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Mia: I have to work until ten.
Ethan: I’ll pick you up.
Mia: See you then.
The countdown until Ethan and Will move back into their apartment started a few days ago. My heart aches with each passing day. He wants to tell Will about us. I do too. But both of us are afraid of losing Will over our relationship.
I’ve grown accustomed to kissing Ethan before bed and eating breakfast with Will in the morning. I’ll miss both of them for different reasons. At least we have a few more days together.
Twice in over two hours, Connor stepped out from the back office. Once, Connor said he was running down the street to grab a soda from the pharmacy, the other time a pizza. He came back with a duffle bag over his shoulder from his pharmacy run and a pizza in his hand the next.
We ate a few slices together and talked about vinyl records and music from the seventies, all while I tried to uncover more information about his business. Same as usual, I got nothing. Connor covers his tracks well. Or at least he was doing a pretty good job of it before a dark-haired man in his late twenties strolls through the front door.
Dressed in a black suit fitted to his muscular frame and a crisp white oxford, this man screams money. Lots of it. He shoves a hand through his dark, wavy hair and fixes his gaze on me.
“You must be new,” he says.
He’s maybe ten years older than me and easy on the eyes. A thin scar sweeps across his right cheek, intensifying his dark, masculine features.
I give him a polite smile and nod. “I started a few weeks ago. Are you looking for anything in particular?”
He scans my face before his gaze falls to my breasts. “Is Connor here?”
“Who should I say is here to see him?” I slide off the chair and come around to the other side of the counter, awaiting his response.
“An old friend.” That’s all he offers. He tilts his head to the back of the store. “Is he in his office?”
Noting the change in my expression, he takes that as a yes. Before I can get in another word, the man darts past me. I follow behind him, begging him to wait, but he’s determined to get to Connor. Signals go off in my brain, red flags waving one after the other. All night, Connor has been acting strange. Then, his old friend shows up unannounced.
How convenient.
Maybe tonight is the night.
Every lead I’d followed was completely bogus until now. The strip club was a waste of time. The only illegal thing about that place was the price of the drinks. All of my stakeouts with Clarke were nothing more than snack-induced comas filled with stale coffee and girl talk. At least it gave me a reason to spend more time with Clarke outside the office. Still, it would’ve been nice to gain some intel or at least one solid lead.
The man pushes open the cracked door with the tip of his shoe, revealing a surprised Connor. He looks at the man first, horror scrolling on his face, and then to me. His expression softens when he locks onto me.
“Can you give us a minute, Dora?” Connor clears his throat and swallows.
I almost laugh every time he uses my fake name. “Sure.”
The man steps inside the small office and closes the door behind him. Pressing my back against the wall, I crane my neck to listen and hear nothing, not a single sound. They must be waiting for me to leave.
Dammit.
I tiptoe down the hall in hopes of catching a bit of their conversation. But I can’t hear a thing. I should’ve come to work more prepared. On my stakeouts with Clarke, we brought listening devices. Of course, now I need them. I rushed out the door at work, afraid to be late for my second job, and forgot the gadgets in my cubicle.
Connor spends a lot of time in his office and never forgets to lock up before he leaves. Whatever he’s hiding must be inside. I can’t make out a single word spoken behind his closed door.
The Mafia funnels most of the cocaine and heroin in the country through Philly. Even though Connor seems innocent enough, I’m not here because he’s some average Joe. Connor is a drug dealer and who knows what else, but I have to prove it first. I have to get this story no matter the cost. A few of my colleagues launched their careers with one story. I could easily do the same with a high-profile case like the Old City Records Ring.
After twenty minutes of waiting, maybe more, I jump at the sound of the bell ringing throughout the store. There’s a rustling inside Connor’s office. I make a beeline for the front counter, the nervous energy pushing me to move faster.
Relief washes over me when I spot Ethan flipping through a box of records.
“Hey.” I close the distance between us and thread my fingers between his.
He squeezes my hand and smiles.
