AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“He’s not reported to be in any of them.”
“Christ, where can he be?” Tears form again, and they slide down her cheeks. “Please. I know you’re busy and this isn’t your usual case or work, but at the very least, can you call the detective? Maybe ask someone you know at any of the jails or precincts you might have a connection at?”
“Okay.” At the very least, I will find out who opened their mouth.
Bails Bonds offices have to follow certain protocols and government regulations, and I can’t have people sharing information—my business dealings—with anyone. Not even a family member. The wrong kind of attention could bring attention to my doors and worse, to the De Leons.
I’m not worried about myself, but him. Always him.
Karen exhales, her smile nearly ear to ear. “Really?”
“I’ll see what I can find out for you, but I make no promises. Understood?” Opening the bottom drawer to my left, I pull out a basic NDA and pen, placing them in front of her. “Please read and sign. I’ll need you to understand that anything shared through our interactions is to be kept private, and sharing business procedures outside of the parties involved will be cause for legal action on behalf of Mariposa Bail Bonds.”
“No problem.” Without reading a single line, she signs and stands. “I appreciate this. Anything you can do is appreciated, and money isn’t an issue. My father will pay for it.”
“I’ll call you if I find anything. No guarantees.”
“You’ll find him. There’s no doubt in my mind that you will.”
Entering my home after a long day and endless phone calls—inquiries—I drop my shoes by the door and head straight for the kitchen. My footsteps are soft on the hardwood floors, yet inside the silence, it reminds me of a banging drum. This steady sound follows me. Torments.
It’s easy inside the office to get lost within my work. To focus on helping someone, filing paperwork, and sometimes driving out to pick up a jumper.
Here, though, in my silence, it maddeningly comes rushing back.
My needs and desires. The lack of touch from the man I love.
His words and the limbo they’ve left me in while I haven’t heard from Ivan in two days. Not a note, message, or smoke signal.
And this time, it stings worse than any other rejection.
“Maybe what he said to Maribel was the truth and once again, I fell for his act.” In the kitchen, I open the freezer and pull out a bottle of vodka with a smile. Ice cold, it’s just what I need and without hesitation, I remove the cap and take a sip straight from the bottle. There’s not much left—at the most three double-shot drinks—and I take the bottle without a glass out onto the balcony.
The sun’s slowly lowering as I sit on the lounge and take another small drink. From blue skies to darkness, it descends slowly while people begin to settle in for dinner.
Families talk. Couples share a kiss. Lovers curl around each other, offering pleasure while satisfying their hunger.
And here I am alone. Unsure of myself.
“He can’t care for me and then turn around and hurt me this way.” Something crinkles in my pants pocket as I shift and I slip a hand inside, pulling out a small white card. It’s basic and like many I’ve seen in the past with the precinct information and officer’s name.
“No reported incidents. Jaime Uriel is clean.” Yet I’m unsettled. Something about Karen and the case—her fiancé who doesn’t appear under anyone's detainment—worries me.
Those closest to me are not saints and have plenty of blood on their hands, but I’ll be damned if anyone hurts them. Comes for him.
Because everything for me starts and ends with Ivan De Leon no matter how much I hate it at times.
The weakness. The pain. My never-ending cycle.
“He needs to know, though. What if something happens?” Grabbing my cell from beside the bottle, I press number one and wait. Five chimes and nothing. Straight to voicemail. Then I try a last time, but instead, my device goes off, and on the screen is a phone number I’ve only seen twice. I press the green button. “Hello.”
“Miss Amberlyn Ibarra?” The man’s voice is deep, a bit hoarse before they clear their throat. My skin prickles at the way he says my name, and I don’t like it. Unpleasant. Ruins the slow buzz flowing through me while I also pick up the police radio in the background and the codes being shared. “May I speak to Amberlyn Ibarra.”
“This is her, Detective.”
“You’ve been expecting my call.” Not a question. His tone is amused. “You can also call me Jaime. No need for formalities.”
“I have a good memory, and your number crossed my desk today.” There’s no reason for him to have my number or the informal interaction. More cause for concern. “How can I help you?”
