Page 14 of Insatiable

Jay: The book she is reading is downright porn. I mean there’s dragons with two dicks and sex toys. Women read this stuff!

Cace: Women and Men. Pick up a book with something other than algorithms every once and while.

ME: Face palm

Jay: Got to go boys. I’m enjoying this too much. BYE.

Cace and I stare at our phones and then each other waiting for Jay to say more but he doesn’t.

“It’s what he does best,” I say as I stuff my phone into my pocket. Pulling my t-shirt off I wipe my sweaty face as Cace walks up the steps leading to his house.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Making her happy,” I say back closing the distance between us, jogging up the steps behind him.

“And we don’t?” He shoots me a frown as he pulls the sliding glass doors open and continues inside.

“We all have different things to offer her, that’s what I am saying. That is the way it’s always been. For Tate and Jay, it’s music and Saturday morning breakfast. I am just happy it broke up this strangeness between us since the night I couldn’t keep my mouth closed. Well, all of us really.” I shrug as Cace reaches into the refrigerator and grabs two water bottles and tosses one to me.

These past two weeks have been the most relaxed I’ve been in a long time. Every morning Cace and I have run together, there’s no questions, no complications, just companionable company. Our friendship wasn’t always this easy. Tate was our one constant then and from there we grew. It feels good to be around all of them again. Considering all the fake people I’ve spent my time around these past few years. Ugh, joining a top law firm left no room for actual friendships. Talk about being thrown into a shark tank. Everyone is vying for a spot at the top of the food chain. Unfortunately, my ex-wife decided to sleep her way to the top.

We both drink greedily for a minute lost in our own thoughts before Cace finally says, “I’m glad it’s out there in the open. Tate deserves to know our intentions. Waiting, I realize now probably would have caused her to jump ship.”

I snort at the mental image of Tate literally jumping overboard a ship and swimming for her life. Cace shoots me a look of concern as water spills on my already sweaty body. I’m in desperate need to get cleaned up and eager to get Tate back home with us. “Jay probably decided enough was enough and took her to do something familiar with the hope it will help her to relax around us all again. Maybe he will get her to talk about what we confessed.” Cace begins to clean up what he considers a mess in the kitchen. Tate’s discarded coffee cup and a water bottle has him pulling out disinfectant spray wiping down every surface. I watch in awe of his OCD when my phone rings. I guess being a doctor post pandemic will do that to you.

“Sean Taylor speaking,” I answer quickly, shaking my head at Cace’s cleaning regime. Between him and Tate we will never need a maid.

“Mr. Taylor, this is Detective Jones from LAPD,” he says his name and rank like I don’t know everything there is to know about this man. I’ve done my due diligence and know all about the two detectives who are investigating Tate’s attempted murder.

“Yes. Are you calling with good news?” I ask as Cace stops mid-spray to listen, gesturing for me to use speaker phone.

“No, Mr. Taylor, it’s not I’m afraid. Ms. Charles’s home was broken into last night. The place is completely ransacked.” Cace and I both mouth fuck at the same time. Cace closes the distance between us and takes a seat at the kitchen island.

“Do we have confirmation that it was James?” I ask. I know from my own research that Tate lived a fairly safe neighborhood in Culver City, but break-ins are common anywhere you live these days. Shit, these are desperate times.

“One of her neighbors across the street confirmed it was him. She called the police and was able to see him as he left the door open while he trashed the place. Once we arrived, we did a walk through.” He sighs down the line. “There is no way to know what he took without Ms. Charles going through everything herself. I wouldn’t recommend it though.” He goes quiet for a moment. Cace gestures with his hands for me to ask questions. There is more to this than Detective Jones is letting on.

“Detective Jones. What are you not saying? May I remind you that I represent Ms. Charles and you should not withhold information from me,” I say with an edge of authority in my voice. Tate is my only responsibility. I am all about making sure the LAPD do their jobs to ensure that Tate is safe.

“He left a message on the kitchen wall in blood,” Detective Jones said it so fast that I had to replay it slowly in my mind. “It appears there is more to James Fisher than we originally thought. We are discovering disturbing information about Mr. Fisher as we investigate him further. There are a few things I am sure Ms. Charles is ignorant of,” the detective says. I can hear paper rustle in the background, as if he is preparing to read from a page.

“Detective Jones, this is Dr. Cace Morgan here. What do you mean more to him than you thought?” Cace speaks up before I can, and as much as I want to glare at him for revealing his presence, I am glad that he is taking just as much interest in this as I am. I have a feeling this is going to be an all-hands-on deck scenario.

“Dr. Cace, I guess it’s none of my business that the both of you are together. I know that you all are friends, including Mr. Jamal Akins, A.K.A. Jay, who is quite a high profile. All of you attended the University of Houston and went your separate ways after undergrad. Sources say that you were all very close. From what I hear, it was an interesting dynamic the four of you had. Again, it’s none of my business,” Detective Jones rattles off, letting me know he has done just as much research on us as I’ve done on him.

“You are absolutely right it’s—” I cut Cace off by placing my hand on his shoulder. The last thing we need is to get into a heated argument on what this detective assumes he knows about us. We need the facts from him and nothing more.

“Detective Jones, what was the message?” I ask, steering us back to the matter at hand. Rubbing my hand over my bald head and down my face, I let out a calming breath.

“Yes. Right. My apologies. I didn’t mean to upset you. I have to know who is around Ms. Charles at all times. Just doing my job.” I can hear the sincerity and contrition in his words, and it settles me for some reason. I know the type of relationship we want with Tate is unorthodox and there will be backlash and scrutiny because of it.

“The message was “If I am going to get caught, I may as well finish the job!”—” The Detective continues to talk, yet the ringing in my ears tunes him out as I look at Cace in alarm. My widening eyes mirroring his as I begin to pace back and forth between the kitchen island and the living room. He wants to finish the job! He wants to make sure Tate, my Tatum, is dead! Well, over my dead body. Cace leans over the counter, his arms are braced on either side of the phone as he listens to the detective speak.

“I don’t suspect he knows where you are, but please make sure she is not seen out in public with Mr. Akins. Like I said, he is high profile in the Tech world and people tend to take pictures and post it on social media when they see him.” His words send a cold chill down my spine as I register what he is saying and how irresponsible we’ve been with Tate’s safety. It is my job to anticipate these things. I assumed he was the kind of man who would run and hide. This is an act of a desperate man. The question is, why?

“Apparently, James has been seen at a very sketchy BDSM club call Bound. Club Bound has been under investigation for some time now for underground sex trafficking, money laundering, and shit, so much more. James Fisher has a taste for certain kinks, if you know what I mean. He racked up quite a bill and the local mafia are after him for money he owes them. So, I think we have a shit ton of motive for his reasoning to get rid of Ms. Charles.” Cace and I both just stare at the phone. This situation has escalated from a five to a ten on the shit show scale.

“Well, that explains why he wiped out her accounts after he attempted to kill her,” I say matter-of-factly. I must stay professional, or I will lose it. I am sure Tate has no idea what her ex-fiancé has been up to, and we have to tell her, no matter how much it will hurt her. I will not keep secrets. Secrets are what get you killed.