Envy by Eve Marian

2

Natacha

My heart raced. It hammered against my chest, pounding on my ribs like a caged wild animal. My chest constricted painfully and I could barely suck in a breath.

The muscles in my legs spasmed and ceased.

I’m going to die.

Gasping for air, I reached for the incline button and pressed the down arrow repeatedly until it no longer felt like I was climbing Mount Everest.

“Jesus, Charlotte, are you trying to kill me?” I shouted at the tall woman next to me.

She pulled out her left earbud but didn’t stop running on the treadmill. “What did you say?” Then, looking at my easy walking stride, she asked, “Are you done already?” Her toned, sweaty arms pumped alongside her body.

I’d been walking on this machine for ten minutes, but it was ten more minutes than yesterday. “Yeah, I’m done.” Pressing the red button, I canceled the circuit Charlotte had programmed earlier.

“Ok, just take it easy. Take it to a brisk walk.”

I figured my idea of a brisk walk and Charlotte’s was dramatically different. “Maybe I’ll try that tomorrow.”

“Wait! You’re leaving?” She slowed down her machine. “But you just got here.”

I looked up at the clock inside the gym. “Nope. It’s been nearly fifteen minutes.”

“Come on, just ten more minutes.” She flicked her head toward the weight room. “He just got here, but I already noticed him looking this way.”

I glanced toward the tall, muscled man curling at least fifty pounds. I recalled his name was Dave. He lived on the sixth floor and moved in about a month ago. “He’s been eyeing everyone with breasts since he got here. Even old lady Spencer.”

Charlotte pursed her lips. “I’ve been meaning to ask her the name of her surgeon.”

I rolled my eyes and turned to leave.

“Wait!” This time she turned off her machine and jogged toward me. “He doesn’t look at everyone, he talks to everyone. He only looks at you.” Crossing her arms, she tilted her head and smiled. “Why don’t you go up to him and introduce yourself?”

I wiped a bead of sweat from my brow. “He already knows my name. You introduced us a couple of weeks ago in the elevator.”

“Yes, but you never spoke to him. Now’s your chance.”

I sighed. I didn’t want to be angry with my friend. She was sweet and caring. She meant well. “I’m not interested, Char.”

When I stepped forward to leave, she pulled me back and lowered her voice. “It’s been more than a year, babe. You need to move on.”

I sucked on my teeth, hoping the gesture would prevent a scowl from forming on my face. I didn’t want to snap at her, but she was very close to crossing the line.

“It doesn’t feel like a year to me,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I’ve got to go.”

This time she didn’t stop me, and I was glad. I wasn’t sure I could hold in my tears or some other outburst that would humiliate me.

As soon as I got inside my apartment, I stripped off my black tights and ratty T-shirt and soaked my aching muscles under the hot shower.

Tilting my face up toward the spray, I let the tears fall. It didn’t feel like I was crying when my face was already wet. That eased my shame a bit.

I didn’t sob anymore. Those screaming fits stopped about three months ago. But the tears still fell from time to time. Especially whenever someone pushed me.

I chose my outfit for work carefully. I gained an extra twenty minutes of prep time since I bailed on Charlotte. Earlier this month, I had agreed to work out with her twice a week. She was convinced the exercise would release some positive endorphins into my body.

Not sure they kicked in yet, though.

After slipping on a pair of black slim-fitting pants and a white blouse, I sifted through my jewelry drawer. I chose gold hoop earrings and a thin gold necklace.

Staring at the mirror, I tucked in my blouse and smiled. Not because I thought I looked good. I was all right. Ordinary brown eyes, straight brown hair, average body.

No, my lips turned up in a smile for him.

I stared at the photograph lodged in the bottom left-hand corner of the mirror over my dresser. Chase leaned against his sky-blue ’65 Mustang. His arms were crossed and his face held that signature cocky grin. The photograph was creased. I’d pressed it to my chest and fallen asleep with it so many times, I finally forced myself to sleep without it. But I kept it close to me in my bedroom.

Chase himself was as far from me as a human could be. He was…

I couldn’t even say the word in my head. I hated imagining him that way. Even if the memories of his life were too painful.

The hours leading up to…

We had fought. I had wanted to see him, but he said he needed to meet with some man named Rossi first. Then he’d come by my place.

He didn’t show up.

Police found his car on the side of the road the next morning. The car had turned over several times, they’d said. Chase never stood a chance.

It was an accident. That was what the police had concluded.

But I didn’t believe it.

What had caused the accident? Why was he even on that road, on the other side of town, in the first place?

I looked into the man Chase was supposed to have met with. Giancarlo Rossi. He had questionable relationships with notorious people in New York City and outside of the country. And if Chase had gotten involved with this man, I wasn’t entirely sure his death was an accident. But I needed proof.

The police wouldn’t listen. And my father, well, he thought it was too risky to delve into the man. There was nothing we could do for Chase, anyway. That was what he had said.

But that was our job. That’s what we did. We looked into people. We found out their deepest, darkest secrets.

We were private investigators. So, I looked. And looked. For more than a year, every lead led to a dead end.

But I wouldn’t give up. I would figure this out. I had to because I couldn’t move on until I did.

As always, I pressed two fingers to my lips and brushed them against Chase’s face in the photograph. See you later, babe.

*

My father’s private investigation office was located in the downtown core, nestled between a travel agency and a bookstore. The sign on our door read Accounting Services, and we rarely had to tell people we weren’t taking on new clients because hardly anyone ever walked in without an appointment. Those that visited us knew who we were. We didn’t exactly want to advertise our business.

Fortunately, my father had made enough connections over the years through his military career that we were never short of clients.

The bells chimed as I opened the glass front door. “Morning,” I called to the three gentlemen seated at their desks. My father was the first to pipe up.

“Morning, baby girl. How was your drive in?”

“Fine,” I said and walked past their desks on my way to the kitchen at the back. If one could call a coffee machine and toaster on top of a narrow counter a kitchen.

“Mrs. Duphrene called,” my father said when I returned to my desk, holding a steaming mug of the black brew. “She’s looking for an update on her case.”

I nodded and opened a new email on my computer. How does one start a conversation with a client who suspected their husband was cheating on them? With the truth.

Dear Mrs. Duphrene, I wrote. You were right.

My client became suspicious of her husband when he went to Mexico for a business trip and brought back flowers and chlamydia. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only time he had strayed. I’d been following him for only a month and had photographed him in sexual relationships with three other women.

I will be in my office all day today if you would like to pick up the documents.

I’d just signed off on the email when the door chimed.

Three tall men wearing business suits walked in. Two had jet-black hair, while the third one was a fairer. I didn’t need to hear my father’s greeting to know who they were. Everyone in town knew them. The three Crawford billionaire brothers owned most of the real estate on this side of town. These three men alone kept our business thriving. Rich people always wanted to know if someone was lying to them. And usually, they were.

“Gentlemen,” my father said. “Please take a seat.” The three men crowded around my father’s desk. “May I?” the light-haired one asked me, pointing to the chair in front of my desk.

“By all means,” I said, and he pulled it next to the other two where his brothers sat.

Turning back to my computer, I read through some of the new emails in my Inbox. There were three fresh cases on deck and usually, my dad let me choose the ones I wanted.

There was the usual: a person suspecting his spouse of cheating, an insurance company wanting to confirm fraud, oh… this one looked promising. A missing person’s case.

A mother and father were looking for their twenty-two-year-old son—

“Shouldn’t we meet somewhere a little more private to discuss this?” asked the oldest Crawford, Colton, I remembered.

My father looked over at me and waved Colton off. “You have nothing to worry about. We are all very discreet. Besides, I know my office better than yours. There are no bugs and no cameras. You can’t be sure of the same thing at your place. Not the way I can guarantee it.”

“The man’s been running his business for more than thirty years. Lay off him,” said the other dark-haired one.

The light-haired brother straightened in his chair. “Guys, let’s focus here. We need to figure out why our mother kept Rossi a secret from us. She wouldn’t have done that for no reason. I want to know the reason so we understand what we’re going up against. And maybe get my baseball back.”

I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. Tycoons and their toys.

Back to my email.

The parents described the missing man as having a slim build and many tattoos along his arms and chest. They attached several photographs of their son, zooming in on his ink. The one on his left arm was distinct. It was a drawing of Medusa. Red eyes and green snakes for hair.

“I know Rossi still has the ball. He hasn’t sold it yet, so it’s still in his possession.”

Rossi. Luke said it again.

Did he mean Giancarlo Rossi? I knew my father was working on a case for the Crawfords, but he’d never mentioned it had anything to do with Giancarlo Rossi.

“Fine. We go in and get the baseball, but only after we’ve dug up the information we need to figure this man out,” Colton said.

The middle brother sat up straighter. “Now, wait just a minute. That’s breaking and entering, remember? As your lawyer, I must advise you against that.”

“If you’re here as a lawyer, you might as well leave, Ryan. I’m still pissed you kept this from us as long as you did. But if we’re going to go up against Rossi, we can’t play by the rules.”

Ryan ran a hand through his thick black hair, then pounded his fist on the armrest. “Yes, we can. Otherwise, we’re no better than him. We just have to be creative about it.”

The youngest brother, Luke, dropped his head in his hands while Colton crossed his arms and stared at Ryan.

My father grabbed a piece of paper and rubbed his face. “I may have some information that could get us entry into Rossi’s home.”

Luke’s head immediately shot up. “What is it?”

I held my breath.

“Well, Rossi’s cook just quit, and he’s looking for a new one.”

“How do you know this?” Ryan asked.

My father raised his eyebrows, silently asking, do you really want to know Mr. Lawyer? Instead, he said, “That’s what you pay me for, to know things others do not, isn’t it?”

I smiled. My father knew things because he hired informants. He set these up whenever he was investigating someone. He paid cash to those willing to share pieces of information about their boss. Often, they shared innocuous info, like hiring a new cook that seemed to not betray their employer, while still making some extra money.

“That’s perfect,” said Luke with a grin. His entire face lit up, and I couldn’t help but admire his handsome features. He was taken, of course, and I wanted nothing more from him. But a girl could look.

“So, you think you can march in there and be his cook?” asked Colton.

Luke’s smile faded.

Colton continued anyway. “He knows who we are. He wouldn’t let any of us near his food.”

“He’d probably think we’d poison it,” said Luke, and Colton smirked, almost as if he didn’t mind the suggestion.

Sometimes in life, an opportunity presented itself so plainly that it almost felt too good to be right. But I ignored the feeling and spoke up, anyway. “I’ll do it.”

Four heads turned to me. My father was the first to speak. “No,” he said. “Absolutely not.”

“And you are?” asked Ryan.

I looked him in the eyes. “I’m a private investigator,” I said.

“And my daughter.” My father turned to me and spoke firmly. “You will not get involved in this.” He knew why I wanted to get inside Rossi’s home, and he knew it had nothing to do with the Crawfords. But it was my chance, and I wouldn’t let it go.

The three men watched the standoff between father and daughter, and no one said a word.

I leaned toward my dad, pronouncing each syllable, “This is a brilliant plan and there’s no one else.”

My father looked over my head. “Jim, I need you to work undercover as a cook in Rossi’s home.”

Jim looked up from his computer. His lips slid into a frown, and he shook his head. “No way. I don’t even know how to turn on a stove.”

“Carl?”

“Don’t look at me,” said the white-haired man across from me. “I’m too old to get involved in that shit.”

I didn’t even try to hide my gloating smile.

“I’ll do it,” my father said, surprising me.

But I shook my head. “You know that’s too risky. There are too many people in that household that know you. You’ll be made within the day.”

“It sounds like there’s no other choice,” said Colton. Then turning to me, “When can you start?”

My heart raced, and my face beamed. I was going to do this!It was going to happen.

“I can start tomorrow,” I said. Then my heart raced for a different reason. Pressing my lips together, I thought, because today I needed to figure out how to cook.