Page 71 of The Shadows We Keep

The minutes tick by and nothing seems to happen. I haven’t seen anyone else enter and there are no other cars in the parking lot.

Something doesn’t feel right.

TWENTY-NINE

HARKIN

Bad Moon Rising – Mourning Ritual feat. Peter Dreimanis

The warehouse is eerily quiet. My boots slap against the soaked concrete, echoing through the building and announcing my arrival. I take in the open space. Dulled whisperings pull my attention to the back. A small closed in space looks like it once housed an office of sorts.

Before I make it to the door, two men in suits walk out, the hulking bodyguard from before trailing behind taking in our surrounding with an eagle’s eye.

“Ahh, Mr. Greyson, we meet again.” The older of the two clasps his hands in front of him jovially, like this is a meeting of old friends.

“You broke into my apartment. I find it hard to ignore such disrespectful displays of opportunity,” I bite out.

Junior, on his right, stifles a snort, and my eyes swing to him. Staring him up and down does nothing to dull the heated animosity stirring between us. I’m not sure what this guy’s problem is, but I school my features, tampering down my irritation.

“Mhm, my apologizes. My associate is fond of theatrics if you will.”

“So, what’s this all about, anyway? I get pictures of some random girl left on my desk. I’m not sure how I can help you with that.”

His body stiffens at my dismissal of the situation. “Mr. Greyson, let’s not pretend you don’t know who she is. She’s a striking resemblance to Alina, is she not?”

Everything in me wants to shout out the questions rushing through my head.

How does he know Alina?

Why was he following me intoThe Red Door? How did he get in and take photos?

But I know better than to voice them. Men like him don’t answer questions, unless the answer’s already mutually known.

“Hence, why she drew my attention. But, playing with one random girl at a member’s only club hardly classifies as knowing her. There’susuallya tight grasp on the entrance list. Why not ask the manager?” I ask, playing off my interest as nonchalantly as possible.

An electric pause hangs in the air between the three of us. But I’m not about to throw my cards on the table until I know what they want with her.

Wrinkled hands, rub against his gray beard as the older man waits out the building silence. Finally, clearing his throat he says, “You know, I had higher hopes for this relationship. Your father was always willing to cooperate with us. He expected the same from you.”

“What can I say, I’m not my old man,” I tell him.

I swear I see a spark of understanding in his eyes. I don’t know if that’s a good thing for me or not. “Like I said, if you can’t tell me anything else about this girl, I don’t know how I can help you.”

He nods to his partner who removes another folded paper from his inside jacket pocket. Goliath walks it over to me and drops it into my outstretched hand. Quickly scanning the paper, it’s obvious it’s a rental agreement. Before I even flip to the back page, I know I’ll see Keira’s signature at the bottom.

“Keira Fitzpatrick, that’s her name?” I ask, like the girl hasn’t been invading every thought running through my mind over the last month or so.

“Exactly. Now you’ve got a name, and you’ve got a face. I assume, that’s enough for you to go on,” the young, Scarface wanna be taunts.

“Enough for what exactly. You’ve given me information but nothing to work toward or a reason for it. I don’t care what my father promised you. I decide what jobs I take. So, if you want me on this one, you’re going to need to give me a little more than a file folder full of PI quality photos and a rental agreement.” I need to know what they have in store for Keira before I make my move.

Then it happens, youngster drops his chin in a signal to the man guarding my six. He wrenches my hands behind me roughly, making quick work of securing them together. The sharp sting of hard plastic tells me he used zip ties, rookie mistake. I play along as if I won’t be able to get out of these the second their backs are turned.

“Really, gentleman. I thought we had an understanding. I don’t think what I’m asking for is exorbitant.”

“It seems we’re at an impasse, Mr. Greyson. Maybe some time with my associates here will show you the answers to your incessant questions are unnecessary for you to do the job,” he informs me before slapping my cheek in a patronizing flourish and taking his exit.

“Well, then this should be fun,” my upcoming opponent tuts as he paces back and forth in front of me.

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