Chapter 1
Cassie
A car pulls up outside, and my stomach drops. We should have had more time. We’re not ready.
I motion to Quinn.
“We have to hurry. If he comes in here before we’re done…”
She scurries around the room, pushing and pulling different things on the desk, trying to put everything back exactly as it was before we’d done the unthinkable. Her curly hair is a mess, barely held in by the elastic she’s adjusted at least three times since we started this mission.
“Does it look right?” Her eyes widen with alarm as the front doorknob jiggles. He’s coming in, and we’re out of time. I grab her arm and drag her over to the couch. We plop down and grab some of the magazines from the coffee table.
“What should we say?” Quinn whispers. She giggles like a schoolgirl pranking the teacher .
“Just act natural,” I say, relying on my acting skills. “We should wait for him to notice.”
Lincoln steps into the office, and I hide a smile.
He leans on his crutch, something he had to be convinced by the doctors, myself, and Quinn to use. Leave it to someone as stubborn as Lincoln to think he could recover in half the time without any help, even at thirty-eight years old. He insisted on coming back to work a day after he was shot.
“What are the two of you looking at?” He surveys us suspiciously; his blue eyes sweep over me, sending heat straight to my cheeks.
There’s nothing romantic between us, at least not anymore—or that’s what I tell myself every time he’s near, and my thoughts start traveling to places they should stay far away from.
“Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?” So much for acting natural. He’s already onto us.
“Nothing,” I say sweetly. “Just waiting for you to get here to check the invoices for the last couple of cases.”
Remodeling Lincoln’s workspace was Quinn’s idea. A very kind and much-deserved one, though also something Lincoln will hate for a couple of weeks until he learns to love it.
There’s barely any limp left in his leg as he steps forward, even though it’s only been three weeks since his injury.
He stops in front of his desk, reaching out to touch the shiny oak top. His brows crease in confusion.
“You didn’t.” He does a half-turn, looking like he might topple over at a strange angle. “Where is it? Bring back the old one!”
His head is on a swivel, looking for the old beat-up desk my dad bought from a garage sale his first week on the job.
Lincoln doesn’t know it yet, but the old desk is on its way to his garage apartment. I’m not heartless and figured it might have some sentimental value, but we wanted to upgrade his workspace.
“Come on, you’re going to like it. You haven’t even tried the chair.” Quinn stands from the little sectional couch we added last week and joins Lincoln by the desk. She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. It’s curlier than usual, which she has assured us happens all on its own with no help from her.
“Chair? You changed the chair too?” His mouth falls open, and he shoves a hand through his dark brown hair, which needs a haircut.
I join them closer to the new addition to the office and cross my arms over my chest.
“Yes, we changed the chair too. Stop being such a spoilsport and try it. It will make you feel much more comfortable back at work.” That was the end goal. Seeing Lincoln wince in pain whenever he moved in his chair was something neither Quinn nor I enjoyed.
“Fine,” he grumbles. He maneuvers himself around the desk and to the new, cushy armchair. I tried it several times myself and considered upgrading Quinn’s and my space as soon as there were extra funds.
He lowers himself down and closes his eyes.
“So, how is it?” Quinn moves to the back, placing her hands against the leather-finished headrest.
“Fine, I guess,” Lincoln mutters, but I see the slight smile picking up the corner of his mouth. “Now, let’s get back to work. I assume the two of you usurped company funds for this purchase. ”
Quinn and I laugh and exchange glances. We’ve gotten by with the bare minimum when it comes to our office expenses until the place could get back on its feet.
“You could say that.” Quinn retrieves a stack of folders from her desk. They are new case folders, and both Lincoln and I perk up, ready to hear what’s on the to-do list. “So, we have a lost cat on medication and in dire need of rescuing. A woman had her car keyed, most likely by her boyfriend, but is offering fifty dollars to confirm, and there was a theft of a paint can down the street that is urgent.” Quinn lets the stack of folders drop with a little smack on Lincoln’s desk.
“Why can’t anything interesting happen in this town?” She sighs, biting her lower lip in frustration.
“Are you wishing for violent crimes?” My eyebrows rise as I perch on one of the deflated office chairs that swims around the middle of the room without a home. It has been rather dull lately, with only small cases and small payouts.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it once or twice. Cases are what keeps the lights on around here.” Quinn throws her hands up in exasperation.
Boring cases beat no cases at all, so it looks like I’ll be checking out some of the folders she’s prepared.
“I’ll take the lost cat and check out the car-keying situation. Tell the owner of the missing paint can he’s out of luck.” I scoop up the files.
A smile lights up Quinn’s face, and she pushes her glasses up a little further on her nose.
“All right then. I’m sure we’ll have some very thankful customers.”
I shake my head as I scoop up the station wagon keys with a jingle and head toward the office door .
“I’m coming with you.” Lincoln hobbles up from his new chair, and I stop in my tracks.
“You are?” Lincoln’s been avoiding me. I’m not sure if it has anything to do with our conversation or just because of his injury, but he somehow manages to always be wherever I’m not.
“Don’t act so surprised. I am riveted by the idea of a missing cat. Did he run away? Was he catnapped?” His old mischievous smile lights up his face. I’ve missed that smile; lately, it’s made very few appearances.
“Very funny.” I roll my eyes and lead the way, holding the door open for him before he can reach it. He glowers as he passes. Lincoln hates to be helped because he’s injured. “Are you sure you can keep up on that leg? They might let us use a wheelchair if we ask at the hospital.”
“Are you feeling threatened because you have a supervisor with you?” Lincoln's eyes twinkle as he works his way down the steps and enters the station wagon's passenger side. Saving money for a new business car is taking a while. I don't mind the station wagon, though. Its weathered leather seats and faded carpets remind me of my dad and good times.
“You hardly qualify as a supervisor. Both of our names are on the door of that office.” I shake my head. It’s good to have Lincoln getting back to normal.
Link
The angry ball of fur in my arms twists and turns as we wait for its owner to open the door. It was just my luck that we found the runaway cat .
“Looks like he likes you,” Cassie says with a smirk. Her blond hair is in a messy bun, and strands have worked their way out to frame her face.
I shake my head. Animals never like me. My elbow shakes as I lean against my crutch, putting all my weight onto it.
Embarrassingly, I am barely standing without putting pressure on my injured leg. It's almost healed. If I can get through another few days with the crutch, I’ll be in the clear.
Having to depend on others and struggling with basic things is my nightmare come true. Cassie and Quinn step in to help when they can. Granted, if it had been Cassie who got shot, I would be following her around everywhere.
The door swings open, and an older woman with glasses and gray curly hair stares back at us.
"Oh, oh goodness!” Her eyes fall to the cat, and she reaches for him. “You've brought him back! I was so worried." She pulls the cat from my arms.
Relief that the cat is out of my arms and now in hers sweeps over me.
"Oh, where was he? My poor darling," the woman coos, stroking the cat's fur like she's recovered a lost child. The cat hisses and snarls. At least it isn’t just me he hates. “He must still be stressed out. Cats don’t like unfamiliar things, you know, ” she reasons.
Cassie watches with a warm smile. She might be fooled, but the animal is a menacing grump.
"Oh, hold on. I'll get your payment," the woman says. She goes into the house and returns a minute later with a couple of crumpled bills. For a second, I think Cassie will turn her down and say that our services are free of charge.
She has a soft spot for old ladies, even when the PI office struggles. Instead, she accepts the money graciously and waves goodbye as the cat-woman closes the door.
"Look at that. She even gave us a ten-dollar tip," Cassie says, pulling off a ten-dollar bill from the wad and tucking it into the front of my shirt pocket. "You should have that. After all, you're the one who took the brunt of the scratches."
“Thanks,” I grumble. “I’ll be sure to buy myself something nice.”
She giggles. "You know, I've been thinking. Perhaps we need a mascot for the office. What do you think of a cat? Plus, it would take care of all the mice." Her eyes twinkle with familiar mischief that I miss.
"Absolutely not, and what mice are you talking about? I haven't seen a single mouse in the office."
Cassie shakes her head. "Are you sure about that? When I went in before you and Quinn the other day, I was certain I saw something scurry off into the corner."
"You're just trying to convince me to get a cat." The idea of mice making themselves at home in the office makes me shudder. I hate mice. Though on a list of dislikes, I'm not sure if mice or cats would be first.
"I still can't believe you hate cats so much. They're so cuddly and sweet and can be great detectives. Hunting mice is basically being a detective," Cassie says, jumping into the station wagon as if it's nothing. She waits patiently for me to struggle my way into the seat, though I catch her tapping the steering wheel with her fingers .
"Where to next?" she asks. "Do you think we have any chance of finding out who keyed the car?"
"Probably not, and I can't go anywhere next. I have something to do in town. Do you think that you could drop me off?"
Cassie’s eyebrows raise. "What do you have to do in town?"
"It's a private matter if you must know."
One problem with Cassie and me sharing a car is that sometimes our schedules clash. My first meeting with Phineas was right after I was injured, and now that he's contacted me for a second one, I can't turn him down. Getting around Cassie and Quinn to work with Phineas won’t be easy.
"Just drop me off at the library," I say as nonchalantly as possible.
Cassie frowns, her brows creasing as she disappears deep in thought. She’s as good a detective as her father was, and her intuition is scary sometimes. She gives me the side eye, puts the car in gear, and drives us to the library. Silence suffocates the station wagon cabin.
"Do you want me to pick you up?" she asks. “Or is there someone dropping you off?”
"No, that's okay. I'll find my way home." Phineas won’t be dropping me off. A taxi should do just fine.
A hint of jealousy sweeps across her face. It’s so fast, I almost think I imagined it. She has nothing to worry about. The only person I'm meeting is Phineas, who I would never consider a friend. I’m flattered she’s jealous, and it sends a thrum of guilt mixed with longing through me. If only I could be honest about how much I wish there could be something between us.
"All right then, I'll see you back at the house. Are you sure you're gonna be all right out here alone?" She doesn’t know what I’m doing and is upset about it, but she’s still worried about me. Old feelings stir in my chest. We’ve established boundaries around our relationship, but they’ll be hard to keep.
"I'm going to be fine. We’re partners, not supervisors, remember?" I put on some mock annoyance for good measure, and she laughs. She and Quinn can’t find out how much I enjoy their doting on me, or they’d never let me live it down.
“Have fun, partner.”
Cassie rolls up the window, turns the car around, and disappears down the street, leaving me in front of the library with ten blocks to walk to my meeting spot with Phineas. He’s been quiet since our first meeting until his text to meet him at the motel. It’s both a relief and worrisome.
As soon as I'm sure Cassie can't see me in the rearview mirror, I start walking. It’s a betrayal to go behind her and Quinn's back, but I don't have much choice. Phineas made sure of that.