Strange noises from the garden woke me up before sunrise on Monday morning. Our bedroom window faced the back, and it was usually so quiet that I instantly clocked the sound. Jackson didn’t even stir, but I tensed as my tired mind shot into overdrive.
Actually, I hadn’t exactly been sleeping, so technically I couldn’t wake up. I’d been lying in the darkness, listening to Jackson’s calm breathing, hoping it would be contagious, but no such luck. It wasn’t work keeping me up, even if after almost a year as a private investigator I had some stressful cases to reminisce about in the small hours. No, it was an exam.
The exam to become a licensed P.I., to be exact.
Exams and I didn’t get along. I always lost whenever we faced off. In high school and during my brief stint at Brooklyn College, the night before any sort of test I’d stayed up worrying. Then I’d barely been able to stay awake during the exam, which led to subpar grades.
I’d believed those days were as firmly behind me as my time in academia. No one tested you when you were a waitress skipping from one minimum wage job to another. But I’d learned early on as an apprentice P.I. at Jackson Dean Investigations that in order to become a proper P.I. in the State of New York, I would have to take an exam.
The dreaded day had come.
I glanced at the bedside clock. It was already five. I’d have to be in Manhattan for the test at nine, and I hadn’t slept a wink. I’d fail miserably.
I was used to it, but I felt bad for Jackson, who was eagerly waiting for me to become a licensed P.I. He had studied with me every night for the past couple of weeks, and he’d drive me to the exam too for moral support. Or to make sure I actually attended.
He knew me too well.
Metallic crash interrupted my wallowing. This time, it sounded like the trashcan had fallen over, and my heart skipped a beat in fright. Had someone climbed over the fence that blocked access to our garden? The trash can was right behind it, and they must have kicked it over. Were they already breaking in?
Marine Park in South Brooklyn where we lived was far from the hub of Downtown and usually peaceful, especially our street that mostly had single- and two-family houses. But this was Brooklyn, and everything was possible. Including burglary.
Another crash sounded, this time from the back deck. That was it; I wasn’t imagining things. I jumped out of bed and crossed the floor silently to the door, only to realize I wasn’t wearing any clothing. July had been sweltering for days, and the old house Jackson had inherited from his uncle didn’t have air conditioning, so I was sleeping in the nude.
I doubted my naked form would impress the intruder—or frighten them to leave, for that matter.
I fumbled blindly in the dark at the chair by the door where we dropped our clothes, and my hand met a piece of fabric that I was reasonably sure was a T-shirt. I pulled it on the wrong way round, but I wasn’t about to redo it. It was slightly big on me, so it had to be Jackson’s, but not as loose as I would hope. A year of living dangerously as an apprentice P.I. hadn’t miraculously made me svelte.
Reasonably decent, I made my way silently down the stairs, straining to hear if the burglar was already in the house. I didn’t switch on the lights. I had the advantage of knowing the layout of the house even in the dark, and enough predawn light came through the street-side windows that I could see where I was going.
I crossed the hall to the kitchen—and straight against the kitchen doorframe, hitting the barely healed wound on my upper left arm from when I had been shot less than a month ago during our holiday in Florida. Pain jolted my brain from the impact, making my eyes water.
“Son of a…”
The curse was out of my mouth before I could hold my tongue. But since I’d already given away my presence, I might as well see what I was doing. Fumbling for the switch, I turned on the lights, blinking to adjust my eyes. The kitchen was empty, but I didn’t dare relax. The intruder could’ve circled behind me through the dining room. I didn’t have even a baseball bat to defend myself.
We didn’t even own a baseball bat.
I twirled swiftly around, banging my other arm against the doorframe in the process. No one was standing behind me either, but now both my arms hurt.
Rubbing them to alleviate the pain, I crossed the kitchen to the door to the back deck. It was locked, and no one had broken it to enter the house. The alarm by the door was blinking, as if to mock me for not remembering that we had an excellent security system. Jackson used to represent the company as a side hustle, and had set up the house with the very best systems.
Another crash sounded from the deck and I jumped in fright, my heart beating out of my chest. Hand shaking a bit, I disabled the alarm, unlocked the door and opened it, preparing for an attack. None came. Instead, I found myself face to furry face with a real live raccoon.
We both froze in surprise. Framed by the light pouring out of the kitchen, it was standing on its hind legs, front legs spread like arms to look bigger and more threatening, but it only made it look adorable.
“What is it?”
I screeched, twirled around, and almost punched Jackson in the chest. He lifted his hands up and backed a step with a grin.
“Whoa. Sorry I startled you. I thought you heard me coming.”
“I did not,” I said, trying to calm my heart.
“What did you see?” he asked, leaning on the doorframe to look out.
The raccoon was gone, but the empty cans that remained from our garden party on Saturday were now scattered all over the deck. We should have cleared them away yesterday, but the party we’d held in honor of Jarod passing his PhD had gone into the small hours and we’d been too tired to clean up.
“There was a raccoon.”
“Really?” he asked, more delighted than he should. “I’ve never seen one in the wild.”
“Hardly the wild…”
Jackson stepped onto the deck and looked around, then shook his head, disappointed. “It left already. How did you know it was here?”
I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling cold despite the warm night. “I think it was messing with the trashcan. Made a lot of noise.”
“Is that what woke you up?” His dark eyes searched my face with concern. He knew about my aversion to exams.
“Uh-huh.” I wouldn’t admit I hadn’t slept a wink.
He nodded, pretending he believed me. “I’d best go check the trashcan.”
He crossed the deck to the gravel path that led to the front yard, cursing as the pebbles hurt his bare feet. I heard him lift the can up and put the lid back on. He returned a moment later.
“Bit of a mess there. I’ll clean it up in the morning.”
“What if it returns before that?”
He smiled. “I think it was more scared of you than you were of it.”
“I don’t know, I was plenty scared…”
“Aww, you poor little thing…”
He pulled me into a hug. I pressed my face against his chest, only then registering that he wasn’t wearing anything but his boxer briefs. It was a really nice bare chest to press against, warm and smelling of sleep and the shower gel he used.
“Yes, I am. I will need thorough comforting,” I muttered, nuzzling against his warmth. He tightened his hold.
“I believe I know just the way to make you feel good…” he murmured in a low voice to my ear. My skin prickled with anticipation, and I was contemplating the sturdiness of the kitchen table when a male voice spoke right by us.
“Why are you awake at this hour?”
We both jumped apart at the question. Jarod was standing in the middle of the kitchen, his brown puppy eyes drowsy with sleep. In his Spider-Man pajamas—and how could he sleep in them in this heat—his brown hair messy, he looked very young and not at all like a twenty-two-year-old genius with a doctorate in computer science who had created encryption software that kept the financial world safe.
“There was a raccoon in the garden,” I told him, a bit embarrassed, as if Jarod had never seen us hug or kiss before.
He perked. “Is it still there? I’ve never seen one in the wild. How did it get here?” He peered onto the deck and his shoulders slumped. “It’s not there anymore.”
“Maybe it came from the nature preservation area,” I suggested. Our street led toward Jamaica Bay, with only the marshes between us and the sea. Jarod shot me a dubious look.
“But that’s marsh. Do raccoons even live in marshland? Isn’t that more for alligators and stuff?”
Sudden fear flushed through me and my knees almost buckled. “There are no alligators in New York!”
“I hear there are some in the sewers though…” Jarod said absentmindedly, still trying to find the raccoon and not paying attention to me.
Jackson wrapped a comforting arm around my shoulder. “Tracy has a difficult relationship with alligators. Stop teasing her.”
That was an understatement. I’d come close enough to one to smell its breath during our recent stay in Florida. I still had nightmares about the rows of sharp teeth lunging at me in darkness, more so than for being shot right before I made too close an acquaintance with the beast. Even our relaxing holiday in Hawaii afterward that Jackson had taken me on hadn’t banished the memory.
I shuddered. “I think the excitement is over for the night. Let’s get back to bed.”
“Bed?” Jackson asked in a teasing tone. “It’s past five already. Might as well get up and head for a jog before it gets too hot for it.” His eyes crinkled in the corners with his smile, but I knew he meant it. I groaned.
“Don’t wanna…”
He nudged me with his shoulder. “Come on, it’ll do you good.”
Like hell it would. “Take Jarod. He needs it too.” He spent his days and nights sitting at a computer, which couldn’t be good for his health.
“Absolutely not!” Jarod stated in horror. “Besides, I have to head to work.”
My mouth dropped open. “At this hour?”
He looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. “Now that I’m no longer a student, we agreed with Mr. Lexton that I’ll start working during the day like everyone else. And have an office upstairs.”
He didn’t look happy about it. He was a night owl, and it had suited him to work at night. And he’d loved his basement hole behind all the server room where no one ever bothered him.
“But doesn’t that mean, like, nine to five?” I asked. I’d never had an office job, but I was fairly sure that’s how it went.
He made a face that was almost bitter, not an expression I’d seen on him before. “My parents are in town, and they want to meet me to celebrate my ‘great achievement.’” His disparaging tone implied the quotes. His PhD was a great achievement, even more so for gaining it at the age most students had only finished their bachelor’s degrees, but maybe his parents had been condescending about it. “I want to get things started before they interrupt.”
The news surprised me. He’d been my roommate for almost a year and I’d yet to meet his parents. They lived in Boston, and from what I’d learned from Jarod, they’d been absent most of his life. But they were rich, so I guess that made up for it. Not that Jarod ever asked them for money. He made well enough for himself.
“Do you think they’ll show up this time?” It wouldn’t be the first time they’d stood him up.
“I don’t know…” Looking defeated, he went to the coffeemaker and began to fill it.
“We’ll give you a ride,” Jackson promised, then took me by the hand and pulled me upstairs with him. My hope that he’d pull me all the way to bed was squashed when he began to put on his jogging clothes. With a forlorn sigh, I followed suit.
I’d been running regularly for almost a year now—and had a specialized wardrobe for it too—and it didn’t completely wind me anymore. The footpaths in the park by the marshland were cool at this time of morning and pleasant for running, if you ignored the stench wafting from the marsh that had dried during the heatwave.
“Want me to prep you for the exam?” Jackson asked once we’d settled for a steady pace I could maintain for a while. It was too slow for him, but he never complained. He usually ran a couple of more miles once I’d finished.
“While we’re running?” I huffed, already out of breath. “I need my entire attention on this or I’ll trip.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough. And you’ve studied a lot. You’ll do well.”
“I’m good at studying. It’s the exams I suck at. Do I really have to take it?” I whined, even though I knew the answer already.
“Yes. I need you to have the proper authority to handle cases on your own, now that we’ve become busy.”
Thanks to some high-profile cases, we were famous and swamped with work. We were also well off, but that was no reason to stop working.
“Fine…”
He chuckled again. “I’ll tell you what. After the exam, as a reward, we’ll go buy you a car. Would that help with your anxiety?”
“Hardly.” I wanted a car of my own only slightly less than I wanted to take the exam. I’d gotten good at driving this past year, but I still wasn’t comfortable behind the wheel.
“You’ll need one, though.”
I knew I did. I couldn’t keep borrowing his car, or my mom’s. “Okay, but nothing expensive.”
“We can afford a proper car for you.”
We’d had this conversation often. Jackson was a very amenable boyfriend who didn’t fight about unimportant things, but once he’d set his mind on something, especially if it concerned me, my safety, or our work, he was difficult to sway. I gave in and concentrated on making two full laps without pausing—or passing out.
One step at a time, one problem at a time. I’d run. Then I’d take the exam. Then I’d go buy a car that suited me. And then, as a true reward, I’d have lunch in a very fancy place.
With dessert!
Now that was something to look forward to.
Return to topRunning was supposed to bring you Zen and calm and peace of mind. Didn’t work for me. My exam anxiety surged to eleven in the shower. Jackson tried to distract me with kisses, but all it achieved was slightly wonky makeup, so I had to start anew.
I didn’t use makeup every day, but I figured I needed every bit of self-confidence a pretty face could bring. Provided I could make it look pretty and not like I’d been caught in a paint shop explosion.
I dithered over what to wear, unable to decide if I should go formal or casual, or something in between. It was going to be another hot day too. Should I dress for that instead? But I wanted that fancy lunch today, and I knew how snooty the good restaurants could be. I’d worked in those. I’d looked down my nose at tourists in their shorts and sweaty tees.
I settled for wide-legged, off-white linen pants and a light-blue, short-sleeved blouse with tiny yellow flowers printed on it, with a yellow, spaghetti-strap top underneath so I could leave the top buttons open. I paired them with leather sandals instead of the sporty ones I’d been wearing for maximum comfort the whole summer. Proper footwear was essential when you were following someone, even if you mostly stood in one spot. Especially then.
I hoped they would ask about proper work shoes in the exam. I would nail that one.
For the final touch, I pulled my hair into a nice ponytail. It was getting a bit long; the roots were starting to show, not that my mousy brown hair was much different from the medium blond I’d been sporting for a while now. But I was due a haircut and a dye.
Maybe something pink this time round…
I chose a shoulder bag made of white linen and pink linen flowers over the usual messenger bag, and spent a moment agonizing over what items to transfer there, as I couldn’t fit everything that I usually carried with me. I had to give up my good camera and the umbrella that I’d been bringing everywhere for shade.
Jackson’s brows rose up in delighted surprise when he saw me. “You’re looking lovely. Should I dress up too?” He didn’t look as opposed to the idea as he usually did when he was asked to dress in anything else than black jeans and a black tee, which he was wearing today too.
I smiled, reaching up to kiss him. “Well, you wanted to go to car shopping, and I want a fancy lunch, so it wouldn’t go to waste. But black on black is always a good look on you.”
Everything looked good on him. He was five-eleven with a tightly muscled body and sinewed arms that really stood out in a form-fitting tee. His face was defined, with dark eyes and brows, and his hair was black—and could do with a haircut too. He liked to keep it short and neat, so it began to look messy fast. I used to think he looked ordinary, but I’d long since realized he was the most handsome man in the world.
I wasn’t even a little biased.
To our surprise, when Jarod emerged from his room, he’d dressed up too. He was wearing a suit, his always-messy hair was combed neatly, and he’d even shaved. He looked healthy and handsome, a far cry from the pothead who had all but forced himself to become my roommate a year ago.
The suit was new; I’d helped him select it for the public defense of his doctorate thesis—not that it had actually been public, as everything in his thesis was classified. It was light gray, summer quality, and expensive—and definitely too much for work. He’d even worn a tie with a white shirt.
“Is this for your parents?” I asked, making an educated guess.
He looked at his clothing and grimaced. “Yeah. Too much?”
“No. You look perfect,” I assured him. For all I knew, his parents had a dress code for lunches. “And Ryan will be impressed.”
His boss wore gym clothes to work to be able to exercise when the mood hit.
After breakfast, which I had to force down, we filed into Jackson’s car and headed to beat the morning traffic through the entirety of Brooklyn to Dumbo by the East River, where Lexton Security had its premises in an old warehouse convert. We’d timed our departure well; the streets were all but empty most of the drive. I kept my eyes on the passing city to distract myself from the exam, but it didn’t really work and my stomach was in painful knots.
“Should you bring something for your coworkers?” I asked Jarod as we neared our destination. “It’s your first day after a long absence after all, and you have a doctorate to celebrate.”
He looked baffled. “Like what?”
“A cake maybe? Or donuts?”
“But I don’t even know them.”
“Now’s a good time to learn,” I said mercilessly, “especially since you have to move upstairs, and a cake will certainly help with that.” Since we had plenty of time, I directed Jackson to a patisserie near Jarod’s work that would be open at this hour, with cakes already available in the morning. I knew, because I’d once worked there.
I went to handle the purchase for Jarod, but no one I knew was behind the counter. Maybe it was for the best, even if I could’ve gotten a discount for old times’ sake. I didn’t really like to reminisce about my life before Jackson, especially today when I was seriously contemplating running back to waitressing to escape the exam.
“Why do I need such a large cake for?” Jarod asked, amazed, when I returned to the car five minutes later.
“Enough for everyone.” I had no idea how many people worked in his office, but there could never be too much cake.
“Do I have to be there with them when they eat it?”
He looked so miserable that I relented. “No. But maybe leave a note saying what it’s for?”
“Fine…”
We left Jarod and his cake outside Lexton Security. I considered sending Ryan a text, in case Jarod forgot all about it, but it was out of my hands now. I was only using Jarod as a distraction anyway. He could handle it.
The exam was held by the Department of State of New York, located in Lower Manhattan. It was a little over a two-mile drive across the Brooklyn Bridge to the closest parking garage to our destination, which took longer than it should have, yet not long enough.
For someone who had lived all her life in Brooklyn, I seldom visited Manhattan. It wasn’t that it was far—though at times it felt like the East River separated two different worlds—but getting there was a bit of a hassle, and there was never anything there I needed or could afford. The Financial District used to be completely out of my experience, but ever since I started working as a P.I., I’d had to visit there a couple of times.
It wasn’t even remotely my favorite place. The tall buildings blocked all light, and nervous as I was, made me feel like the world was pressing in on me. On a hot day like today, the heat built up between the skyscrapers with no respite from the wind, which never reached street level. Car exhaust and other smells lingered and suffocated.
My legs were tottery as we walked the two blocks to Williams Street. I squeezed Jackson’s arm so tightly he gave me a concerned look.
“Does it scare you this much? You’ve survived all sorts of murderers and maniacs, and a horde of hungry alligators. Surely this can’t be worse?”
“That’s what you think…” I managed to mutter through clenched teeth.
The State Department building looked like all the rest of the office towers, only a little lower and a lot older. Icy air hit me the moment I entered the lobby, the temperature adjusted for men in suits. I sneezed several times in a row, and was soon shivering in my summer clothes. Jackson wrapped an arm around my shoulders as we entered the elevator, and it warmed me a little.
We were twenty minutes early when we exited on the third floor where the test would be held in an auditorium. The lobby was bland and worn, with beige walls and a carpeted burgundy floor. A dry potted palm in one corner tried forlornly to keep up the cheer and failed. I could practically smell the cigarette smoke still clinging to the walls.
About twenty people were gathered outside the auditorium, a lot less than I’d imagined, but maybe people didn’t want to become P.I.s anymore. All were much older than me, and all of them were men, cops nearing or past retirement age looking for some extra income.
I beelined to the ladies’. I wasn’t sure I needed to go, but it was something to calm my nerves. When I emerged, more people had arrived, standing alone or in small groups. Younger men and a couple of women were among them too. They were dressed like for a job in a lawyer’s office, and I presumed they were former legal aides or something similar. Made me glad I’d made an effort for my appearance, even if I wasn’t quite as elegant as them. I wouldn’t have the handicap of low self-esteem kicking in at a wrong moment.
Jackson was standing with a group of three men and one woman, talking with a man in his mid-forties dressed in business casual. He had an air of authority about him, the way he stood observing the room like he owned it, so he was likely here to oversee his employees, same as Jackson. The woman and one of the men were in their early thirties, both fairly fit and dressed in business casual too.
The last man was in his mid-forties, and a stark contrast to the rest of their group. He was overweight, with thinning hair, and had the eyes of a cop who had seen it all and given up on humanity. He was wearing green, knee-length cargo shorts and a white T-shirt with a picture of a monkey eating a banana on it, but despite the light clothing and the air-conditioning, he was sweating profusely. Maybe he feared exams as much as I did.
I tilted my head, studying him. There was something familiar about him, as if I’d seen him somewhere recently. I tried to recall the cases we’d handled since our holiday, but we hadn’t run across other P.I.s. What was even odder, he gave me a sharp look, as if he’d seen me somewhere recently too.
I went to Jackson, and he smiled warmly. “This is Tracy Hayes,” he said, introducing me to the man he’d been talking with. “She’s been my apprentice for a year now, so I decided it’s time for her to take the exam. This is Chris Adler,” he told me. “We worked briefly at the same precinct, but he left for Sanford Inc. before I inherited the agency.”
I only barely managed not to make a face hearing the name of the firm Adler worked for. Sanford Inc. was a huge Manhattan P.I. firm that specialized in rich people’s divorces and industrial espionage—investigating them, not contributing—but they often worked for insurance companies too, which brought them to our turf. And they were not nice about it. They had so much clout that they easily shut us and other small firms out of competition.
I managed to smile and shake the offered hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Adler smiled at me and nodded at Jackson. “You’re taking the money route, then?” He sounded impressed. “We obviously use that, but it’s nice to hear you can afford it too.”
There were several requirements for becoming a licensed P.I. in the state of New York. You had to have worked as a cop or fire marshal for twenty years or as a P.I. for three, which I personally thought was a bit of a disparity. Or you could pay ten thousand dollars. I found it an outrageous sum, but Jackson saw it as a good investment. Obviously, Sanford Inc. could afford it, though maybe they deducted the sum from the salary of their P.I.s.
“Tracy has worked on very tricky cases already. She’s ready for the license,” Jackson said with a proud look. I tried to find his words encouraging, but as the clock ticked to nine, I was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything.
Apparently my subconscious wasn’t similarly hampered, because I suddenly remembered where I’d seen the older man of their group. I pivoted to him and pointed a finger at him. “You’ve been on King Street in Red Hook this past week. I’ve seen you there, behind the warehouse.”
An old, faded blue Volvo station wagon had suddenly appeared behind what I presumed was an empty warehouse, so I’d instantly noticed it. And more often than not, he’d sat inside.
“You have?” he asked, baffled. He had a slightly raspy voice of someone who smoked a lot, though I hadn’t seen him smoking, so maybe he’d quit.
“Yes, and I know you’ve seen me too. Are you working on my insurance case?” I demanded. If it turned out he was there to bust the same person, I’d have words. Who with, I had no idea, but there would be them.
“Peter is doing a background check on an employee considered for a promotion to a high-profile job,” Chris said, looking slightly offended for my accusation of poaching. “For the manager of the casino spa in Red Hook. Casinos have strict employee demands and they take their background checks seriously.”
That stunned me silent. Not for being told off, but because I had known the previous manager. Johnny Moreira. It had to be for his old job. I hadn’t realized they’d replace him, but of course they would.
As the doors to the auditorium opened just then, no one paid attention to my lack of response. My nerves shot into overdrive. I almost began to hyperventilate.
You’ve faced a hungry alligator. You can do this.
Jackson gave my shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “You’ll do great. I’ll wait here.”
I took a fortifying breath and walked into the auditorium on stiff legs. This was it. No escape now.
Return to top Return to booksTracy Hayes, Licensed to P.I. comes out on April 6, and it’s is available for preorder on Amazon, Smashwords, B&N, Kobo and Apple.