Eight Long Years (Heart of Hope 5)

“Fuck.” I was a moron to carry it with me. I held my hand out to toss it in the trash, but like I had done many times before, I changed my mind, folding it back up and putting in my wallet. I was either a glutton for punishment or needing the constant reminder that people could fuck you up emotionally. Even people you trusted.

On Monday morning, I put on a suit which Cyrus insisted made us look more professional. For me, it was like exchanging one uniform for another, although the suit did feel a bit more uncomfortable than in military clothes.

“Don’t you ever want to express yourself?” I asked him as I sat in his office preparing for the day.

“You can.” He lifted his pant leg showing off a psychedelic colored sock. “Business on the outside, party on the feet.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Speaking of parties, you look like hell my friend,” he said.

“Yeah well, I didn’t sleep very well the last few nights. Lots going on, you know?”

He nodded. “It’s not easy coming home, or so I’ve heard. You know you might think about finding a more permanent place. Put down roots.”

“Says my hotel room neighbor.”

“I have a call into an agent to look at some land outside the city. A house with room for horses.”

I laughed. “You’re a city boy. Do you know how to care for horses?”

“No, but how hard could it be? This is my next big adventure, Jude. You need to find yours.”

I took that to heart. I had to stop living in the past. “You’re right.”

The buzz over the door told us someone had entered the waiting area. We rose and strode out to meet our client, Tom Lassen.

“Come into our conference room, Mr. Lassen,” Cyrus said.

“Would you like some coffee or something?” I offered.

“No thank you.” Mr. Lassen looked around the office and then took a seat. “Spiffy place you have here.”

“Thank you.” Cyrus sat down at the end of the table and I sat between them.

“How can we help you, Mr. Lassen?” I asked.

“I own a string of retail stores and recently have had an uptick in thefts.”

“Do you currently have security systems in place?” Cyrus asked.

“We do. Cameras and I increased the number of security guards when the thefts started. I hired them through another firm.”

“And what do they say?” I asked him.

“They can’t seem to figure it out either. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it.”

“Do you think it’s an inside job,” Cyrus asked.

“I think it’s possible, but different people are working each time something goes missing.”

I noted what he was saying on my yellow legal pad. “Have you gone to the police?” I asked.

Mr. Lassen sat back and shrugged. “Sure, but it’s not a priority for them. Every time I call, I get the same old line that they’re still investigating but they don’t have anything to share.”

“I wonder if they think you’re involved,” Cyrus said.

“Me? I own the place, why would I steal from myself? What sort of security firm are you?” Mr. Lassen’s eyes narrowed in annoyance.