Evan Arden: Otherwise Occupied Part 24

"Divided thoughts," Rinaldo said softly. "That will never do for you."

I continued to look him squarely in the eye.

"I only have one loyalty," I informed him and then nodded my head towards him.

He returned the nod but gave me a long, increasingly sad look.

"No good can come of what you're doing, son," he said. "One of you will get hurt."

I looked up at my boss and shrugged one shoulder again. The word "son" flowed over my skin and warmed me as I answered him.

"It won't be me."

Finding Bridgett was supposed to be fairly straightforward because she was still supposed to be in my apartment where she was when I left. Like a typical woman, she wasn't going to be that easy, even if she was a wh.o.r.e.

Aside from Odin, the apartment was empty when I got back no note or anything. She had been there for several days, and though she had gone out before, she usually told me first. I tried her cell, but she didn't pick up. I took a deep breath, jumped in the Mazda, and cruised around looking for her but to no avail.

When I returned, she was still gone.

She wasn't back the next day, either. I tried to tell myself that it didn't matter because there was a lot more I needed to figure out before I talked to her again. If there was even the slightest possibility that someone was framing her, I had to know who it was and quickly.

Who even knew about her?

I spent the next several days wandering around town, trying to catalog all the possibilities in my head. As sleep deprivation mounted, my thinking was a little less clear. The main problem was a lot of people knew about her. Just like Moretti had said, I wasn't being as careful as I usually was.

I blamed it on the lack of decent shuteye.

I had taken her to all the best spots around the Magnificent Mile on a freaking date, and anyone could have seen us together. Those at the 676 Restaurant and Bar certainly knew about her, as well as the people at the restaurant where we had dinner, and the saleslady at Tiffany's. Rinaldo knew I had been seeing someone prior to showing me the picture; he just didn't have a name to put with the face.

"Seeing someone?"

I shook my head to clear it.

Jonathan had picked her up and brought her to my apartment when I was sick. Just like it had been when Greco moved on Rinaldo, I had to consider him. Terry was always a suspect for anything, as far as I was concerned, because he was a douche.

For the next several days, I continued to drive around trying to find her. She didn't appear to have returned to her apartment. None of the other streetwalkers were admitting to seeing her, and she didn't come back to my place. She seemed to have disappeared completely.

I had to consider that it was all true, and the very thought sent me to the shooting range. The idea was so distasteful, I pushed it out of my tired mind, missed the bull's-eye twice, and left in a p.i.s.sier mood than when I had arrived.

I just couldn't keep myself occupied anymore.

With no better direction, I continued to consider who knew of my relationship however that was to be defined with Bridgett.

Pete, the security guy in the apartment lobby he saw her come up here to the apartment all the time. He'd been having trouble a few months ago with his wife, but I never followed up on the details. Maybe he knew something. Maybe he did something.

Why did I continue to a.s.sume she was being framed?

Because that made the most sense. If someone had seen me with her, then they might think they could use her to get to me. What easier way would they have than to plant the idea in someone's head that she's divulging information to Greco?

I also couldn't fathom the alternative.

Bridgett wouldn't betray me; I was sure of that. She wanted to live with me and set up house, for Christ's sakes. She wouldn't tell other people about my business. I never told her about s.h.i.t I was doing, so there wasn't even anything for her to tell.

I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. I was getting a headache from the lack of sleep. I hadn't had two hours of sleep in a row for a week, maybe more. I was starting to lose track of time a little.

I pulled out the phone logs Eddie Boy had dropped by all paper copies instead of electronic. I couldn't take a risk of the information being intercepted electronically. I was combing through Jonathan's a bit more, and anytime I used my computer, he seemed to know about it. I didn't find anything interesting or unusual at all, except that he'd been calling his dad a lot.

Focusing was becoming more difficult, and I knew it was making it harder for me to figure out what the h.e.l.l was going on with Bridgett and Greco, a.s.suming there was a connection at all. That knowledge didn't offer me any answers, though, nor did it help me sleep.

Sleep.

"You talk in your sleep."

"What the f.u.c.k? I do not."

"Not often, but you have a couple of times."

"What if I said something when I was sleeping?"

No.

No way.

"If I talked about Iraq, I could have said anything."

Odin snuffed at my shoe, and I realized I had been talking out loud. I reached down to rub the top of his head while my brain started forming a less-than-pleasant picture.

My eyes moved across the rooms in the apartment until they came to rest on my laptop, which I hadn't even had time to use for surfing since all of this started. I walked over to it carefully, like I was afraid of what might happen when I opened it. As the screen refreshed, the user ID and pa.s.sword screen popped up with the user ID already saved.

I entered my pa.s.sword incorrectly.

Incorrect pa.s.sword! You have reached the maximum attempts, and your account is now locked. Please contact your system administrator for a.s.sistance.

There were supposed to be three attempts. Always three attempts with three warnings before the system would lock you out on the fourth try. Someone had already tried, received the message, and then stopped. Unless Odin had some opposable thumbs hidden in his s.h.a.ggy fur, there was only one other person who had been in my apartment.

"Motherf.u.c.ker."

A few phone calls and a bus ride later, I was in front of Moretti.

"You found something."

"Not exactly," I admitted, "but there is a...a possibility."

He looked at me and waited for me to go on. I didn't miss Mario slightly shift in his footing, placing his weight at an easier distribution if he needed to draw his gun. I didn't think it was going to be necessary, but it depended on how Moretti took my news.

Full disclosure.

"It was more than f.u.c.king with that wh.o.r.e," I told him bluntly. His expression didn't show any surprise, but I also knew it wasn't what he was thinking. "She also...well, sir, she slept with me."

Mario snickered, and I glared at him. He raised both eyebrows back at me.

"Isn't that the same thing?" he asked.

"I mean, she'd stay at my apartment overnight," I clarified. "She slept in my bed with me, lots of times."

Moretti leaned back and folded his arms over his chest.

"What did you tell her?" Rinaldo asked coldly.

"Nothing," I swore. "Nothing intentionally."

Mario shifted again.

"I just remembered something she said a while ago something she said about me."

"And what might that be?"

I took a deep breath.

"She said I talked in my sleep."

Mario laughed out loud, and I considered just shooting the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, but that wasn't going to help me out here.

"I haven't confirmed anything," I told him, "but I admit there's a...a possibility she heard something. I just need to know who told you she was squealing because that could help me figure all of this out."

Rinaldo nodded his head.

"You aren't going to like it," he said.

It was all I needed to hear.

"Terry Kramer."

Rinaldo's lips tuned up in a sardonic smile.

"You believed him," I said, trying not to sound accusatory.

"He had good information," Rinaldo corrected. "He knew things he shouldn't know about."

"I've caught him following me."

"Then you do have some detective work ahead of you," my boss agreed. "I want whoever pa.s.sed sensitive information from my organization to Greco's dead. As long as that is your end goal, whose head you bring me isn't of consequence."

"I'll take care of it," I promised.

Moretti leaned forward on the desk and gazed at me. I tried to be patient, but all I really wanted to do was figure out what the h.e.l.l was going on and kill whoever was trying to turn the small amount of comfort I had found upside down.

"You know what you need, Evan?" Rinaldo questioned.

I shook my head.

"A good woman, that's what. A woman who is actually capable of getting through that thick head of yours."

I half smiled and blew a sharp breath out of my nose. I blinked away thoughts of the flowing dark hair of the woman in the cabin.

"You got any suggestions, boss?"

He looked me in the face, and his expression changed as his smile faltered. His face became a mask of worry as he motioned for me to sit in the chair opposite his desk and told Mario to wait outside.

I sat down somewhat hesitantly. As soon as I sat, the heavy feeling of near unconsciousness shoved inside my brain and made me feel like I was going to fall over. I was pretty sure if I closed my eyes even for a second, I'd fall over onto the floor. The problem was I'd be awake ten minutes later sweating and maybe even screaming.

I had to get some sleep.

"I'll tell you something, Evan," Rinaldo said as he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands together. "There is something I was considering."

"Considering, sir?"

"My daughter, Luisa."

My muscles wanted to stiffen significantly, but I forced myself to remain still and calm. Something wasn't right he wasn't smiling or anything like he might have been if he was going to suggest I date her, but he didn't seem angry at all like he might have thought I touched her without permission. I couldn't read him not at all.

I definitely needed some sleep. I was totally off my game.

"Your daughter, sir?"

"You know her."

It was a statement, not a question, but I nodded anyway.

"You are only three years apart in age," he remarked. "She is a beautiful girl."

Again, I nodded as I watched him closely, but he wasn't giving me any signs to indicate where this conversation was going. My hands went clammy, and I could feel my heart pounding in my wrists.

"I considered you for her," he finally said. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk as his hands folded beneath his chin. "I considered you for a long time."

Considered past tense. Considered only not offering. I had done something wrong, but I had no idea what he was getting at. Was it because of my f.u.c.kup last year? I thought all had been forgiven at this point. Did finding Ashton's body somehow cause concerns? Every indication in the news said the authorities were stumped.

Because I killed the f.u.c.king pimp?

It wasn't that I wanted Luisa. She was beautiful and obviously from a very powerful family, and that came with a whole lot of perks I found interesting, no doubt. However, I didn't want her any more than I wanted any other woman in my life.

Well, except maybe one.

I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just kept the eye contact and waited. I had to be pretty d.a.m.n patient, too.

"In many ways, you are the perfect choice," he said quietly when he finally decided I had sweated it out enough. "I have no son so this is all hers."