Brazilian Surrender Page 4

  Jaeger reached in his pocket for his apartment keys. He could knock on the door and have her open it, but unlocking his own door meant he owned it, and she was just a guest. “Any news?” Jaeger asked Omar.

  “She went to work this morning, and after that I took her to her place. She picked up a few things. The cleaning lady she hired will go in today. I didn’t see anything alarming. Also, I installed the cameras you requested.”

  “Good.” He removed his key from his pocket and glanced at it before twisting it in the knob. He ran his hand down his face, reminding himself to cool down. Ever since he met Camila, his body was like a kid who kept asking for dessert after dinner even though his parents had said no the first time.

  Clearing his throat, he opened the door.

  Camila sat on his sofa with her laptop, wearing gym shorts that showcased her shapely legs and a purple tank top that hugged her curves to perfection. She looked completely at ease in his place, and the domestic image tightened his heart for some odd reason. She looked up and smiled. “Hi,” she said in that sultry voice she pulled off without even freaking trying.

  He tossed his keys on the kitchen countertop and poured himself some water. If he maintained control of his reactions and emotions, nothing else would matter. He’d find out who wanted to hurt her and why, solve the situation, and move on with his life and not see her again like this—looking lovely in his place. “Did you check your mailbox?”

  She nodded. “Nothing today.”

  Three days without a new letter. Her stalker didn’t have a real pattern, but would he keep sending other types of warnings like the killing of her dog? Jaeger didn’t want to take any chances. “Let’s look at more videos later.” It had been impossible to go over weeks’ worth of recording at once.

  “Of course.” She closed her laptop.

  He took off his jacket and kicked off his shoes. “So, Lee Gibson is an interesting fellow.”

  Camila tilted her head. “Yeah, he told me you talked to him this morning. Wanted to know if you could really protect me,” she said, rolling her eyes as if she hadn’t paid much attention to her friend’s suggestion.

  Jaeger ran his hand down his face. “How close are you two? Has he ever tried anything?”

  She drummed her fingers on her laptop. “Lee loves his boyfriend. Mark is a wonderful man.”

  “That wasn’t my question.”

  She put her laptop to the side and shifted on the sofa. “He’s…sexually fluid. He doesn’t really care for labels.”

  He walked up to her, but didn’t feel like sitting. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Camila folded her arms, and he saw the bob making its way down her throat. No matter how uncomfortable this made her, he still needed answers, damn it. Frustration pumped into his veins. “He kissed me once, before he met Mark. We were inseparable, and he got things twisted a bit.”

  “That’s why he moved out.”

  “No. He moved out a few weeks later, after he met his boyfriend. Not because of me. It wasn’t…weird. Maybe a bit awkward at first.”

  “Does he have a key to your apartment?”

  “Yes. He’s…family to me, and I know how your detective mind works, but I guarantee you Lee would never hurt me,” she said, her eyes big and soulful.

  He’d seen some crazy shit, and people who murdered others for much less than unrequited love. He made a mental note to print a picture of Lee and ask her neighbors if they saw him entering her apartment the day Torto died. He’d pay close attention to Lee Gibson, though he decided not to tell her. “You need to tell me everything. What about Ralph Stewart?”

  “He’s someone I dated,” she said.

  “Why didn’t you mention him when I asked?” What else was she hiding from him?

  She opened her mouth, hesitated, and then chewed on her lower lip. “You’re right, sorry,” she said at last. “I met Ralph in a nightclub six months ago through mutual friends. Ralph seemed like the total package: smart, funny, and good-looking. Then he said he had a fantasy of having a threesome and insisted on it with me, though I told him that’s not my thing.” Her cheeks reddened.

  Was there no end to the list of assholes she met? Maybe his facial expression announced his thought, for she folded her arms. “What happened next?”

  She drew in a breath. “One day we were at a bar and he brought this girl to meet me. So stupid. I was so mad that I broke up with him on the spot. I ended up saying, ‘Why should she join us in bed, so you can deprive one more woman of orgasms?’ I was doing that girl a favor, and she didn’t even know it.”

  He bit back a smile. “Did anyone hear you?”

  She exhaled, uncrossing her arms. “Yes. His friends were sitting a couple of tables over. And probably the rest of the bar.”

  He grabbed his notepad from the back of his pocket and reached for the pen on the coffee table. Special observations didn’t occur to him, but he wanted to give his fingers something to do even if it meant scribbling on paper. Anything to distract him from the wave of pride surging through him. She related an important incident to him, and he’d be a fool to read more into it. “Did you two talk afterward?”

  “No, he’s an immature douchebag. Idiota. I mean, who would do that to a woman? I bet you wouldn’t,” she said.

  Never. He swallowed hard. “I like to focus on facts, not possibilities.” Or in this case, impossibilities.

  “So, if you met me randomly at a bar or a bookstore, you wouldn’t find me attractive,” she said, her gorgeous chestnut eyes flickering with challenge.

  He clicked the pen relentlessly. Where was she going with this conversation? “That’s not what I said.”

  Her smile broadened with triumph and she clapped her hands. “Then it could happen.” Something about her tone hinted she teased rather than flirted.

  “Not in this lifetime. I’m working for you, and I have some baggage. Besides, I would be just one more failed attempt at your search for love,” he said with a steady tone.

  She lifted her chin. “How do you know love is the only thing I’m searching for? Because I’m young and optimistic, and good girls don’t deserve sweaty, dirty sex?”

  Dirty sex. Good grief. His pulse skittered. “Because love and a stand-up guy is what you deserve,” he said softly.

  She gave him a once-over, her eyes smiling at him. “So besides being the international man of mystery, you’re also an amateur therapist?”

  He snorted. “International man of mystery?”

  “Yeah. Why not? A taciturn guy like you could use a cute nickname to balance things out.”

  “I hate nicknames. Always have.” That’s why he’d named his son Trevor and argued with whoever wanted to call him Trev. His parents had named him Jaeger because of his German ancestry, and every time he read his name with the right spelling he remembered where he’d come from. He’d always abhorred people calling him Jay.

  “Besides, I’m no James Bond.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of Austin Powers.”

  He suppressed a chuckle. “A real boost to my confidence. Thanks.”

  He put his pen on the coffee table and surged to his feet, pacing around his living room. Hmm. How to bring this up? “By the way…I asked the lab to expedite Torto’s results and we should get them soon, but the vet clinic said we can bury or cremate him. I thought I’d ask your preference.”

  She opened her mouth, then hesitated, and shifted in the sofa. Her expression grew serious, and the playfulness vanished from her voice. “He was such a wild dog when my brother found him. I don’t see him trapped six feet under. I’d rather cremate him.”

  He nodded. “Is tomorrow okay for you?”

  “Yes. I work in the afternoon, but I’m free in the morning.”

  “I’ll make the necessary arrangements,” he said. He could ask Therese to set things up for him, but he wanted to be involved. “Is there anyone you want to bring with you?” he asked, wondering if she’d ask Lee or someone else to join her, since her roommate Zoe was still conveniently out of town.

  She chewed on her lower lip. “Can…you come? I know I’m asking a lot from you. Not just to wait for me outside, but—”

  “Yes,” he answered a little bit too quickly for his taste.

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me.” I’m getting paid, he thought, even though he hadn’t brought himself to cash the fat check she’d handed Therese. His secretary usually took care of such things, but he’d kept the check in his top drawer at work next to his stress ball, somehow unable to bring it to the bank.

  …

  “You can wait here until it’s done,” said the helpful lady dressed in gray. She spoke in a soft voice and showed them into a waiting room with no windows. Several candles flickered on the coffee table, and a couple of large seats completed the somber tone of the pet funeral home in Queens. Soothing music played from the speakers. Not too loud, not too low.

  Camila had used up all the tissues she’d brought already. They had taken Torto’s body and told her the process would take about an hour. She decided to stay in the waiting room while they cremated him, but the ashes wouldn’t be ready in the urn she’d chosen for a couple of days. Jaeger offered her some water.

  “Thanks.” She gulped it down, the cold liquid offering temporary relief to her throbbing throat. God, she was a mess.

  Her body fell into a state of super awareness, her heart drumming harder and faster each passing second. She’d been somewhat prepared when she’d lost her parents. They’d both had been sick, and despite her painful good-byes, she knew they had finally rested. Losing Torto felt different. Someone had planned to kill him. Just because. She took a long, deep breath, contracting her stomach until it
hurt.

  “You’re welcome. Listen, I hate to do this to you, but when you go to the hospital today I’ll go in with you,” he said, jamming his hand in his pocket.

  She exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging with relief. Every time Jaeger changed the subject and they talked about her stalker, a tiny amount of hope spread through her body. Focusing on that also helped her take her mind off Torto. “Why?”

  “I need to look at Jeffrey Morgan’s schedule, and I need to get his cell phone. I grab it, give it to Tony who’ll be waiting in the parking lot ready to duplicate his chip, and I’ll make it miraculously appear again,” he said.

  She blinked, her tears drying. If he wanted to distract her from the pain, it worked. “Wouldn’t that be stealing?”

  “It’s borrowing. I need to have access to his texts. Everyone’s a suspect until we find the stalker, and you broke up with him. You work with him; he knows where you live.”

  She shook her head. Jeffrey would never do such thing. She ran her hands across her cheeks, sniffing, making sure her face looked somewhat dry.

  “I need to know if he arranged for someone to mail those letters in New Jersey, or anything else that can incriminate him.”

  “Fine. We’ll do it,” she said.

  “Thanks. We didn’t find any fingerprints in your apartment, so we have to exhaust every resource,” he said, then sat on the arm of the chair. He glanced around, then straightened his shoulders and said in a softer voice, “Do you want to say any last words about your dog?”

  She remembered the flyer she read at the entrance, with tips of things to ponder while waiting for the cremation. But hadn’t she talked about Torto enough lately? She’d chatted, she remembered, she cried. “I’m ready for some closure. I want to talk about anything else to get my mind off him. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes.”

  Silence lengthened between them. Talking about Torto, or the way he died, was a sad reminder someone wanted to hurt her—someone, possibly close to her, wanted her gone, and would kill an innocent animal to make a point and scare her off. An acidy sensation formed in her stomach. She cleared her throat and drew in a breath. She’d welcome any other topic to take her mind off reality. “Then distract me. Please. Tell me anything. For instance… Who was the first girl you dated?”

  He surged to his feet and ran his fingers into his blond, textured hair. “What kind of question is that?”

  “Just go along with it.”

  He curled his lips into a smile. “Aubrey Parker. Middle school. We went to a school dance, and I was sweating so much when she stretched out her hand I had to wipe my palm on my shirt because it was clammy.”

  The last few days had been painful, but somehow discovering a little bit about him made her feel like he let her in some sort of secret club. “So you’re an ordinary guy. I mean, you had a normal life and went to school and kissed a human girl named Aubrey.”

  He crossed his arms. “Yes, I’m an ordinary guy. Did you have any doubts?”

  “I don’t know…does your hand still get clammy?” Maybe because she lacked quality sleep and her mind wasn’t in the right place, she erased the distance between them and touched his hand. He withdrew before she could flip up his palm.

  She swallowed. She’d had her share of awkward situations before, but they usually involved guys wanting to take things to the next level with her—even if she didn’t reciprocate. Yet he acted like she tried to burn him. She stared in his eyes, and pain flickered in his emerald irises. Shit. What was she thinking? Looking for distraction from the pain didn’t give her the right to make him uncomfortable.

  Her stomach dropped to the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not you.” He looked away, and she watched the planes of his profile contracting. “I don’t like to be touched; it’s nothing personal.”

  “Like, by me?” she asked, and held her breath for his response.

  He surged to his feet and walked away from her. “By anyone.”

  “Ever?” she said, confused. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes focusing on the stiffness in his jacket. She could see his muscles stiffening. Certainly during sex he didn’t mind, right?

  “See, you didn’t want to date Ralph because he wanted a threesome. Well, I don’t let my partners touch me. I like to be in charge.”

  He turned to her, lifting his chin and staring her right in the eye. Her throat thickened. She parted her lips but hesitated. What could she possibly say? Questions bombarded her mind, but she failed to voice them. Shock stunned her into silence.

  “I’ll wait for you outside,” he said, and strode away from her, heading for the door.

  Within a couple of seconds, she found herself alone in the eerie atmosphere. How ironic…she’d come to the United States to spread her wings and escape her family’s overbearing ways. And the first guy she truly felt an inexplicable connection to got his rocks off by controlling women in bed. Isn’t this freaking great?

  Chapter Five

  “Do you keep your cell phone with you?” Jaeger asked when they slid out of his car, parked at the end of the Hatch Psychiatric Center lot.

  “No, we’re allowed to have pagers. They’re lighter. They’re also crap.”

  Jaeger walked alongside her, managing to keep his cool. For the past hour, they hadn’t exchanged many words after he’d told her about his sexual preferences. He’d shared his secret with her in hopes she’d be irked by it. He’d seen the long glances she shot his way, and when she’d touched his hand, a thrill of both excitement and fear shot up his arm. So he ended up telling her, to discourage her from displaying any signs of interest.

  Camila checked in at reception, instead of showing her ID like the other doctors. He listened as she told the receptionist something about bringing a psychology student for a tour, and the burly receptionist asked for his ID.

  Jaeger handed it to the man, who frowned and checked it.

  “You’re a student?” the guy asked.

  “Yes. Misspent youth,” Jaeger said.

  The receptionist printed an ID label and handed it to Jaeger. “Make sure your cell phone is off and not on you. No pictures allowed. Don’t interact with the patients.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jaeger put the ID on his chest and went with her. Once they passed the hallway, he took off the sticker and put it in his pocket. “Where does Jeffrey keep his cell phone?”

  “Probably in his locker, unless he’s in the break room charging it.”

  “Take me to his locker first.”

  She glanced at him. “People will notice you’re not a doctor.”

  “Let me worry about it.”

  She led him through an area where positive quotes filled the walls. It seemed a bit cheesy, but at the same time he appreciated the difference from the usual plain, arctic white hospital walls.

  When he entered the locker area, she led him to Jeffrey’s. A couple of people waved at her and she greeted them back. He could tell by her stiff walk none of this made her comfortable.

  “It’s this one,” she whispered to him, and gave him cover by hanging next to him while he popped the lock open. “You’re good.”

  He rummaged through the paperwork, some of it just patient reports, and a couple pictures hanging on the back. One of them was a group photo, with about six people on it—and she was one of them. “When was this taken?”

  “Oh. We celebrated his birthday. A year ago, at the cafeteria,” she said, pointing at the cupcakes.

  Why would he keep a picture that included the girl who told him off? Jaeger tapped the metal, but besides a couple of packs of gum and a change of clothes he found nothing. “Where else did you say his cell phone could be?”

  “He could be breaking the rules and keep it with him.” She glanced at her watch. “There’s a break room the interns hang out in between patients. But it’s small and if you go in there, they’ll know you’re not one of them. It’s not necessarily a place I’d show anyone on a tour.”

  “Take me there,” he said.

  She didn’t exchange many words as they entered the elevator to the second floor. He heard a couple of shouts from patients as they rode the elevator. The stark reality of the other floors surpassed the quiet serenity of the lobby level.