Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Raymond Chandler rolled over in his grave during the writing of this
story.
Any injured copyrights
were unintentional
Description: It's 1948 in LA. The war is over, but Wesley's still fighting his
own wars of quiet desperation.
Until his ex-wife sets
him up with a case, and he meets the one woman who can make all those smaller
battles meaningless. . .
Author’s Note: This was written in response to the
watchersdiaries's art-a-thon reversed challenge and
deathisyourart's beautiful graphic. As always, I thank mydeira for all her care and support in this, but especially
I have to thank eurydice72 and psubrat for reading the early draft and not being afraid to tell me it was crap.
Because it was. It isn't any more.
UPDATE: As with several of my
other AU fanfics, I have been fortunate enough to sell
a revised (but still HAWT!) version of this story for professional publication.
Thank you so much to
everyone who has supported this story since its original issue here and at
Watchers Diaries, and to everyone
who has recommended it. I have had to take the original story down, but
the revised version
is now available from Liquid Silver
Books. Below is the cover image, linked to the book
and an excerpt of the new version for your enjoyment. I hope you will
enjoy that version
as much as you have this one.
Blessings, Sadbhyl
I pulled up behind the sleek cherry-red roadster already parked in front of the house. As I got out, I didn’t resist walking past to check it out. It was a sweet little import, all red and chrome with a posh interior to match. Burled walnut dash with more chrome in the accessories, and a convertible canopy rolled back under a real leather cover. The engine under the hood was no doubt racing stock as well. It had Grand Prix heritage designed into every line. This was one sexy piece of machinery without a doubt. I could imagine the cost to bring it over probably equaled the price of the car itself. Said something about the owner. I wasn’t sure what, yet.
Leaving the car behind, I went up to the door. No one answered when I rang the bell, so I pulled out the key Brody had given me. To my surprise, the knob turned in my hand as I went to fit in the key. Pushing it open, I stuck my head in. “Hello?”
No concerned servants came rushing up to ward off the invasion, no curious faces peered out of doorways or over railings. But the car outside and the open door were clues that someone was here. So I did what any PI in my situation would do. I went in and shut the door behind me.
The foyer of the house was bigger than my entire apartment and three times as tall. An enormous staircase dominated the space, leading up to a balcony that wrapped around the perimeter, providing access to the rooms on the second floor. On this level, corridors led off to the other rooms in the open floor plan. Alert for my mysterious sports car driver, I walked around the staircase and found myself in an enormous drawing room. Glass walls revealed the view the house itself had hidden, although drapes had been drawn over most of the windows, protecting the furniture and any occupants, had there been any, from the advance of the early afternoon sun. Of those left open, one revealed a glass door standing open, a faint breeze tugging at the drape’s hem. Curious, I went over to step out onto the patio.
The view was as spectacular as I’d imagined, and had absolutely nothing to do with the mountains or the city below.
I recognized her instantly as the mysterious woman from the bar last night. She was lounging on one of the deck chairs near the pool, all glossy black hair and long, muscular limbs. The swimsuit she wore was one of those new French two-pieces that revealed everything but her mother’s maiden name, the curves so modestly hidden by her gown last night now revealed in all their statuesque glory. The suit’s top crossed over her breasts, seemingly demure while boldly revealing the faintest curve underneath, the bottom leaving the shadow of her navel showing with the barest of skirts to disguise the junction of her thighs. The brilliant red of the fabric left me in no doubt that this was the owner of the roadster out front. A sensuous car for a sensuous owner.
Stomping down my libido, I started over to her. “Excuse me,” I said, “are you Karen Andrews?”
She lifted her head, unfazed by my unexpected appearance. Drawing the starlet sunglasses down her nose, she studied me for a minute. “Depends on who’s asking.” Her tone was challenging and playful at once.
“Aaron Pierce,” I answered, forcing myself to remain professional. “I’m a private investigator looking into the disappearance of her sister.”
“Well, isn’t that interesting.” She sat up, crossing one shapely leg over the other as she leaned forward. “I’ve never met a private dick before.”
Despite the coyness of her tone, I sensed a trace of bitterness in that last statement. “I take it you aren’t her sister.”
She rose to her feet, folding the sunglasses before offering her hand. “Fay Sexton. Best friend of the missing. Although I didn’t know she’d disappeared. Is Carter sure he didn’t just leave her behind at some party again?”
“He says she’s been missing three weeks, so I doubt it.” Her grip was strong and sure in my hand. I held on a little longer than I should have.
She didn’t try to withdraw it. “Didn’t I see you last night? At the club, right?”
“I was consulting with Mr. Brody regarding the case. That’s why I’m here.”
“Huh. Funny he didn’t mention me.”
I had to agree with her on that. “Why do you think that is?”
“Well, that’s Carter, isn’t it?” Setting the shades down on the table, she snagged a robe of Chinese silk off the back of her chair and slipped her arms into it with a lithe grace meant to fascinate. “He can’t get anything from me, so I’m not worth bothering with.”
“And that troubles you.” Somehow, the fact that it did bothered me as well.
The look she shot me was pure venom. “If what you say is true, if Tess’s been missing for three weeks, it would have been nice if he’d at least told me.”
“If the two of you are such good friends, I’m surprised you didn’t know already,” I pressed.
Her indignation weakened. “I was in San Francisco until yesterday.”
“And you always make yourself at home when there’s no one about?”
“Here? Yes.” The anger snapped again in her eyes. “This has been practically a second home for me since I was eighteen. Claire took me in when no one else wanted me. So you can keep your insinuations to yourself.”
I could tell by the vehemence of her words that there was more to this story than she was telling, but it didn’t seem appropriate to pursue it now. Instead I asked, “And Claire is ...?”
“Tess’s mother,” she ground out impatiently. “She died a couple of years ago and left Tess and Karen on their own. They had a hard time of it, so I’ve been around a lot, trying to help out. Is that a problem?”
“No, not at all,” I assured her, filing away the information she gave me. “It’s very commendable of you.”
“Gee, thanks.” She tried to remain indignant, but I could see worry crease her brow. “Do you really think Tess is in trouble?”
I had just enough chivalry left to be affected by her concern. “I don’t know. I’ve only just begun looking into it.”
Her full mouth tightened with her own internal struggle before finally she said, “If Tess is in trouble, I want to help.”
“The best way you can help is by telling me everything you know about your friend and her habits and behaviors over the last few months.”
“I don’t know anything,” she snapped, her mercurial eyes gone dark again. “I told you, I was in San Francisco for most of the last month.” Her eyes narrowed with determination. “But I can help you investigate. I know all her friends and all the places she hangs out.”
“Fine. Tell me.”
“And then what are you going to do? How much chance do you stand of getting in at the Flamingo or the Kit Kat?”
She was right, damn it. I would waste my entire retainer greasing enough palms to get into just one of those clubs. But if Fay traveled in the same circles as Tess and Brody, she would already have access like I could never get.
She must have read the resignation in my face because she smiled condescendingly. “Don’t worry, you won’t ruin my reputation. Let me get changed and I’ll go with you.”
“That won’t be necessary.” I tried to forestall her one last time. “Surely I could come back for you later.”
She paused in the doorway, one well-toned leg peeking through the hem of her robe as she leaned back. “What, and miss seeing the great detective in action? Don’t be silly. I’ll just be a minute.”