Chapter 18
Ryan
Her words hunglike a thick haze in my brain.Still processing?My hands gripped under the ledge of the cold, concrete steps I backed up to, and collapsed down on. Anger and confusion tore through my veins and my fingers curled, crushing into the rough surface of the cement. With just a little more pressure, I knew I was so infuriated I could crumble the stairs into fine dust.Still fucking processing?I hadn’t expected her to tell him we just finished our second round of slapping sillies, but tostill be processing itwhen my body was still rubbery and tingling from being with her, not cool.
I took a deep breath, her scent still on my skin, and watched silently as she stormed off into her car and drove away. Her tires squealed, sending a cloud of white smoke along the blacktop.
Captain Anderson pulled himself up off the grass, his movements stiff and awkward, his uniform smeared with mud and dead grass. “I’ll have your job for—”
“Not when I show the video footage,” I interrupted, pointing my index finger at the cameras that hung off the overhang of the house. I didn’t know if they actually recorded anything. I knew from coming over here to see Dean, he had a security system put in, so I might as well threaten the Captain with it.
“Bullshit,” he growled.
I smiled wide, laughing. “Call my bluff, asshole. I’d do anything to protect her.”
“Anything to protect her,” he repeated with a smug tone. He took a few steps closer, and ran his hand across his mouth, giving me an arrogant laugh. “She does have one hell of a pussy, doesn’t she? One of those tight ones you want to fight to keep on your dick.”
I wanted to turn my face away from him in disgust, as hatred and repulsion burned through me—but I didn’t take my eyes off him once.
Why him? Why the hell did she pick someone like him? There was literally not one redeeming value that I could see in him. And what kind of person was she to have loved him? I guess that was the shit thatIwould have to process, wasn’t it? “Much better than your wife’s, right? And totally worth your entire career.” I smiled, staring him down.
His eyes narrowed at me and his jaw flexed, yet he gave no rebuttal.
“Have a nice day,Captain,” I said low, through clenched teeth.
My hands tightened around the coarse lip of the step—I needed to refrain from letting go—if I did they’d be instantly around his throat.
He said nothing else, but slowly backed away, eyeing me coldly. I could feel the jealously and hate radiating from his gaze—it matched my own—yet I would not speak further or move an inch. The thought of ripping his cocky smile off his face was a far too pleasing an image in my head, and I needed to control the impulse of flying at him. Instead, I focused on breathing steadily, and doing the right thing, even though every cell in my body was screaming at me to serve justice for his abuse of authority. Unfortunately, my brand of justice at that very moment would probably have gotten me locked up—which would have added more problems for Brooke, not lessen them.
By the time his patrol car was turning the corner, my head was clear enough to continue my job. Inside Brooke’s apartment was the envelope with the Private Investigator’s address, and there were a few burning questions I wanted to ask him, as soon as possible.
I jumped right into my plan of action. Without another thought, I climbed into my car and typed in the address stamped on the front of the envelope I’d found into my phone’s GPS. I needed to get to the bottom of this.
Forty minutes later, I found myself driving through an upscale neighborhood on Long Island with perfectly manicured yards and trees lining the streets. I would have bet this private investigator made a mint on lonely housewives and their cheating husbands. Uncaring, I parked the car in a “No Parking Zone,” and shoved my parking plaque against my windshield.
I walked quickly across a small plaza area toward a tiny storefront. The front windows were blacked out and elegantly etched with the name of the investigator scrolled across the glass and somewhere, somehow, soft jazz drifted around the buildings. In the cold breeze, the scent of fresh-roasted coffee hung enticingly in the air.
One of those annoying bells jingled when I walked through the door, giving me the sudden urge to shoot the stupid thing.
The office was empty except for an older secretary who sat stiffly behind a desk filing her nails. She smiled kindly as I walked in, her hawk-like eyes trailing over me from head to toe. “Welcome to Dietz Investigations. How may we help you today?”
I held my shield up over the desk and smiled back. “Detective Ryan Cage, NYPD. I was wondering if I could speak with one of the investigators here.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Yes, of course,” she coughed, nervously. She smoothed down her shirt and stood up, rushing her tiny frame toward the door behind her desk. She knocked on the door softly and poked her head in without waiting for any reply.
Less than ten seconds later, she popped her head back through the door and chirped, “Please come in, Mr. Dietz can see you right now.”
I nodded curtly, and pushed passed her as she held the door open for me and batted her eyelashes.
“Brad Dietz?” I greeted, as I walked inside. I turned back toward the open door and winked at the secretary, “Thanks, hun. You can close that door now.”
She looked away and slipped out, clicking the door softly closed. I knew she was standing on the other side, hand still wrapped around the knob, with her ear flat against the door.
Behind his desk, Brad Dietz leaned forward, watching me with beady eyes. He was a big man, showing years of poor eating habits just from the way he was out of breath from suddenly standing up and holding out a beefy, sweat-soaked hand for me to shake.
“Mr. Dietz, I’m Detective Ryan Cage. Thanks for giving me a chance to speak with you.” I offered the man a wave of my hand, a quick gesture to sit back down, before he suffered a massive heart attack.
“Mr. Dietz, are you aware that somebody committed a burglary in a member of the service’s apartment, vandalized and destroyed property and left pictures that you took, at the scene?”
