Devil’s in the Details (8 page)

Flopping down into the plush burgundy leather seat of the silver BMW X5 SUV, I set my duffel on the passenger seat instead of tucking it into the trunk like I normally did. I would only have to drive three blocks in my personal car before switching it out at the small rental car place where my employer had set up for all of us “plumbers” to utilize the company cars with ease and discretion. Making it even harder to be traced if things went to shit on a job.

I was grateful for this little perk, only for the fact that I had once taken my personal car to a job and ended up having to torch it after I got blood all over the upholstery. Now I only ever drove the company cars for jobs or anything that might result in me using my unique talents.

After quickly switching out the BMW for a plain black sedan, I raced over to the seedy side of the capital city. My jaw clenched as the streets degraded from clean and shiny, to graffiti ridden and full of the night walkers that made my skin crawl. I also felt my stomach turn when I realized that this was the neighborhood Alexandra chose to live in. A wave of wanting to protect her washed over me out of nowhere. I squeezed the steering wheel, funneling out the feeling into the hard plastic. It was a feeling I didn't welcome because it meant that not only was I continuing to get involved, but I was also getting attached.

And getting attached was far worse than getting involved.

Twenty-five minutes later, I was standing inside a half assed attempt to turn a shitty apartment into an industrial hipster loft. There was exposed brick and metal duct work all around the small one-bedroom loft, trying to give off the appeal of deconstructed construction. It only succeeded in exposing the foundation and structure issues of the worn down apartment building. I shook my head and made a note to dig into the landlord’s records to see how bad he was gouging his tenants. Then send in one of my city inspector friends to check up on how well the building met up to city codes.

Setting my duffel bag down right next to the front door, I pulled on a pair of leather gloves and started scanning around the loft. There were stacks of brown packing boxes with girly, curvy handwriting in black marker directing the eye to pick out which one had kitchen items and which one had books. There was a full sized bed pushed against the eastern brick wall with white and purple blankets tussled about and left as they laid. There was a medium sized rusted metal desk pushed over and under the large cloudy windows on the southernmost wall. On top of that desk was an older white laptop and a handful of papers scattered around it. There was a tiny kitchen in the far corner of the room. It held nothing more than a refrigerator, a cabinet or two, with an industrial sized sink with clean dishes stacked to one end of it. I noted there was no overflowing trash can of takeout containers. Which meant either this Alexander never ate or she cooked at home a lot.

I wasn't interested in the laptop. I knew Dani would have already had done everything on her end to keep tabs on Alexandra and every little thing she did online. I was more focused on finding out who this woman was and what I would have to do to make her lose interest in me.

I shuffled around the room, picking through many of the boxes. Finding nothing but old medical texts, a handful of romance novels, and a few bestselling nonfiction books I had seen line all the shelves in all of the airports I frequented in my life. I poked in another box, smirking when I saw it was her movie collection, finding a few of the old classics I also carried in my personal movie collection.

In a small box pushed next to the bed, I found picture frames and albums mixed in with framed diplomas from high school, college, and nursing school. I picked up a large stack and sat down on the edge of the bed, looking over the diplomas first. Alexandra A. Ivers had gone to a small town high school in Winchester, Virginia, then moved on to the University of Virginia to graduate with honors in nursing and then moved on to New York City where she received her nursing license. All of the diplomas and degrees were perfectly matted and framed with care. Telling me that the woman was proud of her achievements that took her out of the small town she lived in and on to one of the biggest cities in the world.

I set the diplomas to the side with care and went through the picture albums. The first two documented the woman's life from her high school cheerleading years as a teenager to her big move to New York. Grinning with friends, family, and a few men who looked like boyfriends or suitors. A few of the old Polaroid’s had handwritten scribbles on the white band under the glossy image. There was a picture with ‘
Alex and Jess '00’
written in the open white space. I found another one with a handsome man draped over the brunette labeled,
‘Alex and Billy take Brooklyn’
and a handful of other quick notations of fun memories.

I furrowed my brow, smiling as the nickname clicked in my head. "Alex. I kind of like it better than Alexandra." I continued to sift through the plastic covered pages until a sudden pang of guilt fell into my thoughts. Forcing me to slap the albums shut and set them back in the box.

I never ever felt guilt when rifling through people's things. Especially the things of my marks. It was all a part of the job, a part of the research process and getting to know the person. Find the perfect way for them to die and have it mean very little to those investigating it. Granted, those were the marks that I had the time to investigate and set up a perfect scenario like Thomas had experienced a night ago.

But right now I felt guilty.

Guilty that I was sitting in this woman's home. Probably the only place she really felt safe now in this city. Here I was, picking through her things like a nosy neighbor, trying to figure out what kind of threat she was. Well, I was trying to figure out if she was actually a threat, but my gut was telling me she was far from a threat like I understood the true meaning of the term. But then my heart would pipe in and tell me she was a threat, a threat to the foundation I stood on if I continued to get involved.

I took a heavy breath and stood up from the bed, looking for anything that would give me something to chase her away from me. To make her believe I was a last minute superhero that took her to the hospital and nothing more. I turned to the kitchen when my eye caught a small notebook on the black metal nightstand by the bed. The top of the notebook was covered by a thin yellow piece of paper that looked to be an auto mechanic's quote slip. I picked up the yellow paper unfolding it. It was a repair quote for a 1974 Mini Cooper. I smiled at the image of the brunette tooling around in the tiny sports car. As I read over the quote, I saw she was being taken advantage of. She was given a quote that was well over three times the amount it would normally cost to replace the air filter and fix fan belts.

Without thinking, I took a picture of the slip, particularly the address of the shop and phone number. I would make a phone call in the morning and make sure that her car was taken care of and at a reasonable price. I hated when men thought women were ignorant to life on a whole.

Setting the slip to the side, I reached for the small, worn red leather notebook that was bound together by a single black rubber band, doing its best to hold the overstuffed book closed. Picking it up, I flipped to the back without a second thought. Ignoring the postcards stuffed in the crease, the little news clippings, and other tiny mementos one kept in a journal as their life documentation. Knowing that any most recent entry would be in the back.

The last page had a small entry dated from this morning in the same curvy handwriting that was around me on the boxes. A white piece of paper folded in half was tucked on the next page.

"
Her name is Victoria Bancroft. I think she is the one who, not only saved me, but could be responsible for those pictures the detective showed me. I haven't told anyone about her since I found her on the internet, because I know I will sound crazy.

All I know is that no matter how much I try to fight it. I want to find her. I need to find her. To say thank you and look in her eyes. Look in her eyes and see if what I felt that night, is still there."

I chewed on the inside of my lip, reading over the private musings of this Alex. I moved a gloved finger to the white paper, flicking it open to reveal it was a print out from the security footage. A hard copy of me staring directly in the camera.

"Shit." I replaced the paper and closed the journal. Setting it back on the nightstand as I found it, I scanned around the loft. My mind working a thousand miles a minute only to settle on a single hard thought.

She felt the same thing I did. She was feeling the same things I was now.

This was not good.

"Alex, are you sure? I can walk with you a little longer?" Stacy looked at me with a semi-concerned look.

I smiled, "It's okay. I can tell how bored to death you are with all of this history." I shoved her gently on the shoulder, "Go and take a break. I saw you staring at the small shops across the street." I shifted on the wooden cane twisted into a spiral Bill gave me when I left this morning, "I have my cane." I waved my hand around the large campus of the Naval Academy, "And a million sailors that will rush to my rescue if need be."

Stacy shrugged, smiling back, "Okay Alex, I’ll be back in maybe a half hour and then lunch?"

I nodded, "Sounds like a plan. I just want to check out the admissions building. Bill said something about scheduling a guided tour in there."

Stacy gave me a look, "Who knew you were one for military history Alex." She turned to walk across the street, visually picking out her first destination. "Call me if you need me, and make sure you tell people you won the fight." She motioned to my still healing face. The bruises had turned to a lighter shade of yellow and green at the edges. The swelling around my eye had gone down, and my split lip was fine without needing a small piece of tape to hold it closed.

After we picked up my newly repaired mini cooper, I would have to offer to drive Stacy around for the next week to pay her back for everything.

The mechanic had called while we were on our way to Annapolis, telling me that they were able to finish up a few days earlier than the two weeks he promised me and that the repairs were so minor they were on the house. A far cry from the thousand dollar quote I was handed after towing my car there before heading to my mother's house. It made me curious, but not curious enough to question it. Even though the mechanic sounded frightened when he told me that if I had troubles with the car in the future, he would take care of them for free.

Maybe my luck was turning around.

I half smiled, watching Stacy run across the street and get swallowed up in shopping bliss, before I turned back to the large white building towering in front of me. Removing the small map of the campus I had downloaded and printed out before Stacy picked me up, I glanced at it. I was right in front of the admissions building where I would be able to find out where the blonde was teaching or at least where her office was.

Walking as fast as my sore body would let me, I smiled at a young female sailor who held the door open for me. Her eyes roaming over my injuries as she held her smile, I shrugged at her as I passed, "I don't think boxing is the profession for me anymore. Can you point me in the direction of the Student Advisory Office?"

The girl's smile grew honest, and her eyes less worried, "Yes ma'am. Go to the left right after the visitor’s desk. Captain Pegg is not in today, but his secretary can help you out."

I nodded my thanks. I attempted to stand up straighter and do my best to walk steadier. I suddenly felt the need to be proper and a little more mindful of my manners as I walked around the most primly pressed people I have ever come across. The lobby of the admissions was bustling with men and women in uniforms, walking with a sense of purpose that made me admire them.

Going left after the visitor's desk, I came to a wood and glass door with 
Captain S. Pegg
 painted in gold letters. It made me smile and think of all the old movies I saw with doors just like this. I tapped on the open door once, drawing the attention of the young man sitting at an old metal desk. He stood up when he saw me, smoothing out his khaki uniform, "How can I help you, ma'am?" He smiled at me, his eyes taking the same journey over my face everyone else had since I stepped out of Stacy's car.

I grinned at the way he said ma'am. "I was told that you could help me out finding information on how to become a student here? My nephew is interested in joining the Navy after high school. I want to see him to go to college first. We both agreed this is the best of both worlds."