How to Kill Your Boss (9 page)

“Not much,” I lied and shrugged my shoulders. “I’d only bumped into him a few times on the elevator.”

Why did I feel the need to omit the truth? Not sure. Self-preservation, maybe? Didn’t want to have an emotional breakdown? Perhaps. Part of me was perturbed that Nan, notorious for minding her own business even though she somehow knew everyone’s affairs, was suddenly nosier than a bloodhound.

Agitated by the fact that Jacob’s attack was on the hush-hush, my paranoia spiked dangerously fast. Maybe Franklin was right: whoever took the pictures was actually spying on Jacob, not me.

I needed lunch to be over so I could get to my office and Google Jacob Smart. “Well, Nan. It’s the start of a busy week. Let’s get to it.” I left a five and some change on the table and we headed out.

When I returned to my desk, hell-bent on digging up some Jacob dirt, Franklin was still MIA. I hadn’t a clue where he’d ghosted off to, but whatever. Gave me time to spy.

For three hours, I ignored my work and researched Jacob. I even dug deep into our under-the-radar and barely legal police and government searches. Came up with nada. Zip. The Jacob Smart I knew seemingly didn’t exist. The bookstore he’d supposedly owned? Big, fat, in-your-face fib. The man wasn’t even listed as the owner of his condo.

Once again, my hunt for answers only filled my noggin with more questions. Franklin’s words spun in my head.
The shit I know would blow your mind.

Who was Franklin Reed? I glanced at the door, then typed his name in the search bar. There were close to a gazillion results. I scrolled through the first few pages and gave up. It didn’t feel right checking up on him, especially when he could sneak in any second.

Without Franklin sharing my personal space, the room seemed void and cold. I hadn’t realized how comfortable he’d become or how much I relied on his company to get me through the daily drudgery of our jobs. Did that mean I missed him? Crapola, but it did. I missed the secretive, ninja stealth sexpot that’d given me the best romp of my life. Goosebumps tickled me from scalp to toes.

Stupid, girlie libido.

I pushed to my feet and headed towards Nan’s office. “Hey, have you heard from Franklin?”

She didn’t take her eyes off her computer screen. “Yes. He went home sick. Told me not to expect him for a few days.”

Sick? What was he up to?

Nan’s fingers danced atop her keyboard. “I’ve been watching the news all afternoon. There’s nothing about your murder.” Frustration thick in her voice, she shook her head. “Creepy, isn’t it? Such a brutal murder in our city not mentioned anywhere?”

“Yeah. Weird.” She had no idea. I wasn’t about to enlighten her.

Nan pushed her chair back, stood, and grabbed my shoulders. “Why don’t you come and stay with me for a few days? You must be terrified to go home.”

Yes, any sane person would’ve been all over that offer of safe haven. Apparently, Franklin non-fucked the sanity clean out of my horny little brain. “Thanks, Nan. I appreciate the offer. I’m staying with a friend,” I fibbed. I didn’t want to, but I also didn’t feel like explaining to her the many reasons I wanted to stay at my place, each of them beginning and ending with Franklin. As much as I loved the woman, getting to know her in that personal of a capacity held no appeal to me.

“Oh. Okay. That’s good.” Her expression sagged and she went back to typing on her computer. “What did you say his name was?” she asked, staring blankly at her screen.

“Jacob Smart.” I shouldn’t have given his full name, if that even was his name, but it didn’t hurt to have someone else on the hunt for answers.

I ambled back to my desk and plugged my way through three of the new case files. How Wallace was able to schmooze these high profile clients was beyond me. And why did rich people even bother getting married? According to our records, every marriage in Seattle with a household income above the seven-digit mark suffered from dick-in-the-wrong-woman disease. The job did little to foster my faith in the human spirit.

Was Franklin the faithful type? No clue. By the way he reacted to finding the rose on my desk, it seemed he was. I hoped so, anyway. Not that we were a couple or anything.

I plopped the finished documents on Nan’s desk, waved a goodbye, and headed out the door. The underground garage was well lit and monitored by our own security team, but when I stepped off the elevator,
ice cold dread smacked me right between the eyes. My parking space was two slots away from the door, and I’d never been afraid to walk to my car alone. I glanced around. John from IT was pulling out of the lot in his new
Prius. He smiled and nodded. I waved goodbye.

I turned to unlock my car and froze when I noticed a single red rose tucked under my windshield wiper.

I stood still and debated whether or not to touch the evil flower. The elevator ding echoed through the underground cavern. The door slid open and out walked Stacy and Pete, our two accountants. They shouted goodbyes to me and headed to their cars.

I pretended to dig for my keys instead of standing around like a dumbass. When they were out of view, I picked up the rose and tossed it on the ground. Then I stomped on the stupid, creepy thing and kicked it under the car parked next to mine.

My hands trembled, making it impossible to push the unlock button on my key fob. Sheesh. I needed to put this day far, far behind me. Already on edge, my bladder nearly burst when a deep voice called out to me. I turned and came face to chest with Detective Waters.

“Holy shit! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” I slammed my palms against his pecs.

“Miss Wood.” He fought back a smile. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I wanted to get in touch before you headed home.”

“Well, here I am. Touch away.” Oh, shit. Did I say that? “I mean. Crap. What’s up?”

His face crinkled, as if it hurt to witness my lack of verbal grace. “I called your cell and left a few messages. I wanted to talk to you in person, so I took a chance and swung by. I’m glad I caught you.”

I rested my butt against my car door and crossed my arms. My cell, huh? Shoot. Must’ve forgotten to turn it on. I was so preoccupied I hadn’t noticed my phone didn’t buzz, not even once.

“I’m sorry, detective. My phone’s been turned off all day.”

“Please, call me Leland.” He rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m no longer on the case so there’s no need for the formalities.”

“No longer on the case?” I asked, unnerved by the look of vexation on his face. “What’s happened? Did you solve the murder?”

“No, Miss Wood. That’s why I need to speak with you.”

I held my palm up to stop him. “I call you Leland, you call me Tatum. Deal?”

“Deal,” he grunted, scanning the parking lot corner to corner.

He sure was handsome for a man his age. Especially when his dimples appeared and the wrinkles around his eyes crinkled together.

“So. The SPD has been relieved of the case. It seems this neighbor of yours was involved in some deeply guarded government shit.” He raised an eyebrow. “Please don’t ask me to elaborate. I’ve crossed the line already by coming here.” Leland leaned against the car, his hip and shoulder pressing against mine. Not in an inappropriate way, but more an overprotective, big brother sort of way.

I turned and lifted my chin to meet him eye to eye. “What does this have to do with me?”

“Before they took over, I found this.” He pulled a photo from his chest pocket. I stared at it. Held it closer to my face. Then my knees wobbled. The photo looked to be at least thirty years old, but there was no denying two of the subjects. My dad and Jacob seated in what appeared to be a bar, flanked by two scantily clad women. Glasses raised. Smiles wide.

“That’s your father,” he stated.

I rubbed my finger across the image of dad’s face. He seemed so happy. “How did you know it was my dad?”

“I knew your father. Wood is a common name so I didn’t put two and two together until I found the photo. Antonio Wood. Tatum Wood. You have his eyes.”

“How did you know him?”

“I can’t discuss the nature of our relationship. You have to trust me. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Jacob Smart bought the condo next door to you. I didn’t share the photo with the suits.” He turned to face me. “They are going to question you again. Tell them exactly what you already told us, nothing more. This conversation never happened. If you need anything, call me on this number.” He shoved a folded piece of paper into my hand. “Not the number I gave you before. They’ll be tracing my calls.”

My hands shook as I tried to decipher the handwritten digits. “I don’t…what…should I be…” God. My mind reeled. Dad? How was this possible? “What’s going on, Leland? Should I be worried?”

He released a frustrated gust of air. “I’m not sure what’s going on. I need to dig deeper. I want you to know, I’ve got your back.”

I held up a hand to stop him from speaking. “Is this why the attacks weren’t on any news feeds? I mean, it’s strange, right? They should’ve at least made the local news.”

Leland closed his eyes and shook his head. “I can’t tell you any more than I already have. Just know I’m here for you.”

“Why?”

His shoulders slumped and he backed away. “I owe your father. Keep the photo. I made a copy.” He turned and stormed through the exit doors.

I jumped into my car, turned the locks, and powered up my cell. Yup, there were three missed calls from the same unknown number.

I didn’t bother to listen. I just wanted to get home and put Monday behind me.

The rest of the week passed without incident. Jacob’s apartment was a hotbed of men in dark suits, shiny shoes, and shinier hair when I returned home on Monday evening and, following Leland’s advice, I told them exactly what I’d already told the police. Nothing more, nothing less.

I had managed to coerce one of them into telling me that Jacob was recovering well and that I needn’t worry about him. They remained tight-lipped when I asked where he was, but they did promise to keep me updated on his health.

Mysterious Mr. Reed was a no-show at the office. Wallace landed more clients, which doubled my workload. That was a good thing. I dug in and kept my thoughts on other people’s problems. There wasn’t time to think about murders or non-dates or mind-blowing orgasms.

I hadn’t heard from Franklin, either. I did check my phone at least a hundred times a day in case he’d texted. But he didn’t, and that stung more than I’d expected it to. Emptiness consumed me. My house, my bed, my gut. Nothing but a dark void. I’d only spent a weekend with him. Not even an entire weekend. Already, a Franklin-sized hole occupied most of my heart.

On Friday, a few minutes after five, I packed up my things and headed out. A large-breasted, Botox-injected, bleach-blonde stepped off the elevator and headed straight for me. “Nan Cummings?” she asked, her bottom lip barely moving.

My face scrunched in an embarrassing display of morbid curiosity. I couldn’t take my eyes off her plump lips. “She’s in her office. Down the hall, first door on the right.” I pointed her in the right direction.

She smiled. At least I think it was a smile. Her eyes seemed happier anyway. “Thank you, dear.” She turned to go and tripped. I threw out an arm to catch her. Somehow, her hand tangled in my hair. When she pulled away, strands of my blond locks went with her, snagged by her gaudy rings.

“Ouch.” I winced and pressed a hand to the back of my head to soothe the sting.

“Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” She righted herself. “I’m such a klutz.”

“I’m okay. Killer heels, huh?” I joked.

“You’d think I would’ve learned to walk in them by now,” she muttered, then pivoted and swayed down the hall, her designer shoes clacking against the hardwood. I recognized her as Dahlia Montgomery, one of the cheating spouses Cruse Investigations had been hired to expose. The proof we provided of her torrid affair saved her husband millions on the divorce settlement, and Wallace received a hefty bonus. A large sum, which he did not share with the people whom actually dug up the dirt. One of the many reasons I despised Wallace Cruse.

What business could Dahlia possibly have with Nan? Were we even allowed to meet with her? Part of me wanted to tiptoe down the hall and eavesdrop, but most of me needed to crawl into bed. Nan was a big girl. If anyone could handle a sticky situation, it was her.

I reached my car, slid into the seat, and kicked off my shoes. Ah, I loved the time of day when I could take off my pumps, almost as much as I loved chucking my bra the minute I got home. I twisted around to grab my flip-flops off the backseat and screamed out loud when I found a dozen red roses lying in their place.

“Holy shit.” My heart raced, my hands trembled. “Sick bastard!” I jumped out of the car, ripped the back door open, and threw the wretched flowers on the ground. I’d never peeled out of the parking garage before, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being watched and wanted to get the hell out of there. I needed Franklin. Craved the safety of his arms. I knew it was crazy. He was a stranger. An extraordinary, arcane man who made my heart swoon and my brain turn to mush.

I started on my usual route, but the ache in my gut turned to a sharp stab and the only person with the ability to unknot my intestines lived the opposite direction. I swerved across three lanes to make the exit and managed the fifteen minute trek to Franklin’s apartment without breaking any traffic laws.

I took the stairs two by two and banged on his door, huffing and puffing to catch my breath. No answer. I pounded louder. Nothing. Shoot. I couldn’t go home. I didn’t want to offer a fake smile to another federal agent or police officer, or whoever the hell they were.

I ended up in the Malted Maven, in the same seat I sat in for my first and last non-date, only one week ago. The same waitress waved at me from behind the counter, poured a drink from the tap, and sashayed my way.

“Hey, you’re Frankie’s girl,” she announced, her voice warmer than I recalled. “Dark beer, right?” She placed the foamy mug in front of me.