Page 4 of Beneath the Surface

But there was desperation sparking off his skin, and I could tell that his need for finding her was genuine. And I respect that. I’m not like other private investigators. Most work within the parameters of legality, running alongside the law. But, I’ve spent too many years of my life living within boundaries, while watching the people who make them dance outside of their edges.

Rules for thee and not for me.

It’s all bullshit.

I’m not a bad guy, just someone who knows how both sides work. And Iknowthat just because we don’t see the cage, doesn’t mean we aren’t chained inside of it.

Meeting my mentor, Don, ten years ago was fortuitous. He took me under his wing and taught me everything I know. How to find people. Like Lily. And how to make them disappear. Like me.

He taught me that you see the soul of a man by looking in his eyes, and I’ve been a big believer in only helping those who I know are pure in their intentions.

Chase’s intentions are honest. And the heat spiraling through my insides as I watch his little sister lets me know that mine are not. And while normally, I would drop her location and be on my way, my loyalty to my paying customer is skewed by whatever thisthingis swirling up inside of me.

But going in and meeting her was fucking stupid.

I perk up from where I’m slouched on my Harley, slipping off the seat and standing, my coffee cold in my hand as Lily walks out the front door of her apartment.

Her complex is in the worst part of this do-nothing town—a small, run-down building with faded yellow siding and garish red front doors. She lives on the second floor, the cement hallways that line the apartments stained with dirt and memories from a thousand different struggles.

It’s a shithole.

But there’s a smile on her beautiful lips as she grabs her little boy’s hand, his face beaming up at her as they head down the street. It’s Wednesday morning, and I know without following that they’re on their way to the playground.

She doesn’t have a car, and she doesn’t really have any friends, so she rarely travels outside of the two-mile radius between her home and her work, but every Wednesday morning, like clockwork, she takes her little kid to the park on the edge of town. It’s not kept up well by the state—no surprise there—the colored metal of the monkey bars chipped and faded, and the swings squeaking with rust, but that boy’s face lights up when they go. Like it’s the best thing in the world. A simple type of joy that somewhere along the way we lose. Either because we become conditioned to view the world through a certain lens, or because it’s beaten out of us by the harsh realities of our lives.

Maybe it’s a little bit of both.

My chest tugs as I follow them, my stomach flipping. My hand grips the cold coffee tighter, my teeth grinding as I get lost in my head, visions of a different little kid running around a playground, looking atmethe way this boy looks at Lily.

When I come back to myself, Lily’s staring right at me.

Fuck.

Twice in two days, I’ve slipped up, and I curse myself as her brows draw in and recognition flickers over her eyes. I don’t exactly blend in, but I meant to keep to the shadows.

She was never supposed to know who I was.

She glances back at her kid before taking a hesitant step toward me. My mind races trying to figure out whether I should turn tail and leave, or play it off like a coincidence.

It’s not usual for a grown man to be watching a playground on a Wednesday morning. I cringe.This doesn’t look good.

Sure enough, her eyes narrow, body growing rigid as she stares me down.

Blowing out a breath, I make my way over, and while I know I shouldn’t be talking to her again, the thought of her thinking the worst is a dull blade prodding down my middle.

I don’twanther to think of me and feel disgust or fear.

Ishouldn’twant her to think of me at all.

Taking a slow sip of my coffee, I walk toward them, noticing quickly how her back straightens as she moves her body to face me full-on, her chin sticking out. Despite how small she is, she looks intimidating. But most of my life was spent under intimidating people’s gazes, so it doesn’t have the intended effect.

I reach her, stopping when I’m a little over a foot away.

“Hi.” I smile.

Her eyes are weary, face tilted high, and even though I’m six-six, and she can’t be barely over five foot—with the aura she’s radiating, she feels bigger than life.

She tilts her head. “Hi back.”

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