Page 2 of Maid For The Mafia Informant

This must have something to do with Ben Slade’s disappearance, but what have I got to do with that?

The driver only glances back before pulling out quickly, so here I am, practically abducted by what I believe to be the police in broad daylight by three, very average looking men. The driver has a slight skeletal appearance, his dark shades hovering over his bony cheeks.

Leaning his arm over the bench seat, I’m formally introduced.

“I’m special agent Partridge, and these… well. These are special agents too, Ms. Moore. The less we tell you about certain things right now the better.”

He tosses a manila folder into my lap.

“Read and sign this, and I’ll give you this,” he says, holding up what looks like a check.

“It’s a cash check for fifteen hundred dollars, all you have to do is some cleaning, make a bed and keep your mouth shut.”

The check has my attention, but the glossy photos of Ben Slade spilling out of the folder arrest my eyes, and certain other parts of my anatomy even more.

Different photos, photos of Ben Slade without his shirt on.

I make an involuntary sound, suddenly feeling like I need to pee, but it’s something else.

I press my legs together hard, flushed at the effect the man’s photographs have on me alone.

“Ah. Shit,” Partridge grumbles. “Gimme, that,” he says gruffly, leaning over to snatch the file.

“This is your employment contract. I understand you need some work, having a hard time of it lately? Well, Uncle Sam has a job for you, Ms. Moore. All you have to do is follow some simple instructions.”

“Does this have anything to do with Ben Slade?” I ask, not meaning to sound like a schoolgirl with a damp crush, but failing.

Partridge rolls his eyes, then chuckles to himself, realizing his own mistake with the files.

“You should maybe apply at the agency, Ms. Moore. You have an eye for details,” he says before turning himself to face the front.

“Rule number one: Don’t ask any questions. Rule number two: Don’t tell anyone anything. Got it?” he says

I flip the pages of the employment contract through my fingers, then notice the check he’s holding up again from the front seat so I can see it.

If this has anything to do with Ben Slade if it means I could maybe even get to meet him or even see him up close I’m in.

“Where do I sign?” I ask dryly, not even thinking about the contract anymore, my eyes hover down next to me, looking at the pictures of Ben staring back up at me, seeming to urge me on.

“You already did,” Partridge replies dryly, and I can see a genuine smile on his face in the rearview mirror.

More of a smirk as his eyes meet mine.

“You signed an agreement at the agency that you’d accept any reasonable offer of work that paid above the going rate?” he asks, and I feel my head pumping in agreement.

The agent next to me slips the papers and magazines into a neat bundle, turning them over so I can’t see Ben anymore, and Partridge himself leans back over, helping himself to the file with my contract, but not showing me the check anymore.

“You’ll get paid once you’ve done the work,” he says, a matter of fact.

Sucking air through his teeth he mumbles something to the driver, and I feel the car pick up speed, the tires almost squealing as we make a few hard turns.

After about an hour of doing what I instinctively feel are circles around the city, we arrive at a high rise building with an exterior of smoked glass.

It could be condos, or it could be offices. I can’t tell. It blends in, almost like a shadow, wedged between two other mirrored glass buildings, which I can’t look at directly. The sun’s reflecting so hard off both.

“We’re here,” Partridge announces, the other agent puffs his cheeks and blows out air, looking bored by now.

The driver’s eyes stay dead ahead behind his shades and I notice Partridge raising his brows in suggestion. Time to get out of the car.

But there’s another set of eyes on me, I can feel it.

Looking up into the strange smoked glass high above, I shiver.

I know instantly that someone’s watching me, someone, dangerous.

I just hope to hell it’s Ben SladeChapter TwoBenThey’ve told me to stay away from the windows, but it’s been a week of me cooped up in this place, I can’t open a damned window but looking out one makes me feel like there’s still a world outside.

Plus, something’s drawn me to it. Like I sense something or someone coming.

Not in my usual way of sensing trouble, something I’m more than capable enough of getting myself into.

This is different, something I haven’t felt before.

Partridge finally agreed to get a maid to clean the place up. Promised me some fresh clothes too.

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