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CHAPTERONE
Jack
“It’s a nice house,” Jimmy grumbles, peering up at the beautiful brownstone, the bricks glowing in the yellow light of the street lamps. I grunt in acknowledgment, staring down at the folder in my lap. “I bet it’d cover her debt if she sells it to us, Boss.”
“Good thing I don’t pay you to calculate the odds, Jimmy,” I say listlessly. “Do you think someone with this kind of debt, whether it's her father's or her own, can afford the inside of that place? No, it most likely needs a lot of work. Let's go in before you break out the money clip.”
“I only skimmed her file,” He replies, and I glance over as he grins saucily. “She’s got a nice rack.”
“Yeah,” I agree distractedly. I’m not interested in her looks; just about the fact that Heather Lewis owes a quarter million dollars courtesy of her father’s horrendous gambling habit.
The damn bastard even had the audacity to die before making amends. I'm sure I could have found a pricey, shady lawyer I had dirt on — there are numerous legal issues he could have handled for me that would have reduced his debt. “There is not much in here from before 5 years ago, though. This was all your guy could dig up on her?”
Jimmy hums as I hold up the thin folder, displeasure twisting my expression. “Nothing else?”
“Her mother died. There is nothing really from high school. The only thing I found that goes that far back is the obituary, but otherwise... it’s really unremarkable. Heather Lewis moved here after that, taking a gap year between high school and college. She worked at a pet store,” Jimmy shrugs.
“Normal stuff. She’s got no credit cards and a mountain of student loan debt, but she graduated with honors. Got a job at a nice, private elementary school. Honestly, Boss, I don’t know if she’s even worth going after. We should go after Frankie. He won’t be that easy to find, but we know he’s got money, and he’s not exactly in your good book right now, Boss.”
“We’ll see. You’re right, though. Keep up the search,” I slide the folder between the driver's seat and the center console before removing the keys from the ignition. Jimmy steps out of the passenger seat, and I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
“Weshouldgo after Frankie, but since I can’t find him fast enough, his sister will have to do.”
My whisper escapes through the crack in the door as I open it, and climb out. Heather Lewis' brownstone is large, regal, and expensive, just like the others on this street. However, there are no flowers in the front beds. When I go inside, I'm sure there will be some damage that she can't afford to repair.
But that's fine. There are various non-monetary ways to repay a debt.
“What about the roommate? Is he home?” I ask Jimmy, and he nods as we take the steps up to the entrance. Rapping on the door, I don’t have to wait long for the light pounding of footfall on the hardwood. A man, presumably the roommate, opens the door looking disheveled, and suspicion immediately narrows his gaze. He’s in pajama pants and nothing else, and his body odor wafts towards me when he raises his arm to lean on the doorframe. “Is Heather Lewis home?”
“No, she won’t be back for another hour, at least. You want me to give her a message?” He asks.
He’s inconsequential, regardless. Waving a hand in dismissal, I shake my head.
“No, I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself,” I respond before unceremoniously punching the man in the gut. He groans, doubling over as the wind's knocked out of him. Shock widens his eyes when they meet mine, and Jimmy steps around me to enter the house. “We’ll wait here, thanks.”
“You’re such an ass, boss,” Jimmy says with a snigger, shoulder-checking the guy.Is he the boyfriend or the roommate?But wait... the boyfriend’s in Europe, so this is probably her roommate..“This is the roommate. He’s a loser. Skips rent and doesn’t pay for his own food. Poor Heather’s browser history is chock-full of searches about eviction laws. We should do her a favor, aye?” Added Jimmy.
“I’ll think about it once I’ve met her,” I reply while my best lackey produces a used roll of duct tape from a clip on his belt. I smirk; Jimmy’s always prepared. “Put him in the basement and start looking. Knowing the old man’s type, maybe he’s got a stash somewhere. I’ll start in the attic and make my way down.”
“Aye, aye,Capitano,” Jimmy says, not looking up from the paralyzed body underneath him. I wander through the living room which takes up the entire first floor. Separated into three sections, the paint on the walls changing with each one, I step into what seems to be a sitting area. Wrapping around the corner is an office, but it’s obviously empty of anything Heather doesn’t want to be broken or stolen. Clicking my heel against the hardwood, I grunt lowly at the lack of creaking and solidness underneath me.
“Maybe, I was wrong,” I mutter to myself with curiosity. I take the stairs that climb the far wall of the office space to get to the second floor. The banister is sturdy, and none of the steps groan under my weight. As I reach the second floor, the neutral color of the wall to my right abruptly changes to a soft, light green. My mind races as I open doors, a closet, and then a bathroom in search of Heather's room.
She could have more roommates if she wanted, to pay off her student loans faster. Of course, with a first experience like the man downstairs, she wouldn't want to take any chances. Heather's house is in excellent condition, but the student loans she owes make it impossible for her to sell it. She'd end up homeless.
“Jimmy mentioned that she plans on securing the job at the school.” When I reach a locked door, my mutter morphs into a hiss of excitement, and I grin to myself.
I take out a lockpicking set from my slacks pocket — I open the door and enter Heather's room. When I turn on the lights, the pale lavender walls feel soothing and bright. “Hmm.”
I walk to the corner door and open it to reveal an ensuite bathroom. I shut the door again, disinterested, and return my gaze to the other door across the room. I circle the neatly made bed and peer into the closet. Pushing aside stylish dresses and shirts, disappointment twists my expression. “No safe in the closet.”
Heather Lewis' old man had left her a fully paid-off brownstone in one of Boston's more affluent neighborhoods. There's no reason to think he didn't leave her other assets. Perhaps he had a will that stated she couldn't access her inheritance, which is why she's struggling? I walk over to her dresser and pull open the top drawers.
There are a few letters tucked under her socks, all of which are very old and have clearly been read and reread hundreds of times. Sandra... must be Heather's mother. I carefully tuck the letters back under her socks before opening the next drawer. The depths are devoted to lingerie, and I rummage to the bottom and find a small, plain box.
“If I was hiding assets,” I mumble, setting the box on the top of the dresser. “Sentimentals go under the socks. Money goes under the underwear.”
I pause as I open the box, my lips parting in surprise. Inside are a pair of fluffy purple handcuffs, a decent-sized cock ring, and a purple vibrator. I smirk and roll my jaw thoughtfully as I close it and place it back in the drawer.
