Making the Rent the Hard Way - 22

I got to the office by ten. A quick check told me no one had been there since I'd left on Saturday. There were messages, however. Two from potential clients, and one from the woman whose husband I'd been tailing, wanting an update. I returned her call, telling her in all honesty that he wasn't seeing another woman. It took a bit of persuasion, but I finally convinced her she'd just be wasting more money keeping me on the case. I promised to send her a final bill and hung up. I might have been totally honest and told her that her husband was involved with another man, but, truthfully, I didn't believe in outing anyone who was gay. At best, it wasn't my business to. At worst, it could endanger them, job-wise and possibly literally, given the current political climate.

Then there was the message from Farnham. Put succinctly, it asked why the hell I hadn't found Luca. Little did the bastard know that I had, not that I'd tell him. Instead, I called him back.

"Well," Farnham said coldly, "how close are you to locating Luca?"

"I've checked out all the places where he's known to hang out, and the people who might know where he is—including those at your restaurant, in case no one informed you I was there. If anyone does know his whereabouts, they're not willing to tell me. However, I don't think he's been in contact with anyone. I'm good at reading people."

"I'm sure you are," he replied. "You've talked with shifters, too, I presume."

I wanted to say "No duh" but restrained myself. "Yes, sir, at several of the clubs he frequented. No one has seen him in the last several weeks or heard from him. He's definitely gone to ground." I paused. "I don't suppose you have any idea why."

"I don't think that's what happened," Farnham said. "He has no reason to be hiding out. Something's happened to him. Keep trying, Mr. Warner. That's what I'm paying you for. Speaking of which, email me your bill for last week and I'll have Mr. Bracco bring you the money."

I wasn't certain I wanted to see his bruiser again. To be honest, the guy sort of scared me. He could probably turn me into a human pretzel if he put his mind to it. I didn't say so. I just thanked him, told him I'd keep pursuing leads on Luca, and we hung up.

If Farnham hadn't been on the top of my shit list before, his highhandedness had definitely put him there now.

I called back the two people who were interested in hiring me. One was a woman who wanted me to find her runaway daughter. I set up an appointment with her for eleven-thirty. The other email was from the owner of a small apartment building who wanted me to prove that an ex tenant hadn't been as injured as she'd claimed when she'd slipped on a freshly mopped floor. It was your basic surveillance job, so I took down the particulars, told him I'd email him a contract that he could eSign and send back, as well as paying my retainer via PayPal. As soon as he'd done so, I'd see what I could find out about how badly hurt she'd been—if at all.

The rest of the day went forward as usual. I talked to the woman with the missing daughter, only to have her call me late in the afternoon to tell me said daughter had called to say she'd eloped with her boyfriend. Mama was not happy, but, as she'd said, it was better than all the alternatives she'd imagined.

I ran background checks for a regular client while I waited for the contract and payment from my other new client. They came, and I spent most of the afternoon following the injured—and I use the term loosely—woman around town. For someone who'd claimed she had, only a week ago, dislocated her shoulder and torn her rotor cuff in a fall at the apartment building, she had no problem carrying her groceries into the house after shopping—or in working out at a gym. I took photos and sent them on to my client. A short job, that netted me enough to buy my groceries for the next month.