8. Vice Blackwell
VICE BLACKWELL
Three days had passed since Milan moved into the hotel, and somehow that woman had already found a way to interrupt my day without being anywhere near me.
It started with a text with her saying:
Milan: Your security guard keeps staring at me.
I’d been in the middle of reviewing payroll when her name flashed across my screen. I hadn’t saved her number the morning she called about someone being in her apartment, but I knew exactly who it was.
Me: He doing his job.
Her response came less than a minute later.
Milan: His job is to make sure nobody bothers me. Not watch me eat breakfast.
Me: Maybe he hungry.
Milan: Then feed him.
I’d laughed harder, causing my assistant to look at me. I ignored her and told the guard to give Milan some space before she complained her way into getting the man fired.
Since then, there had been a handful of texts between us. Most started with her asking something about the hotel, the security or when she could get back into her apartment to get some things. They always ended with her calling me controlling and me telling her she talked too damn much.
Milan was difficult on purpose. She questioned everything, argued when there wasn’t anything left to argue about and refused to follow simple instructions without making me explain why at least twice. Any other woman doing half that shit would’ve gotten ignored.
With her, I found myself waiting to see what smart-ass response she would send next.
My phone vibrated across the desk while I sat in my office at Blackwell’s going over the new floor plans. I glanced down, expecting Mace or one of the managers at my restaurant, but Milan’s name appeared on the screen.
Milan: I found an apartment. Since apparently you’re head of Atlanta Apartment Security now, you want to come inspect it?
I read the message twice before leaning back in my chair.
She was definitely being funny, but the fact that she’d asked me at all meant she’d listened. Milan could’ve toured the place, signed the lease and told me afterward just to prove she didn’t need my approval. Instead, she’d invited me along, even if she’d hidden it behind a joke.
Me: What time?
The dots appeared, disappeared, then came back.
Milan: You’re serious?
Me: You asked if I wanted to come.
Milan: Didn’t expect you to really want to.
Me: Of course.
She sent back an eye-roll emoji, followed by the address and a time.
I looked at the clock. The showing was in less than an hour, which meant she’d probably been debating whether to ask me until the last minute. That sounded like her.
A knock came at my office door before it opened, and the guy I’d given Sam’s phone to stepped inside. I’d dropped it off with him a couple of days ago after getting tired of staring at a screen I couldn’t get past.
“I got you in,” he said, placing the phone on my desk. “Wasn’t easy, but you should be able to access everything now.”
“Everything?”
“Everything that’s still on there.”
I looked up at him. “What that mean?”
“It means I got past the lock. I didn’t go through his personal shit, so I can’t tell you what’s there or what might’ve been deleted before I got it.”
I nodded and reached for the phone. “Good looking.”
He left, and I pressed the button on the side.
The screen came to life without asking for a code, and a picture of Sam and my aunt filled the background.
They were standing in her kitchen with flour all over their clothes, and I remembered the day it was taken.
Sam had convinced himself he could bake my aunt a birthday cake and damn near burned her house down.
For a few seconds, I just stared at the picture.
It was strange how death could turn the smallest shit into something that mattered.
A picture I probably would’ve laughed at and kept moving before was different now.
Sam would never stand in that kitchen getting on my aunt’s nerves again.
He’d never call me talking shit or show up somewhere without being invited.
All I had left was a phone full of pieces of his life and the hope that somewhere inside it was something that could tell me why somebody wanted him dead.
I looked at the time again. I had about twenty minutes before I needed to leave, which wasn’t enough to go through everything, but I could at least check his recent calls and messages.
The call log didn’t tell me much. My aunt. Mace. Me. A few numbers I recognized from work and several I didn’t. Mace’s name appeared more than anybody else’s, but that wasn’t unusual. He and Sam had been close for years, and the three of us talked damn near every day.
I moved on to the messages, starting with the most recent threads.
Most were regular conversations about work, family or plans that didn’t matter anymore.
A few mentioned meetings at the restaurants, while one from my aunt reminded him to come by her house.
I figured it was probably the same visit where he’d started asking questions about my mother.
Nothing explained Grady.
I was about to move on when a thread from an unknown number caught my attention. The last message had been sent two days before the shooting.
Unknown: You need to leave this alone.
Sam’s response sat directly beneath it.
Sam: Too late for that.
I sat up straighter and scrolled through the thread, but there was nothing else. Either the earlier messages had been deleted, or those were the only two messages ever exchanged from that number.
I picked up my work phone and tried to call the number, but it was no longer in service, letting me know it was a burner phone more than likely.
I took a screenshot and sent it to Mace.
Me: Find out who this number belongs to.
He immediately responded.
Mace: Where you get it from?
I stared at the question for a second before responding.
Me: Sam’s phone.
The dots appeared, then disappeared.
A few seconds passed before his response came through.
Mace: You got in it?
I frowned.
Me: Yeah. Why?
This time, it took him longer to answer.
Mace: Just asking. I’ll see what I can find.
I looked at his response for a second.
Something about the exchange felt off, but Mace hadn’t been himself since Sam died. None of us had. I wasn’t about to turn every strange response into something it wasn’t when there were already enough questions I couldn’t answer.
I continued through the phone until the time forced me to stop. There was too much on it to rush through, and I wasn’t about to miss something because I was trying to handle two things at once.
I locked it inside my desk, grabbed my keys and headed for the door.
My assistant looked up when I walked past her desk. “You’re leaving?”
“For a little while.”
“You have the contractor coming back at three.”
“I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?” I stopped and looked at her. She raised both hands. “Never mind. Not my business.”
“Now you learning.”
I heard her laugh as I walked off.
The apartment building Milan sent me was about ten minutes away from the restaurant and sat near downtown. By the time I arrived, she was standing outside with a woman in a fitted tan suit who looked like she’d been checking the time every thirty seconds.
Milan wore jeans, a fitted white top and sneakers, with her hair styled differently than I’d seen it before. She looked less tired and more relaxed, although the second she spotted my truck, she folded her arms like she’d already prepared herself to argue.
I parked and stepped out.
“You’re late,” she said.
I checked my watch. “By two minutes.”
“Late is late.”
The leasing agent smiled nervously. “We were just about to head inside.”
Milan gestured toward me. “This is Vice. He thinks he’s security, law enforcement and building management.”
“I don’t think I’m shit.”
“Yes you do…”
The leasing agent looked between us, trying to decide whether we were joking. “I’m Angela. I’ll be showing you the property.”
I shook her hand before looking toward the entrance. “How many ways in?”
Milan closed her eyes and whispered. “Here we go...”
Angela pointed toward the front doors. “The main entrance, the parking garage and a service entrance in the back.”
“Cameras at all three?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Who monitors them?”
“Our security team,” she answered.
“On-site?”
“Twenty-four hours.”
I nodded toward Milan and smirked, knowing she hated this shit. “You told me to inspect it.”
“Yeah, but I did not tell you to interrogate the woman before we got through the door.”
Angela laughed, although she still looked unsure. “It’s fine. We get security questions all the time.”
“Not like his,” Milan muttered.
We walked inside, and I let Angela explain the building while I looked around for myself. The lobby was clean, the front desk was staffed, and visitors had to sign in before getting access to the elevators. It already seemed better than Milan’s last place, but better didn’t automatically mean safe.
Angela showed us the fitness room, lounge and rooftop before taking us to the available apartment. Milan asked normal questions about utilities, parking and the lease. I checked the windows, exits and whether the bedroom could be seen from the building across the street.
By the third time she caught me testing a lock, Milan finally had enough and said, “You know people usually look at the kitchen and closet space when they tour an apartment.”
“I saw both.”
“You haven’t opened one cabinet.”
I looked over at her. “What I need to see in there?”
“Nothing. I’m just saying.”
“You like it?”
Her eyes traveled around the living room before she nodded. “I do.”
“Then the cabinets must be fine,” I joked.
Angela covered a laugh with a cough, causing Milan to shoot her a look. “Please don’t encourage him,” she told her.
I shook my head and walked over to the balcony, checking the lock before giving it a firm tug. It held, but that didn’t stop me from checking it again. After what happened at her last apartment, I wasn’t taking anybody’s word for anything.
Milan followed behind me, folding her arms across her chest, shaking her head. “See… this is why I almost didn’t invite you.”
“You invited me because you wanted my opinion.”
“I invited you because you would’ve found out and shown up anyway.”
A grin spread across my face as I told her, “Probably.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“Always.”
She gave me one of those looks that said she wanted to argue but couldn’t quite find the energy. I almost smiled again before turning my attention back to Angela.
“What about the cameras on this floor?”
“One at each elevator and another near the stairwell.”
“Any blind spots?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Who has access to the system?”
“Our property manager and security supervisor.”
Before I could ask another question, Milan stepped between us, forcing Angela to look at her instead of me.
“Can I have a minute with him?”
“Of course.”
Angela handed her a brochure before disappearing toward the kitchen.
The second she was out of earshot, Milan turned to face me. “You scaring this woman.”
“She’ll be fine.”
“You asked her about blind spots.”
“You should wanna know if there are any.”
“I didn’t until you walked in here acting like somebody was planning a bank robbery.”
I glanced around the apartment one more time, mentally going over everything I’d seen.
“You really like this place?” I asked her.
“Yes…”
“Then why you worried about what I’m asking?”
“Because normal people don’t ask half this shit.”
I let out a laugh.
“You called me the Head of Atlanta Apartment Security. I’m just taking my position serious.”
She tried to hold her expression together, but I caught the smile fighting its way through.
“Don’t make me laugh. I’m irritated right now.”
“You can be irritated at me and still laugh.”
She just shook her head as I looked around one last time before giving an approval head nod. I then told her, “The place is decent.”
She frowned.
“Decent? That’s all I get after you damn near ran a background check on the building?”
“You want a certificate?”
“I want you to admit it’s secure.”
I put my hands in my pockets as I ran my tongue over my lips. “I guess it’s more secure than the last one.”
I wasn’t about to tell her that no place was ever going to feel secure enough to me again after somebody had walked into her apartment and left a bullet behind.
Milan wandered toward the kitchen, taking another slow look around. “I can see myself living here.”
I watched her for a second before looking around the apartment one more time. The only thing left was making sure she’d actually be safe here.
I studied her. She had been back in Atlanta for less than a month and had already moved out of one apartment, started a new job, witnessed a murder and been forced into a hotel. Finding a place she could picture as home probably meant more to her than she was saying.
“You should take it,” I told her.
She turned toward me. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not going to tell me the front desk is too far from the elevator, or somebody could climb down from the roof?”
“That second one is still possible.”
Her mouth dropped open before she realized I was joking. “You play entirely too much for somebody who acts serious all the time.”
“I’m serious when I need to be.”
“And when you don’t?”
“I mind my business.”
She laughed. “That’s a lie.”
I couldn’t argue with her there.
Angela returned and started going over the application process. Milan asked whether she could move in quickly, and the woman assured her the apartment was available as soon as the paperwork and background check were completed.
While they talked, my phone vibrated with a message from Mace.
Mace: Number is registered to a prepaid phone. No name attached. Last ping was near Grady the night Sam got shot.
I read it twice before locking my screen.
The investigation was moving, even if it wasn’t moving fast enough. Whoever had warned Sam to leave things alone had likely been close enough to the hospital to be involved in his death. That was something, but today wasn’t the day to drag Milan deeper into it.
She’d spent enough time scared.
When Angela stepped away to print a few forms, Milan looked at me. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You looked serious for a second.”
“Work.” She nodded and didn’t push, which I appreciated. “You hungry?” I asked, changing the subject.
Her eyebrows rose. “Is that your way of asking me to lunch?”
“It’s my way of asking if you hungry.”
A smile spread across her face. “You really don’t know how to ask a woman out, do you?”
“Hold up… I wasn’t asking you out.”
“Of course not…”
Milan shook her head, still smiling as she turned back toward Angela. Watching her laugh without fear sitting behind her eyes felt better than it should have.
The murder, the break-in and every question surrounding Sam were still there. None of that had changed.
For the next hour, though, I didn’t want to talk about any of it. I wanted to see who Milan Rivers was when she wasn’t fighting for her life or fighting me.