the home I had custom built for myself, which means that through technology we installed years ago, Alex has had a front row seat to watching the Beth and Asher show evolve over the last few weeks.
I know him, but he has no idea who I am.
My identity wasn’t released during the purchasing process of the penthouse other than some information that indicated that I was involved with the Chapman Group, which by technicality, I actually was not.
His eyes watch me, he's hesitant. He’s determining if I’m a threat to him or, more importantly, to Beth, who he holds by the hip with a grip that’s tight enough to let her know he’s there, but not so tight she’ll be bruised in the morning.
He’s possessive, a man who clearly recognizes how quickly something precious can be lost. What’s even more interesting is the way his eye contact shifts from mine and darts to a younger brunette standing over in the corner. Wild curly brown hair, similar to that of the blonde that stands in front of me, blue eyes – also similar. She’s talking to Samuel Sanders, goes by the name of Sam, recently adopted by Jason and Olivia Sanders.
I see what Asher sees as I watch their eyes dance as they stare at each other and the young girl licks her bottom lip, running her finger down the front of the boys’ flannel button down shirt playfully. Cutting my eyes back to Asher, his jaw ticks once and his hand flexes on Beth’s hip, maybe she will have a bruise in the morning.
“Reid Chapman, this is Asher Cohen – Asher, Reid. Reid was the claims specialist assigned to our insurance claim from the Chapman Group, remember? I told you about him.” Beth spoke softly, looking over her shoulder to meet Asher’s eyes, calming him.
