Page 50 of Embrace Me Forever

As he zips through the busy streets with agility, I quip, “I don’t remember you driving like this on prom night. Remember, Flo and I were squeezed into the back seat of that ancient Beetle of yours?”

Eddie grins. “This is no Seward, man. Here, you either learn to weave like a racecar driver, or you get honked into the next lane.”

I chuckle. “Guess you missed your calling in NASCAR.”

His grin fades as he shifts gears, both literally and figuratively.

Upon arriving at the LAPD headquarters, we’re greeted by the Captain in charge of Krauss’ case. Without preamble, he pulls Eddie aside. Through the glass door, I observe the Captain’s gestures. It looks like he might have just had a heated exchange with the Senator and is now venting his frustration on Eddie.

When Eddie rejoins me, his face is set in grim lines. We are quickly escorted to a secure area where the ransom note is being kept. An officer hands me the note—a single sheet of printed paper.

I pore over the note again. Forensic analysis has narrowed it down to a dozen printers capable of this output. The suspect the LAPD nabbed yesterday is a known activist found loitering near one of the identified print shops, yet there’s nothing tying him to the actual printing of that note.

The demand for the Senator to back out of the arms control bill reads strangely personal, lacking the usual public declaration vibe. It’s almost intimate.

I propose, “Sure, it smells like a political decoy. But don’t forget, Krauss isn’t just in politics. He’s deep in retail real estate, and his wife’s big in residential development. Have any other senators backing this bill received similar threats?”

“No,” Eddie responds, his expression taut with concentration.

“There you go, buddy,” I lean in, connecting the dots. “I’d wager it’s a business rival, someone in his circle, judging by the personal twang to that note.”

“Damn! At the event, Mrs. Krauss talked to a guest who signed up last-minute.” Eddie scrolls through his tablet, searching for the details. “Looks like it was a Mr. J. Smith.”

“Clever,” I remark, appreciating the simplicity of the alias.

“Fuck me!” he murmurs, scratching his forehead.

“A begrudging businessman losing too big a slice of the pie?”

“Blake, flying you out here in business class is paying off big-time!” Eddie says, his eyes unfocused as he tries to piece everything together. “We’ve got his face on camera. Krauss said they talked about construction and mentioned that his wife seemed pretty impressed by the guy,” he muses. Then he stares at me like a wide-eyed owl, puzzling it out loud. “Hold on a second. Didn’t Krauss just finalize a buyout of a construction firm?”

“You tell me,” I quip, knowing he’s just about to connect all the dots.

“Good sniffing, Blake. That angle might just crack this case wide open,” Eddie acknowledges, then he turns to the forensics analyst. “Let’s pull the CCTV footage from those print shops. We need to see if Mr. Smith popped up at any of them.”

As the gears turn, the contours of our suspect’s motive start to crystalize. It’s a reminder that sometimes the answer hides in plain sight, just waiting for the right pair of eyes to uncover it.

“We nailed the print shop but snagged the wrong guy,” Eddie notes as footage exposes our actual suspect in the background of the scene where yesterday’s mistaken arrest occurred.

“That’s exactly why our guy got cold feet and bolted,” I explain, referencing the morning’s fruitless raid on our real suspect’s house.

Eddie returns to brief the Captain, who quickly mobilizes his team. As the operation kicks off and I opt to stay back, I find myself at a quiet diner. I attempt to call Flo, but the call goes unanswered, leaving me staring at the phone, a mix of concern and anticipation mingling in my chest.

Hours tick by, each minute stretching longer than the last, until finally, Eddie’s number flashes across my screen. “Wefound her, Blake. She’s alive and well,” his voice crackles through the speaker, vibrant with relief and triumph.

An unrivaled sense of satisfaction washes over me, a feeling that’s hard to replace now that I’m contemplating stepping away from the world of sleuthing.

“The senator would like to wine and dine you,” Eddie says, his tone light but insistent.

I smirk, feeling a sudden rush of eagerness to return to my normal life. “Tell the senator to keep his wine. My best bottle’s waiting at home with my girl.”

Eddie chuckles on the other end. “That’s the Blake I know. Go get your girl, buddy. You’ve earned it.”

Making my way to LAX to catch the last flight to Anchorage, I dial Flo once more. This time, I leave a voice message. “Hey Flo, it’s me. Guess what? I’m coming home early. Thinking about spending a quiet evening together—just us, phone off. And if you’re down, we can spend the whole night in bed, getting it on.”

As I end the message, visions of her waiting and perhaps worried fill my mind. I will celebrate the success of the case with my girl in whatever way she chooses. I watch the L.A. cityscape blur past as the taxi speeds toward the airport. I’m ready to hang up my PI hat and say goodbye to the chase. Building a life with her is no longer just a dream. Starting tonight, it becomes my main focus, the real definition of my success.

I manageto get some sleep on the flight despite my overactive mind. Knowing there won’t be anything open at Anchorage Airport, I already bought a teddy bear back at LAX and tucked a card inside it, pouring my heart into the words I wrote. I may not be able to speak them when I see her. But she ought to know thatshe’s the one, my everything, and I vow to honor my promise. To be the best husband I can be to her and a father to our future children.

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