things shifted since we ran into you.”
“Why a private investigator?”
His elbows rest on the chair arms, his fingers joined in a perfect steeple. He examines me before he answers. “Good question. The field agent in charge called me in on this because he needed an extra pair of feet on the ground.”
“ Show me your ID.” I try to mask my fear with anger.
He smirks and then reaches into his pocket and pulls out what I’m asking for. He shows me his ID, a temporary FBI ID , and his business card that reads DWInvestigations . Like all this is supposed to comfort me. It doesn’t. At all.
“Pretty smart to ask for that.”
My head lists to the right and in the snarkiest tone I can muster, I say, “I’m not stupid, although it may appear that way. And just so you know, if I weren’t in such a bad way with these blasted headaches, I would be doing everything in my power to get away from you. The only reason I haven’t is because I know it’s hopeless. You got that?”
The tears elbow their way past my lids again as thoughts of Nick move into focus. The last weeks we spent together were awful. I would lose my temper and yell at him for no reason, other than the stupid fact that my head was splintering. He would try to soothe my tattered nerves, but I was so distraught I wouldn’t let him. That proverbial cycle continued until one day, he simply looked at me with regret and sorrow and then told me he couldn’t deal with it anymore. With slumped shoulders, he walked away and I never saw him after that.
Now he ’s dead, a bullet in his head, which truly should’ve been in mine. Where’s the justice in that?
Lord , I have to stop thinking about him. If I don’t, these thoughts will drive me to the brink of insanity. How the hell did all this happen? My head falls onto my arms crossed over my raised knees.
Then his voice startles me. I’d almost forgotten he was here.
“Gemini, we have a big mystery to solve and I need your help.”
“I need some Lortabs.”
He fetches me some from the bathroom . I take them without a word.
“How many doctors have you seen for this condition?”
“Enough. Not that you would give a damn. None of them helped. I’ve given up on doctors.”
“You didn’t see the right one.”
Who the hell is this guy? “Thanks, Einstein. Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?”
“ Matter of fact, I do. When I was in Afghanistan and Iraq, I knew a lot of guys who were victims of IEDs. They suffered from severe concussions and headaches, hearing loss, that sort of thing. But right now, we need to figure out why those men went to your mom’s house.”
“It’s my house. I inherited it from her when she died.”
“Okay, your house. So why would they go there?”
“Hell if I know. I haven’t been there in two years. I just have someone take care of the thing.”
Now he turns brusque. “Tell me everything you know.”
“I already have,” I snap as we glare at each other. My temper is short secondary to pain.
His eyes are beautiful. Not blue and not gray, they’re fanned with thick , dark lashes. His lids have a way of drifting to the half-closed position, giving him a very sexual look. I’m not quite sure if he’s trying to achieve this or if it’s a natural thing for him. Whatever the case, it’s ridiculously hot. Why the hell I would notice this now baffles me. This dude is holding me prisoner. He’s probably trying to trance me into developing a bad case of Stockholm syndrome. That’s all I need. My fingers pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Stay with me, Gemini.” His voice is stern and he’s losing patience.
“Can I lie down while you talk to me?”
“Ye s.”
Why must he always be so brusque? “Um, what did you say your name was again?”
“Drexel,” he says. “You need to understand something. I need solid information from you now or your case is going to be turned over to Homeland Security or the CIA or both. Then I’m not sure what
“Why a private investigator?”
His elbows rest on the chair arms, his fingers joined in a perfect steeple. He examines me before he answers. “Good question. The field agent in charge called me in on this because he needed an extra pair of feet on the ground.”
“ Show me your ID.” I try to mask my fear with anger.
He smirks and then reaches into his pocket and pulls out what I’m asking for. He shows me his ID, a temporary FBI ID , and his business card that reads DWInvestigations . Like all this is supposed to comfort me. It doesn’t. At all.
“Pretty smart to ask for that.”
My head lists to the right and in the snarkiest tone I can muster, I say, “I’m not stupid, although it may appear that way. And just so you know, if I weren’t in such a bad way with these blasted headaches, I would be doing everything in my power to get away from you. The only reason I haven’t is because I know it’s hopeless. You got that?”
The tears elbow their way past my lids again as thoughts of Nick move into focus. The last weeks we spent together were awful. I would lose my temper and yell at him for no reason, other than the stupid fact that my head was splintering. He would try to soothe my tattered nerves, but I was so distraught I wouldn’t let him. That proverbial cycle continued until one day, he simply looked at me with regret and sorrow and then told me he couldn’t deal with it anymore. With slumped shoulders, he walked away and I never saw him after that.
Now he ’s dead, a bullet in his head, which truly should’ve been in mine. Where’s the justice in that?
Lord , I have to stop thinking about him. If I don’t, these thoughts will drive me to the brink of insanity. How the hell did all this happen? My head falls onto my arms crossed over my raised knees.
Then his voice startles me. I’d almost forgotten he was here.
“Gemini, we have a big mystery to solve and I need your help.”
“I need some Lortabs.”
He fetches me some from the bathroom . I take them without a word.
“How many doctors have you seen for this condition?”
“Enough. Not that you would give a damn. None of them helped. I’ve given up on doctors.”
“You didn’t see the right one.”
Who the hell is this guy? “Thanks, Einstein. Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?”
“ Matter of fact, I do. When I was in Afghanistan and Iraq, I knew a lot of guys who were victims of IEDs. They suffered from severe concussions and headaches, hearing loss, that sort of thing. But right now, we need to figure out why those men went to your mom’s house.”
“It’s my house. I inherited it from her when she died.”
“Okay, your house. So why would they go there?”
“Hell if I know. I haven’t been there in two years. I just have someone take care of the thing.”
Now he turns brusque. “Tell me everything you know.”
“I already have,” I snap as we glare at each other. My temper is short secondary to pain.
His eyes are beautiful. Not blue and not gray, they’re fanned with thick , dark lashes. His lids have a way of drifting to the half-closed position, giving him a very sexual look. I’m not quite sure if he’s trying to achieve this or if it’s a natural thing for him. Whatever the case, it’s ridiculously hot. Why the hell I would notice this now baffles me. This dude is holding me prisoner. He’s probably trying to trance me into developing a bad case of Stockholm syndrome. That’s all I need. My fingers pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Stay with me, Gemini.” His voice is stern and he’s losing patience.
“Can I lie down while you talk to me?”
“Ye s.”
Why must he always be so brusque? “Um, what did you say your name was again?”
“Drexel,” he says. “You need to understand something. I need solid information from you now or your case is going to be turned over to Homeland Security or the CIA or both. Then I’m not sure what
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