Page 44 of Force At Third

* * *

Cora and I drag ass into Wags and head into CeCe’s office, where CeCe and Marks are waiting for us.

Cora steps back and into me when she sees Marks.

“Marks is my partner,” I explain.

“In the PI business?” Cora bobs her head up and down.

“Security,” I correct with a gentle smile.

Marks clears his throat as he pushes off the desk. “I’ll give you ladies some time. I’ll be out back.” And he passes us, walking right out the door.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” CeCe asks, looking like she didn’t get a wink herself.

“Yeah,” Cora yawns.

CeCe and I both react the way we all do when someone yawns and do the same.

I try to shake it away and fail. “She will tonight.”

“Doc Shaw doesn’t have to put me up. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s CeCe, and I want you to stay—at least until they find him.”

“Find him?” Cora asks, confused.

CeCe’s eyes swing to me, all but screaming help.

“I want to find out his real name and see if he has a criminal history.” I nod toward the door. “I’m going to go talk to Marks. You two try not to worry about all this so you can take care of your clients. I’ll take Elle.”

“She’s good here.” CeCe smiles down at Roman Hart’s dog.

When I walk through the open door, Marks has two sawhorses with a piece of wood lying over them and is wiping down one of the two chairs he found here.

I sit down and unpack my tablet. “Cora’s mother passed away a while ago, and her father is on a romantic getaway with a woman Cora doesn’t like. They left yesterday. Coincidence? Even if it is, I still think he’s working with someone, and it could be her. I’m gonna dig.”

“Think we should send someone on a tropical vacation?”

I nod. “Yeah, I do.”

For the next few hours, we will subcontract more and more men and women to prepare for the worst while still hoping for the best.

* * *

“Your house is huge,” Cora says, looking out the window as we pull into the driveway.

“We’re filling it up by the day.” I laugh.

“Still have two more bedrooms upstairs. The upstairs reading room could also be a bedroom.”

Cora gasps. “You have a library?”

“I can’t call it that—I don’t have enough books—but that was the plan.”

“When do you have time to read with all the true crime documentaries you consume?” I ask.

“Don’t hate on my bedtime stories.”

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