Page 16

Chapter 16

Jay

W e stopped at the local big box store and bought two cheap fake gold bands, foregoing the engagement ring.

“With this ring,” I joked as I handed her the ring, sticky tag and all.

“Funny, Sheppard.” She smiled, but didn’t laugh.

She does that a lot; I wonder why . Did she go home and tell her friends how exasperating it is working with us? With me? Did she journal about the men at work driving her crazy?

Or was she afraid to get too close?

“I’m Mr. Bishop now.” I doubled down with a smirk.

Without missing a beat, she answered, “Funny, Bishop.”

A thin layer of ice melted from my heart at her attempt at humor.

Nothing to write home about, but I disliked her a little less hearing her lighten up and seeing her smile reach her eyes .

Her beautiful blue eyes. They reminded me of a cloudless sky on a perfect June day. But they usually stared at me with impatience or disgust so I rarely appreciated how striking they were.

“Let’s go. Darling’s expecting us,” she said.

“After you, Sweetums.”

“No.”

“Sugar pie?”

“No.”

“Snookems? You can’t say no to that.”

“Hell no.” This time she laughed. Maxwell didn’t have a dainty laugh. It was more like a hyena cackling, at least that was what it sounded like when she huffed it out at me. But it was still a laugh.

“I feel like I’d have a pet name for my wife.”

But not Catie. I’d learned the hard, bloody way not to call her by that particular nickname.

Maxwell chose not to respond, instead giving me some talking points and asking me if I wanted to take the lead.

I did. We hadn’t formed a lifelong friendship or anything, but I felt like I’d connected with Darling.

“Thanks for meeting with us again,” I said when he answered the door.

“No problem, I’ll do whatever I can to get Wendy back.”

“We appreciate your time and will keep this brief,” Maxwell said.

“Have you found anything yet?”

“Not yet, but we have some leads,” I answered as he led us to the kitchen .

Instead of sitting, I stopped at the refrigerator and pointed at the Quick Wash business card. “Do you use the Quick Wash?”

“No, I did some work on one of their company vans. Why?”

“What about Wendy?”

“I suggested them when she spilled something on her favorite dress. But I don’t know if she used them.”

He played with his finger, where his wedding ring used to be.

Maxwell noticed it too.

“Do you think they have something to do with Wendy’s disappearance?”

Interesting he made the connection before we mentioned it.

“We have reason to believe she was there recently, so we’re checking it out.”

He nodded and looked at the business card while playing with his finger.

“Have you ever been to the room behind the cleaners?” I asked.

Maxwell and I had talked about how to handle Darling, and had agreed to take it slow and lead up to the secret room. Instead, I charged out of the gate with it. His reaction told me everything I wanted to know.

His head snapped up as he asked, “How do you, I mean, no, what room? ”

“Mr. Darling, you obviously know about it. The sooner you tell us, the better,” I hadn’t meant to come off as the bad-cop half of the team, but since I had, I went with it.

“We’re not here to accuse you of anything, we just want to find Wendy,” Maxwell played the good cop without missing a beat.

“I want that too, but-” he said.

“But you don’t want to tell us you’ve been gambling?” Maxwell is going to kill me .

“I. I.” He hung his head. “No.”

“It’s okay. Like I said, we’re not here to accuse you of anything, and we understand things can get out of control,” Maxwell soothed him. “Do you owe them money?”

“Yes,” he finally admitted. “Do you think that’s why they took Wendy?”

“We don’t know if they’re involved,” Maxwell answered.

“Have they threatened you in anyway?” I asked.

“No. We have an agreement. I’ve been working off my debt, and I haven’t gambled in weeks.”

“How did you find them?” Maxwell asked.

“They found me. Like I said, I worked on their company van. One of the guys overheard me talking to a friend at work about taking a trip to Vegas. I wanted to go, thinking it’d be good to get away, but couldn’t afford it. I’m a casual gambler, so I was as interested in the change of scenery as much as the casinos.”

“So he approached you?” I asked, pushing him back on track .

“Yeah, he was real nice, apologized for interrupting us and eavesdropping, but since he had, could he offer us a local solution.”

“If Vegas wasn’t about the gambling, why’d you say yes?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t have if it’d been just me, but my friend wanted to go so we made a night out of it.”

“Did you both lose?” Maxwell asked.

“No, only me. I’d been on a winning streak and my hand was a sure thing. Or so I thought, but I didn’t have enough money to call. They offered to let me bet with money I didn’t have.”

“Like a loan, if you lost?” I asked. Poor guy was set up. No doubt the house cheated.

“Exactly. I was able to make the first payment without any issues. But then I got sick-” he cut himself off. “I sent Wendy to the cleaners with the second payment. I assumed all she did was drop it off to Adam at the front counter.” Guilt washed over his face.

Maxwell and I made eye contact; we could now connect Wendy to the Quick Wash. And Roman. Unfortunately, that connection didn’t bode well for her.

“Did she say anything afterwards? Has she mentioned the cleaners since then?” I asked.

“No. Nothing. But she’s a teenager.” He broke eye contact. “She doesn’t talk to me much about anything anymore.”

We got more information on his payment plan, which sounded generous given what we knew about Roman .

Back in the truck, Maxwell said, “I have a feeling Wendy is the reason for his generous repayment plan.”

“That doesn’t sound ominous at all.” I said, turning the key and bringing my truck to life.

“Yeah, until we know the why we’ll assume the worst.”

“Sexual favors?” I asked, feeling gross just for saying it.

“Maybe, but it could be voluntary on her part. I doubt she would’ve mentioned Mr. R. the way she did if she was being coerced or forced.”

“Good point. You think Mr. R could be related to Roman?” I asked. We knew from the picture that Mr. R. wasn’t Richard Roman, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a Roman.

“It’s possible, but we can’t assume.”

I wasn’t assuming, I was thinking out loud, but didn’t think it was worth arguing over. Not when we were more or less on the same page and getting along. “Fair enough. Where to next?”

She pulled up the ex-boyfriend’s information. “Let’s surprise Bill with a visit. I’d like to find out what she said when she broke up with him.”

She typed the address into the dashboard GPS.

Fortunately, Bill was home and happy to tell us all about how Wendy trampled his heart by pulling a one-eighty and dumping him for an older, richer, better-looking guy.

“Her words, not mine.” He looked Maxwell up and down. I noticed that happening a lot during this investigation. No wonder she dresses in suits and plays down her beauty .

“Did she tell you his name?” I asked, forcing his attention back to me .

“No, she just described him like he was her meal ticket.”

“Thank you for your time,” Maxwell stuck out her hand, which he eagerly shook.

“Can we call you if we have any more questions?” I asked.

“Sure.” His attention still on Maxwell.

Wanting to stop the ogling, I stepped between them and handed him my business card. “If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to call.”

Back in the truck, Maxwell turned on me. “What the hell was that all about?”

“What?”

“You know what. I don’t need you protecting me from someone looking at me,” she huffed.

“What, you like that shit? Guys drooling over you while you question them?” I knew it wasn’t true, and I really shouldn’t have said it.

“Fuck you, Sheppard.” She slammed her seatbelt to lock it in place.

I stared. I hadn’t expected that reaction. Anger yes, but I figured she’d fight back, not close down.

The click as I secured my seatbelt set her off.

“I’ll have you know, I can handle myself.”

I opened my mouth to apologize, but she started again.

“I fucking hate it when men treat me like I’m an object to stare at. But you know what, Sheppard, it serves a purpose,” she yelled.

“What purpose could it possibly serve?” I yelled back .

“They underestimate me and I learn a lot more because of it. Just because you think a woman can’t do this job doesn’t make it true.”

What the hell? Where’d that come from? I’d been an ass on more than one occasion—this occasion being the most recent—but I’d never been a sexist ass.

Have I? No, I hadn’t. Just an everyday, run of the mill ass.

“You know what, next time I’ll just let them drool and leer and strip you naked with their eyes while you’re talking to them. Maybe I’ll even encourage it.”

Now I’m being a sexist ass, with a capital A . At least I sounded like one.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Just trying to help.”

“Well, don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t help.”

“Fine.” You’re acting like an idiot, Sheppard .

“Fine.”

We drove the rest of the way in silence, Maxwell working on her phone, while I drove. I had a feeling we wouldn’t get much more work done tonight. At least not together. And the lion’s share of the blame was mine.

What was it about Maxwell that made me act like a raging lunatic?