Chapter 11
Pierce
I’m trying not to eavesdrop, but Thea is far from quiet.
She’s basically yelling to be heard by her father.
I can hear both sides of the conversation from my office, and no, I don’t think it’s weird that I have a toxicology machine at home.
I always test my urine after dinner meetings to ensure I haven't been drugged.
That’s not weird either.
“Are you having fun?” Thea’s father practically shouts.
From the brief life history my old partner Noah was able to scrounge up, his name is Darren Meyers.
He used to be a gifted chemist until the car accident eighteen months ago that killed his wife and left him with partial paralysis.
There was little more to be found on Thea.
She has a PhD in Psychology, and enjoys no extracurriculars aside from caring for her father.
She was also in the accident that killed her mother.
Beyond that, she’s as squeaky clean as it gets.
“Oh… it’s been an adventure.” Thea exhales with a little laugh. “How are you? Is Aunt Megan keeping you in line?”
“She’s a drill sergeant. She made me try yoga today, which was awful. Then we ran out of ice cream, and she refused to order more.” The man grumbles. “But all is well.” He finishes with a peppy tone that must be genetic.
“I’ll get some more if I… I mean, when I get home.” Thea’s voice cracks, but her dad doesn’t catch on.
“No need. I texted Andi. She’s bringing some over later.”
“Andi spoils you.” Thea chuckles.
“You both do. Did you watch the meteor shower down there?”
I hear Thea lean against the fridge. It shifts against the loose countertop I’ve tried to fix at least three times. “No, I missed it.”
“That’s fine; I found a recording online. We’ll watch it together.” This is followed by a round of coughs and wheezes. “Take some pictures of the flora for me.”
The flora? That’s an odd request… and utterly impossible without a phone.
“I will, I will… um, Dad, can I talk to Aunt Megan?”
“Sure, sweetie.” The phone is passed off, and Megan on the other side doesn’t speak as loud; neither does Thea.
I tiptoe closer. For the record, anyone could and should snoop on a random stranger they brought home.
For safety reasons. Granted, most people don’t bring random strangers home. For safety reasons.
“Hey, Meg. Are you sure he’s okay?” Thea whispers, and I don’t hear Megan’s response.
“I know, I know. I just worry.” A pause.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, I promise. I lost my phone.
I’ll have to get a new one… um, I was wondering…
” She takes a deep breath. “Did I tell you why I pushed my trip back a week?”
I hold my breath as I wait, wanting to know the answer myself.
“Oh.” Thea exhales. “That makes sense. I mean, I forgot I told you. No, of course, that’s the reason… I actually, uh, found a great tour guide to show me around.”
I’ve been called many things. Never a tour guide. I’d have to like people. Guess I can cross that option off the list for retirement.
“I never said it was a he!” Thea says. “No, I will not answer that. Megan!”
I’m suddenly very intrigued by what’s happening on the phone, but before I can get closer, my machine beeps.
I stomp over to it and pick up the readings.
Just as I thought.
I make my footsteps loud as I head toward the kitchen.
Thea sees me and whispers into the phone. “I’ve got to go, Megan. I’ll call you later.” She hangs up and clutches it between her hands. “You look like you have bad news. Do you have bad news? I think it’s bad news.”
I hold up a hand, and it miraculously halts her ramblings. “There’s good news and bad news.”
She lights up for a second, then dims again. “There’s good news?”
“No. I was just trying to ease into it. What did your aunt say about you postponing your trip?” I can’t help but satisfy my curiosity as well.
“Oh.” Thea waves her hand in the air. “I had a work thing come up and had to reschedule it.”
That was just vague enough to be questionable, but she seems to believe it. I accept her answer and extend the paper.
She takes the thin paper, skimming the contents. “What does this mean?”
“You had copious amounts of benzodiazepines in your system.”
She swallows. “Meaning…?”
I rub my chin. “Benzodiazepines are drugs that specifically affect your memory. With the amount still in your system, I’d guess it was a lot, and that it likely happened sometime on the plane.”
“When I got on the plane yesterday?” She blinks, trying to make sense of it. “But… I don’t remember the last week of my life.”
“There were enough benzodiazepines and other anticholinergic drugs in your system to block out the last two weeks to two months. It could have been much worse. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Her left eye twitches. “Funny, I don’t feel very lucky right now.”
“I’m sorry.” I hold up two hands to ward off her anger. She has every right to be upset but I didn’t do this, and we need to be productive. It seems to work as she takes a deep breath.
“W-why would someone want me to forget?” she asks.
Either it was an accident, or she was targeted.
I don’t like to consider either option. “Maybe they hit on you, and you rejected them.” Unfortunately, that’s not what I think happened.
I think she was drugged by the guy from her room.
Hopefully, he only followed her to her room, then came back when she wasn’t there.
If he forced himself on her… then I have no pity for the fate that befell him.
It’s far kinder than what I would’ve done to him.
The table under my palms splinters, and I blink. When did I grab onto it? I release it, and stalk into the kitchen, needing to do something with my hands.
Thea follows with a frown. “You okay?”
“Yes.” I wipe my hand off on a towel, keeping it pressed to the sensitive part of my palm where the wood must have cut into it. I don’t want to investigate and risk her passing out again. She’s been through enough today.
“There is good news, actually,” I lie. “It’s a fairly common drug, and you should remember things soon.” Maybe.
“Really?”
“Sure.” I have no idea, but it sounds reasonable enough.
She rubs her temples, the fatigue of the day settling in. “Now what?”
Now what indeed?
If I were by myself, the options would be unlimited. I’d go back to the hotel, steal the security footage, and figure out what happened in that room. But right now, with her here, there’s only one viable option.
“It’s nearly midnight; I’m going to get some sleep.” I open a water bottle and pour it into a glass cup I must have on my night table to sleep.
“B-but I was drugged, a-and someone’s dead, and it might be my fault. I don’t remember anything.”
She’s hyperventilating, and I’m too tired to deal with it again.
Usually when I’m with another person, as long as I’ve been with this woman, I’m trying to strangle them right about now. Or steal something from them or get them arrested. I’m not used to playing nice this long. My ‘give-o-meter’ has officially run out.
“It’s not your fault,” I say, lacking compassion. “Unless you became a crazy person in the last week?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Seriously?” She smacks my arm, then winces and cradles her hand to her chest.
“Who am I to judge?” I walk toward the back of the house where my room is. I stop. Singular room. Singular bed. I never planned on having guests, so I have one queen-sized mattress, and that’s it. Not even an air mattress. I use my spare room as an office.
Instead of a couch, I have an oversized recliner in front of a medium-sized TV. This is a home meant solely for one person.
She’s small enough. She could sleep on the recliner without it killing her back.
“Maybe I did go crazy,” she says, flitting around me like a butterfly, unaware of my dilemma. “I mean, I’m here, in a house with a stranger, running from the Mexican police because someone is trying to frame me for murder.”
“Valid point.” I open a closet where I keep exactly one spare towel, one spare blanket, and an extra sheet next to two cleaning supplies and rags. I grab the blanket.
“So what are we going to do?” she asks again, her words hopeless now.
“We are going to sleep. I need exactly eight hours and thirty-seven minutes of sleep every night.”
She raises a brow, and it arches in the same judgmental way many have when I talk about my sleep. I know what my body needs to be at its peak.
“Do you combust if you get one minute more or less?” she asks.
“No, but I’m incredibly grumpy.”
“You mean today has been the pleasant you?” she asks.
My lips tug down. “If you want my help, I need sleep.”
She puts her hands out to the side, palms up, tipping side to side as if weighing her options. “Save Thea’s life and prove she’s not a murderer, or get sleep? Yeah, you’re right. There’s one obvious winner.”
“If you want to walk out that door, I won’t stop you.” Technically, I won’t have to because my security system will. “If you want to survive to see your dad again, you’re going to trust me when I say there’s nothing we can do right now. Got it?”
Her eyes harden. Finally, I’ve gotten through to her. “Is that an order, Sergeant?”
“Think of it as a rule.”
“Are there any more rules I should be aware of?” The sass in her words suits her.
“Yes, but not at the moment. Now, how do you feel about sleeping on a recliner?”
“I’ll suffer through it.”
“Suffer in silence if you can.” I toss the blanket onto the recliner and motion for her to enjoy. “I’d give you my bed, but—”
“You need your beauty sleep,” she deadpans. “I’ve got it.”
My shoulders relax, grateful I won’t have to be more chivalrous than necessary, and turn to leave.
“What if there are assassins who break in and kidnap me?”
I take a deep breath and roll out my neck that may have a permanent knot in it after this woman. “I have a great security system.”
“What if they disable it, and they kill me before you make it out of your room to save me?”
“You’re putting a lot of stock in my abilities.” I’m mildly flattered, yet she makes a point. If someone managed to break into my house, they could have her before I got out of my room. Plus, I don’t trust her.
A rough sound vibrates in the back of my throat. “Would you like me to bring my mattress out here?” I immediately regret the offer.
“Oh, I don’t want to trouble you.” She shuffles, glancing down at her feet then back up to me. “I’ll bring my chair to your room.” And then, the tiny, bewildering woman attempts to drag my recliner down the hall.
I let her struggle with the chair for a full two minutes before I take over.
“Just curious,” she asks, as I slide the chair into the farthest corner of my room. I hope she doesn’t snore. I won’t be able to sleep. “Do you really think assassins could be after me?”
“If you’re lucky.” I stomp into the bathroom and shut the door.