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“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.
Heather Lewis, it appears, is much more than meets the eye. A photo from her file in my car comes to mind. She may look plain, but there must be more to her personality than that. Her luscious mahogany hair conceals a sharp mind, and her soft, round face could get away with murder.
Heather’s got the body most women spend thousands of dollars for; she's busty, curvy in all the right places, and tall. Tall enough to wear her firm build with grace and ease. I tense when I hear what sounded like Jimmy punching the roommate to silence his muffled cries. I shake off my thoughts, clear my throat, and redirect my mind.
No point in fantasizing about Heather until after I’ve already met her.
“Her clothes are nice, well-worn,” I open each drawer, searching for more hidden items, but there are none. “If Jimmy's search was thorough, she doesn't have any lockboxes. If there are any hidden assets...”
I stroke my jaw thoughtfully as I look around the room. Everything I see is nice but old; Heather takes care of her possessions and is willing to invest in what will last. It shows forethought for the future as well as the attention required to care about that kind of shit.Heather seems like an adventurous lady, but not excessively. She is a teacher, so she can probably handle a lot at once.
“I’m getting excited about this woman,” I mutter with a slight grin. I step out of the room and open the door across the hall. Clothes are strewn across the floor, and a small coffee table in the center of the room has a pile of paper plates with old food on it. “Roommate,” I mumble with disgust.
Heading back downstairs, I find Jimmy walking up from the basement, and he throws his thumb over his shoulder. “Nothing in the kitchen or dining room, Boss. What about you?”
“You know, Jimmy,” I start, leaning against the back of the sofa to cross my arms over my chest. He arches a brow quizzically. “The problem... with the innocent-looking is that most of the time, they’re not so innocent. There is much more to this woman than a plain face and a nice rack.”
“Aye?” He questions with a slight smirk. I nod, inhaling deeply through my nose and holding my breath. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with your uncle, does it? Thinking that just to spite him?”
“My uncle was a bleeding heart for innocent faces,” I growl, with a disgusted grimace. “He might’ve taught me much of what I know now, but the most important lesson was unintentional. No matter the debt, no matter the crime... everyone is an opportunity. Despite all he was, my uncle didn’t understand that no one is innocent if we’re involved. The Irish Mafia isn’t something you simply stumble upon.”
“Feels like you’ve got a plan in mind for this... Heather Lewis,” Jimmy alludes, and I nod again with a soft sigh. He runs his hand through his hair, looking around the house in admiration. “I’d buy up this place in a heartbeat if you wanna wrest it from her. I’d pay her whole debt for it, and I have no doubt it’s worth multiple millions.”
“I don’t,” I answer, and Jimmy’s face falls in obvious disappointment. “I have something else in mind, though. Maybe you’ll get the chance to negotiate if Heather can’t hack it.”
“She’ll be back in about twenty minutes, that is if what the roommate said is accurate,” Jimmy replies, checking his watch. “So, I guess we’ll find out.”
CHAPTERTWO
