3. Tallus

Ichuckled at the throaty growl in Diem’s tone when he asked who was calling. “If you’re truly a PI, I shouldn’t have to answer that.” I paced my living room, wearing a devious grin. “I’ve been thinking. What is it exactly about Rebecca Aurelian’s case that interests you? I know, I know, grr, you don’t want to tell me. Don’t care. After locking up, I stuck around the office and reviewed what I could of the case, which I admit isn’t much since I’m a nobody records clerk, but I was curious. She seems like a standard missing person. Why the interest?”

A grunt came through the line, followed by distinctive shuffling or the repositioning of a large body. “It’s after midnight.” Diem’s words were low and mumbled.

“I’m aware. Did I wake you?”

Another suppressed noise. Oddly, I got the sense he was answering in the negative, but it was impossible to tell for sure. Diem Krause seemed to be a man of few words.

A crinkling sounded over the line, followed by chewing. Gum?

Then silence filled with nothing more than deep, labored breathing.

Diem still didn’t speak, but his presence, although virtual, took up space. A lot of space. He was definitely chewing on something.

“Hello?”

“I’m not following.”

The man was aggravating. I stopped pacing and perched a hand on a hip, speaking slowly. “What were you hoping to find out earlier? You came into the office with a purpose in mind. I think you expected Kitty to be around and that she could provide you with information. What information?”

More silence.

“She’s in your pocket.”

No response.

I huffed, irritated. “Look, buddy. My job is dull. Our chance encounter, as humiliating as it was, is the most entertaining thing that’s happened to me since I started working for the department. I’m curious, that’s all. When I left work, I swung by your office. The one listed on your business card. You weren’t there.”

More breathing. More chewing.

“Hello?”

“I was working.”

“Do you know something about the missing woman?”

Nothing.

“You’re kind of annoying.”

A grunt. At least that was better than silence. Oddly, again, I had the feeling he was agreeing.

“Okay. Here’s my proposal. Tell me what information you’re looking for, and I’ll see what I can do to get it to you. Under the radar, of course. I don’t know the guy working the case well, but I’ve met him, and—”

“Nuh-uh. Too dangerous. He’s tight with the rule book. Can’t trust him.”

Now I was getting somewhere. “Who? Quaid Valor?”

A grunt. Another affirmative. How did I know this?

“What about his partner? Frawley.”

“Don’t know her. Doesn’t matter. If she’s working with Valor, she’s a no-go.”

I resumed pacing, wearing a path in the Ikea rug underfoot. “What is it exactly you need?”

More silence. More audible breathing and chewing. It was like conversing with a stubborn cow.

“You know what? Never mind. I’m not a dentist, and this is like pulling teeth. Forget I called.” I was about to hang up when Diem’s gravelly voice stopped me.

“Meet me at the office in twenty minutes.” The call disconnected before I could respond.

“We really need to work on your people skills, buddy,” I said to the empty room.

I pocketed my phone and made a pitstop in the bathroom to ensure I didn’t look like a train wreck. I’d lost the tie when I got home, but the memory of Diem adjusting it before walking out the door was still ripe in my mind. I could still feel the impression of his knuckle grazing the skin at my throat.

But again, he hadn’t reacted to my dick-in-the-face comment on the phone. The man was hard to read. After work, after several hours of contemplation and doing all I could to ignore the insatiable itch under my skin to know what Diem was up to, I’d decided to see how hard it might be to wiggle my way into his pocket. I mean, if eighty-something-year-old Kitty Lavender could do it, why not me? I needed the entertainment.

Fixing my hair and adding an extra spritz of cologne, I debated changing my shirt to something more casual. With contacts, I usually preferred a casual manner of dress. I called it my going out look. The glasses helped people take me more seriously and fit with a business-like style. Seeing as the lens was broken, changing into something more comfortable seemed like the only option. A nice amber polo would pair with my designer jeans.

With protanopia, my visual spectrum consisted of blues, browns, and yellows. All other colors were indecipherable. But I had developed a system when shopping that ensured I didn’t walk away looking like a fool who couldn’t match his clothes. It also meant my closet was organized in such a way I could pair outfits appropriately. Clothing was important to me. It displayed my personality to the world, and I had full control over how I wanted people to see me.

Deeming myself suitably presentable, I snagged my keys and locked the apartment. I lived in a cozy place on the west end of Toronto. Nothing spectacular, but it was the best I could do on a tight budget. Most of my income went toward designer clothing and frivolous extras that boosted my self-confidence. I liked to look like a million bucks even when I had to scrape pennies by the end of the month to pay bills. Sacrifices. My student loan was sinking me. Living within my means was a foreign concept, and I wasn’t opposed to showing up at my mother’s house for a hot meal when money was tight. She and my stepfather welcomed me with open arms.

I located my recently bought 2022 Jetta in the underground parking structure—another unnecessary purchase I would be paying back until I died—and followed GPS for the second time that day to Shadowy Solutions. The windshield wipers worked overtime. It was a miserable night. Cold, damp, and dreary. Everything shone wet in the headlights and streetlights.

Diem Krause’s office was located in a shitty part of downtown where road and building construction was interminable, and the city’s congestion was suffocating. It was late enough that the roads were passable, if not clogged with construction vehicles and barriers.

The exterior of the building was run down. Boarded-up windows outnumbered the ones with dirty panes, and the concrete fa?ade was pitted and crumbling. Scaffolding had been set up alongside the front entrance, but there was no sign of work being done. Diem’s business shared space with many vacant offices, some sporting For Lease signs, others left to the vagrants of society. Despite the efforts of our police service, the homeless found shelter from the elements wherever and whenever they could. Tonight was no exception.

Diem’s office was on the third floor. I took the stairs and landed in the same stuffy, mildew-scented corridor I’d been in a few hours earlier. The sign outside the office hung crooked, and a distinctive chunk of the lower left-hand side was missing, likely from having fallen one too many times. Shadowy Solutions was printed in bold font across the top. Underneath, in finer print, A full-service investigative firm. Then, under that, Diem Krause, Private Investigator.

I’d googled the firm and discovered Mr. Ex-Cop and his PI business was a one-man show. He didn’t have a partner. Shamelessly, I’d dug deeper and learned Diem had been in business for four years after having left the police department. He’d served six years as a cop. Why he’d left was unknown.

Diem Krause was thirty-four—which made him eight years older than me—and his business rating fluctuated between three and four stars. Not great compared to other investigative firms in the city. The more negative reviews all mention his poor attitude. As I’d already determined, Diem Krause was not all that personable. In fact, according to many, he was a bit of an asshole.

Attitude aside, the reviews suggested he was a decent investigator. No matter your needs—uncovering a cheating spouse, insurance or medical fraud, background checks, surveillance, anything and everything—Diem Krause could get the job done. His rates were reasonable, if not lower than his competition. Maybe if he increased them, he could afford a better office.

I checked the time. Half past one. So much for beauty sleep. And all because some brute stranger had opened a can of worms in my office. This was my own fault. I could have ignored it.

It was another fifteen minutes before the door to the stairwell opened, and Diem Krause appeared. He was exactly as I remembered: tall, bulky, and wearing the same oddly out-of-place trench coat and outdated fedora. Mr. Dick Tracy wannabe on steroids.

Unlike earlier, Diem looked like he’d fallen in the lake. He was dripping and soggy from head to toe. His shoes squished with every step. Droplets clung to the brim of his hat.

Approaching, he fiddled with a camera, not bothering to lift his gaze and acknowledge me. Only because I planted myself in such a way to prevent him from getting at the door did he stop and glare. Same menacing gray eyes. Same war-torn features on a face cast from stone. Same dense scruff, crooked nose, and iron-set jaw. Same daunting height, thick thighs, and massive hands.

The guy could probably pick me up and tie me into a knot like a pretzel if he wanted to. Although that should have been worrisome, the thought was strangely arousing.

Why on earth did his presence buzz hot under my skin? Apparently, I had a thing for harsh, unapproachable men with poor attitudes. Who knew?

He grunted in place of a hello. Shocking.

“We meet again.” I smirked with a dash of sultriness and mischief, my go-to expression with men. A touch flirty and full of confidence. The “You want me, but can you have me?” look.

“Rough night?” I added, tugging at the opening of his sopping wet trench coat.

Diem froze at the contact, his nose and lip twitching on one side as he followed the action. Was I pushing? Yep. Was it getting me anywhere? Nope.

Another grunt, and Diem pulled out his keys and hitched his chin, silently requesting I step aside.

Sighing, I let go of his coat and moved. “You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?”

“Been a night. Now I have to deal with you.”

“Such a sacrifice. I could leave. I’m here offering to do you a favor.”

He huffed, unlocked the door, and went inside, not inviting me to follow but not slamming it in my face either.

Diem vanished into the dark interior of the room while I waited on the threshold. A moment passed before he clicked on a floor lamp in the far corner. A gauzy yellow light filled the space, soaked up by tacky wood-paneled walls and an ugly brown industrial carpet that had seen better days. Wow. The office was a reflection of a Dick Tracy time period too.

Fitting… and gross.

The main entrance to Shadowy Solutions was worn down and rough around the edges, much like the man who ran it. A desk in the back corner by the only window was littered with files and notebooks, scattered with pens and paper clips, along with a MacBook and printer. A rusty filing cabinet occupied a spot beside the desk. On top, nestled in a ceramic planter, was a dead potted plant covered in dust and cobwebs. Three orange plastic chairs were aligned against the wall by the door in what I thought was meant to represent a waiting area. Was Diem so run off his feet that such a place was required? Somehow, I doubted it.

An empty coat rack and boot mat stood inside the door, and a mismatched coffee table with random outdated magazines strewn on top sat in the middle of the room. A few odd pictures hung on the wall—someone’s framed vacation shots that appeared three or four decades old. I had a hunch Diem had found them at a thrift store and hung them for aesthetics. The guy needed a decorator. Pronto.

The door to a pint-sized bathroom stood open on the left, and I feared having to use it. Something told me it would haunt my nights if I did.

The office was claustrophobic. A rattly space heater in the corner hummed, pumping so much heat into the room it was suffocating. Diem shed his coat and tossed it over the desk. His fedora landed on the chair, and his soggy shoes ended up in a heap in the corner, leaving him in sopping wet socks that left imprints on the carpet when he walked.

Carefully examining the camera he’d been carrying, Diem muttered under his breath and set it aside. Only then did he acknowledge my presence. But if I thought for one second I was going to see any life behind his concrete stare, I was wrong.

“I have to change,” he grumbled, aiming for another door on the far side of the room. He vanished into what I assumed was a second office space, leaving me alone. I wandered about, peered into the bathroom—wrinkled my nose—and checked the view from the office window, glancing around our washed-out city.

Just as I had decided this guy wasn’t worth it, he called from the other room. “Wanna beer?”

Okay. It was a start.

Taking it as an invitation to follow, I went through the door. It wasn’t a private workspace or second office like I’d presumed. It was a stingy and severely undersized living area with a makeshift kitchen—microwave, toaster oven, bar fridge, and the odd gadget on a roughly built free-standing cabinet. A flatscreen TV and loveseat ate up most of the space, and a screen divider marked an area I assumed contained Diem’s sleeping quarters. No, it was meant to be a second office, but Diem had made it into a home. A sad home, but a home nonetheless.

The gruff man poked his head over the top of the partition and hitched his chin. “Fridge. Grab two.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t immediately move to get myself a beer. I was struck by the miserable excuse for an apartment that was a neon sign announcing Diem’s depressing life.

As for décor, the space was as drab and lifeless as the office next door. Void of personality and warmth. It gave away nothing about the man who rented it. This wasn’t a place where a person lived. It was a place where they merely existed from day to day.

Under a far window, a decent-sized aquarium caught my attention. I’d missed it at first glance, focused more on the minimalistic and drab furnishings. The dim glow of a light emanated from within. It wasn’t a fish tank. It contained no water. Curious, I approached, scanning the various rocks, brittle branches, and vegetation decorating the inside. A hollow half log in the corner contained something I couldn’t make out. I leaned closer, then immediately flew backward, stumbling over my feet.

“Jesus fucking christ! Is that a snake?”

Diem’s voice came from over my shoulder, closer than I expected, startling me a second time. “That’s Baby. She’s a red-tailed boa. Here.” He held out a sweating bottle of Budweiser, cap removed.

My heart had lodged in my throat, but I accepted the beer, not taking my eyes off the hollow half log covering a fucking boa constrictor. What was wrong with this guy?

“You have a boa constrictor as a pet?”

Diem grunted like it was the most natural thing.

“That’s not normal.”

Another grunt.

“And… you said its name is Baby?”

“Her. Yeah. Hold this.” He held out his beer.

I took it without thinking, still absorbing the shock as Diem approached the aquarium and lifted the lid.

“Whoa, buddy, maybe don’t let it out.” I backed up a few more steps, clocking the distance to the door, ready to make a run for it.

“She won’t hurt you. Trust me.”

“You’re a freak. What the fuck was wrong with a puppy? Or a cat. Those are normal pets.”

Ignoring me, Diem removed the hollow half log, uncovering a twisted, meaty coil of thick snake. My skin turned cold and blistered with goose bumps.

Then, because revealing it wasn’t bad enough, Diem picked it up like it was a delicately knitted scarf his grandmother had made him for Christmas and draped it over his shoulders.

The reptile dangled longer on one side, hanging to Diem’s waist. The other end he held aloft, aiming the snake’s face at his own because he clearly had a death wish. When he cooed, made kissy noises, and talked to it with a warm, soft tone, all words left me.

It was the first time I’d heard anything resembling tenderness in Diem’s voice. I may have only known the guy for five minutes, but I sensed it wasn’t normal.

I guzzled half my beer, sweating, pulse racing as I fought the urge to bail and worked at keeping my cool.

“Wanna hold her?” Diem tenderly stroked the snake’s tail with his mitt-sized hand, and I seriously wondered if he’d be strong enough to stop it if it tried to escape.

“Not on your life. Please put it away.”

“Her.”

“Whatever. Her. Put her away.”

In the event the constrictor decided to murder its owner, I shuffled closer to the door. I thought Diem would make a suitable opponent and wouldn’t be easily bested by a boa constrictor, but you never knew. His muscles were as dense as the snake’s, but I didn’t want to be around if Diem lost. Being strangled by a scaly reptile was not how I wanted to die.

Humor shone in Diem’s gray eyes. He didn’t smile—I wasn’t sure he was capable—but there was a hint of humanity, a spark of life in his irises. I noted it and soaked it up. The gruff man wasn’t impenetrable after all.

Taking pity on me, Diem put the snake back in its enclosure and closed the lid on the aquarium, ensuring it was secure.

I handed him back his beer but couldn’t take my eyes off the threat in the room. Only when Diem spoke was I able to redirect my attention to the stone pillar of a man planted in front of me, sizing me up and down.

There was a fucking four-foot-long snake in the room, one capable of squeezing me to death without any effort, but the dominating presence of Diem Krause was somehow enough to make me momentarily forget the danger.

Diem had changed into cargo shorts and a dark-colored tank top that could have been painted on. The breadth of his shoulders, neck, and the thickness of his arms were almost as hazardous as the boa constrictor, but in this case, I wouldn’t have objected to having them wrapped all around me.

I needed to seriously evaluate my principles. This odd infatuation with being dominated by a surly brute was getting out of hand. This had never been a thing before.

A few tattoos decorated Diem’s left forearm—Chinese characters that ran from elbow to wrist—and on closer inspection, I realized they covered yet another deep scar. The guy was a veritable roadmap of destruction. What had happened to him?

Diem caught me staring and shifted, grunting disapproval—again, how did I know that?—and spoke with a clipped tone. “What do you want?”

“Excuse me?”

“In exchange.”

Oh.“Nothing.”

He made a noise in his throat.

“I’m serious. I just want to help if I can. Kitty’s retiring. She’s your informant, I assume, so why not me? I can replace her.”

The sound that came next resembled a strangled laugh, but I couldn’t be sure since his mouth remained set. “Ms. Lavender is a friend.”

“Who informs.”

“It isn’t like that.”

“Whatever. Let me take over.”

“Take over what?”

“Informing. God, you’re frustrating. You came to the office looking for dirt. I’ll be your dirt collector—as disgusting as that sounds.”

“I came to find out who was on the case. That’s it.”

“Bullshit. We both know you wanted more.”

Diem stewed and drank his beer, his fixed glare never leaving mine. When I didn’t flinch or look away from intimidation, I seemed to win points.

“You wear contacts.” Not a question.

“Obviously. My glasses are broken. You were there. Why? Do you prefer me with glasses?” I teasingly smirked, pushing limits.

Diem grunted, one I couldn’t quite decipher, and turned his focus elsewhere. “How do I know you’ll keep my confidence?”

“You don’t. You’ll just have to trust me.”

Another grunt. Diem didn’t like that answer. Fair. Trust didn’t come easy for some people.

“Look, I’m flexible when I have to be and know how to keep my mouth shut. Wanna hear a story, Guns? Once upon a time, I wanted to join the academy. I wanted to be a cop. A detective. But I failed the medical. I took the job in records so I could spend my days poring over old cases. They interest me. It’s pathetic. I know. The department itself…” I shrugged, hoping it enunciated my position on loyalty without my having to directly say it.

Diem chewed on that information—literally. His jaw worked back and forth. He seemed to be thinking or formulating a response.

He drank a few gulps of beer.

Stared.

Drank more.

Stared more, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re… flexible, huh?”

I raised my brows in astonishment. “All those words, and that’s the one you got stuck on?”

Diem shifted his weight and redirected his attention to the snake enclosure. Was that embarrassment? Interesting. Now we were getting somewhere.

I smirked—a dash of sultriness and a pinch of mischief. “Extremely flexible, for the record. All kinds of bendy.”

A barely visible flush crept up Diem’s neck.

“Talk to me, Guns. How can I help?”

Diem stared at the snake for a long time, shifted his attention to his beer, then back to the snake. “Rebecca Aurelian isn’t missing. I have her stowed away somewhere safe. She sought me out a few weeks ago after one of her husband’s thugs caught up with her and tried to take her out. She hired me to protect her while I blow her husband’s illegal business out of the water and hand him and his associates over to the police. But it’s bigger than she thought. There’s a whole group of them working together, and finding shit out is turning into a circus.”

“Illegal business? What kind?”

Diem shook his head.

It was my turn to absorb and delay answering. Diem’s attention slowly moved from his freak pet to me. He wasn’t leery of my trust like I’d assumed. There was no concern or fear behind his stormy gaze. The look I received carried a threat. He dared me to walk out the door and fuck up his case. He dared me to put his client’s life at risk.

Men like Diem Krause didn’t faze or intimidate me. I had walked the path out of hell barefoot at fourteen with nothing more than the clothes on my back. I’d gone toe to toe with the devil himself when he had wanted to burn me to ash with words and fists. No, arrogant and domineering personalities tended to roll off my back. I’d learned to stand my ground with my chin high.

“That’s incredible.”

Diem frowned.

“That’s the most words you’ve strung together since I shoved my dick in your face.”

His lip twitched. “You keep going back to that.”

“I told you. It’s the most excitement I’ve had in weeks. If I hadn’t been terrified of cracking my skull open, I’d have been halfway hard.”

“I wouldn’t have dropped you.”

“I believe you… Guns.”

His biceps twitched at the remark, and I almost laughed. We stared at each other for a long moment, but he had nothing more to say. The guy was locked up tight. It was like flirting was against his religion, or he didn’t know how. Probably the latter.

“Why didn’t Rebecca go to the police?” I asked instead.

“Can’t. It would be her word against his. Aurelian has a spotless record. All of them do. Even if the cops on the case took time to do some digging, it would take more than five minutes to uncover anything dirty. Even if they put her in protective custody and eventually arrested the men they thought were involved, there would likely be more in the woodwork, and she would be a sitting duck.”

“Okay. So, what was it you were looking for today? Why did you come in?”

“I told you. I wanted to know who was working the case.”

“No. There’s more.”

Diem growled under his breath. His animalistic tendencies were both irritating and arousing. “Ms. Lavender has a unique disposition and an ability to get inside information. No one thinks twice about sharing with the sweet old lady in records. I wanted to know if they were even looking at her husband, and if so, how deeply the investigation had gone. I wanted to know what they uncovered in the car and if it pinged another name on their radar. You’re too new to have discovered any of that.”

Diem drained his beer and motioned for me to do the same. When he found two more, I accepted the fresh bottle gratefully. Diem paused a few feet away, hesitated, scanned me up and down like he wanted to say more—like he wanted to do more—then huffed and shook his head in a regretful fashion.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“That wasn’t nothing.”

“It’s nothing.” Wearing a deep V between his brows, he moved to the ratty loveseat, dropped into it, and kicked his feet up on a wobbly coffee table.

“Diem?”

He offered a nonsensible grunt.

Had our exchange come to an end? I thought we were getting somewhere. I couldn’t piece this guy together. He was hot and cold and locked up tight.

I stared at the back of his head.

Was I supposed to join him? Something in his body language said no.

“So… what can I do for you? How can I help? Like I said earlier, I have a perfectly viable reason to nudge and poke at the lead detective on the case. He’s friends with my cousin.” Not a close cousin or even someone I cared to know anymore, but Diem didn’t need to know that. “I may be able to uncover something. You said he’s a tightass, but—”

“No.” Diem picked up the remote for the TV and turned it on. Silent images flickered and flashed by as he channel-surfed.

No? No what? I waited for a follow-up, but he didn’t say more.

After a beat, he dug a cigarette package from under a battered magazine on the coffee table. He fiddled and fumbled with it, opened it, took one out, put it back, then tossed the pack aside with a mumbled curse. Instead, he located a pack of gum and popped a few pieces into his mouth.

Beer and gum? Gross.

When he continued to ignore me, I huffed in irritation. “Um… hello? Are we having a conversation or not? It’s too late for this. What the fuck is happening?”

Diem grunted, sipped his new beer, munched obsessively on the gum for another minute, then spoke. He did not turn around to face me. “The case is about to die. Rebecca’s been gone eight months. Had they not found the car, it would have been closed by now. If you want to help, call me when that file crosses your desk.”

“That’s it? And in the meantime?”

“Keep your ears open, but don’t push Valor. Bad move. Trust me.”

Diem got lost in some sports recap, drinking his beer, chewing his gum, and ignoring me. The TV was muted, but it felt like a dismissal. The only sign of distress was the way his knee bounced. Nicotine craving or nerves? He’d clearly checked me out more than once—or was that wishful thinking?

Fuck it. It was too late for mind games. I set my beer down on the makeshift kitchen counter and headed for the door to the exterior office. I was three steps out when Diem’s low, rumbled tone caught my ear.

“Thanks for your help, Mr. Domingo.”

I paused and stared at the back of Diem’s head. I’d had my hands on it and recalled with perfect vividity the softness of his chestnut-colored shorn hair under my fingers. Not bristly at all.

The softly delivered gratitude was out of place with his demeanor, and although it sounded somewhat scripted and forced, it contained a note of sincerity. “It’s Tallus. You don’t have to be so formal. At least, not since—”

“You shoved your dick in my face?”

I laughed. It burst out of me unexpectedly. “Yeah.”

“Maybe next time we exchange handshakes first.”

“How utterly normal and boring.”

Wait. First?As in… No. Did he just…

Diem tilted his head to the side, not quite looking over his shoulder but deigning to show an ounce more attentiveness to his guest. How courteous of him.

“Good night, Tallus. I don’t mean to be a dick, but it’s ingrained into my DNA. It’s late. I spent almost two hours in the freezing cold pouring rain. I’m tired, and edgy, and it makes it hard to control my… The case is pissing me off. If you work with me, that’s what you get.”

“You aren’t so bad. Believe me, I’ve dealt with bigger assholes than you. You’re almost charming in comparison.”

He turned all the way around and met my gaze. His iron jaw worked the gum between his teeth with purpose. Stormy gray eyes slowly slipped down my body and climbed it again. I felt it like a physical touch and almost shivered.

A hidden world lived behind that tormented glare, and I had an inkling Diem Krause knew exactly what kind of assholes I’d dealt with in the past. He was a man with his own demons.

I took a chance. “I can stay… if you… want company.”

He seemed to mull it over, working the gum with more vigor. Torment was exactly what I saw in his dark eyes, so I wasn’t surprised when he grunted, “I’m going to decline. Call me.”

Couldn’t say I didn’t try.

“I will.”

I left without looking back.