“What’s wrong?” Miles asks.
“I didn’t like our coffee table,” I intone.
Maybe I’m stressed about this case. I’ll be better when it’s over.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE EARLY morning sunlight glares off the windshields of passing cars and assaults my eyes. Shelby’s office isn’t far, so I don’t suffer long, but every intense shine reminds me why I hate the daytime.
Miles pulls the clunker into a parking spot and stops the engine. The vehicle coughs and hacks like a stage IV cancer patient. It won’t be long before it dies.
Shelby’s office is a modern space situated on the second floor of a two-story building. It doesn’t have an interior wall, just floor-to-ceiling windows that look in on the office lobby. I unlock the glass door and enter with Miles close behind. The secretary isn’t in—and I doubt she’ll be in while Shelby is in the hospital—so I head straight back for Shelby’s personal office.
I unlock his door and step into a cluttered mess of paperwork and food containers. The stale smell makes me think some of those containers still have food in them, but I’m not about to clean the place. Instead I walk over to his file cabinet and kneel down to the bottom drawer.
“This is how your boss works?” Miles asks, glancing around. He runs a finger over a four-foot-tall stack of boxes. “Some of this stuff has dust on it.”
“He’s a PI, not a maid. Who gives a shit if there’s dust?”
“I dunno. Seems unorganized for this line of work.”
Even the bottom drawer is locked. I flip through my key ring, examining each key Shelby gave me when I started working here, and realize I don’t have one for the drawer. Of course not. He said it was in his desk. I stand and walk over to the solid oak desk parked at the back of the room. The chair sags in the middle of the seat, no doubt from carrying Shelby’s substantial weight for more than a few years. I don’t sit on it. Instead I rummage through the desk in search of a key.
“Wow.”
I turn to Miles. He’s staring at a wall covered in pictures and printouts. I return to my work. “What is it?”
“This guy is obsessed with Noimore. And kidnappings.”
I lift an eyebrow but keep my eyes on the task at hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean he has a lot of information and statistics on kidnap victims out of Noimore. As in, it’s bordering on the obsessive. I’d go so far as to say it’s unhealthy.”
“He gets paid to investigate stuff like that. Why are you surprised?”
Miles doesn’t answer. I glance back at him and see his attention is drawn to one article in particular. I let him read, unconcerned about Shelby’s past cases. Fortunately for me, I find a key ring in the bottom drawer of his desk. I return to the filing cabinet and unlock it.
The jam-packed cluster of paperwork surprises me. It’s difficult to open the drawer all the way, as the papers get caught on the sides and the bottom of the drawer above. I pull out the most recent file—the one closest to the handle—and open it up.
Like Shelby said, he has a list of locations. Six, to be specific, but I catch my breath when I look over the addresses.
Noimore. All but one of them.
I exhale and half crumple the paper in frustration. I never wanted to go back there. Ever. Maybe it once held fond memories for me, but after leaving the Vice family mob, I’ve had a different feeling about the place. It’s a nightmare. A terrible reminder of my time with Jeremy and how I almost lost everything I give a shit about.
And what if my old acquaintances see me? Right now they think I’m dead. But if they knew… if they found me… what would they do? Jeremy Vice once risked everything to keep me at his side—his Vice Hound—but there are people out there who would pay to kill me all over again. If I go to Noimore, I risk dragging that all back to my new life here in Joliet.
Miles places a hand on my shoulder, and I jump up, my heart pounding. I reach for a gun I didn’t bring, and it takes me a moment to take in even breaths. I think Jeremy left more than a tattoo on my arm—it’s hard to focus sometimes when I think of life under him.
“Pierce?” Miles asks, looking me over. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Nothing I can change,” I snap. Better to just bury these thoughts and put them to rest.
“He wants you to go to Noimore,” Miles says, his face emotionless. “Doesn’t he?”
I hand over the list of locations. Miles gives it a quick glance and hands it back, his hard eyes set in understanding.
While he mulls over the situation, I pull out an armful of files from the bottom cabinet drawer and then shut it. I should probably read up on all of Shelby’s investigations into this matter. Maybe I can find out how he got all this information in the first place.
“One of these locations is here in Joliet,” Miles says.
“It’s the North Union Rail Yard. They won’t be returning there. Ever.”
“You know you don’t have to do this, right? You can go work for a different PI and earn your experience the hard way.”
“Is that what you think I should do?”
Miles looks at me in confusion. I narrow my eyes.
“Isn’t that what you want?” I ask, holding back my sardonic tone. “You want me to ask you what you think?”
“Y-yeah,” he mutters. He rubs the back of his neck. After a long moment, his eyes locked on the floor, he replies, “We should at least try. We can turn back if it gets too dangerous. Unless you don’t think you can handle it.”
I know he doesn’t mean it like a challenge, but I can’t help getting defiantly angry.
“We should get familiar with these places,”
