On Wednesday, a fed-up housewife came into the office wanting to catch her hubby in the act with his mistress. Cam didn’t much care for the woman—she was shrill and demanding and he, frankly, could see why the husband stepped out on her. He’d only spent an hour with her and ended up nursing a pounding headache by the time she left. But he took on the case because cheating spouses were Wilde Security’s bread and butter, and he was having zero luck tracking down Tom Lindquist, who never checked in with his parole officer and was in the wind.
At first, Cam had enjoyed the peace and quiet around the office as he worked on the case of the browbeaten cheater and his very own felon version of Where’s Waldo with Lindquist. It was kinda nice not having to play referee between his brothers. And, since they weren’t here, he didn’t have to worry about some hitman coming into the office and opening fire on them in an attempt to get to him, which had been a growing concern of his since the storm ended. He’d found himself getting increasingly more paranoid whenever he was around them, checking and double checking doors and windows, making sure he wasn’t followed to the office or back home. So, the week of solitude was a pleasant respite.
For a while.
Now, though, he fidgeted with a bad case of cabin fever. Funny—during the storm, he hadn’t gotten restless. But he’d had Eva to keep him company.
Eva.
He smiled and considered calling her, but a glance at the clock in the corner of his computer screen stayed his hand. She was probably still busy in court with the Dunphy case. Besides, she’d already sent him a text saying she couldn’t wait for their non-date tomorrow, because the whole police force had been pulling double-duty since the storm ended and she was in need of some downtime.
Ah, the glamorous life of a civil servant. A small, nostalgic part of him missed those days. But the rest of him told that part to fuck off. Private investigation was a good gig that paid better and had much better hours.
And long stretches of boredom. Like today.
By mid-day, Cam had played at least twenty rounds of Spider Solitaire on the computer, caught up on all the football and hockey game highlights he’d missed, and gotten his fill of Facebook—although, had to admit, it still amused the hell out of him every time he saw the meme featuring Jude in his underwear carrying a giant iguana. A tourist had taken the photo in Key West over summer, uploaded it to Reddit, and it had gone viral. Now, it was a mainstay in the strange online world of meme-dom.
And, lookie, here’s one he hadn’t seen before.
Cam sent it to the printer and taped it to what had fondly been named The Wall of Internet Shame behind Jude’s desk.
Hah. Little bro was going to love that one.
On his way back to his own desk, he stopped by the office fridge to snag a bottle of water and considered closing up shop for the day. It was foolish to sit around here doing nothing on the off-chance that someone would stop in with a job. He could be out tailing the cheater, which was about as mind-numbing as staring at Facebook all day, but at least he’d be out of the office.
No doubt Reece would have a fit if he closed early.
Decisions, decisions.
Just as Cam sat down and twisted off the cap of his water, the front door opened and Greer stalked in, bringing a bad mood and the chill of winter in his wake.
“Cam, my office.”
Cam winced, recapped the bottle of water, and set it aside before pushing away from his desk. Greer was using his Army Ranger tone again, which meant hop-to or face his wrath. Still, Cam took the time to lock the front door before heading back, and Greer was already seated behind a disaster area of a desk when he dropped into one of the visitor’s chairs.
“What’s up?”
“Have you validated the information from your informant yet?” Greer asked.
“Uh, no.” He’d been dreading this convo, but managed to keep his wince inward. “About that. My informant died of a drug overdose last weekend before the storm. I have no way of verifying what he said.”
Yeah, it was a lie—that five hundred dollars in Soup’s pocket had pretty much put to rest any doubts he had about the validity of the information. Someone had given Soup that money and he’d most likely died because he took the down payment but didn’t do what he’d been paid for.
The contract on Cam’s head was real.
But this was one case he was going to handle on his own. It was too dangerous, and he wouldn’t risk any of his brothers getting hurt for him.
Greer didn’t explode like Cam had expected. Actually, he looked too tired to get angry about anything. Probably why he simply nodded in response. “So do you know of anyone who wants you dead?”
Cam lounged back in the creaky wood chair. “I already told you, the list is long and varied.”
And had recently grown by one with Eva’s news about the Dunphy-Adams case finally going to trial. He’d forgotten about Gordon Dunphy, but the guy, as a fairly well-off real estate broker, fit the vague description of the man who offered Soup a thousand dollars for Cam’s life.
Although, Cam had no clue why Gordon would want him dead when he no longer had any influence over the case. Hell, maybe Gordon was just a champion grudge holder. Something worth checking into later—but not something his brothers needed to worry about.