Jealousy

Chapter 1It all began when Brock opened his email on a Monday morning to see if he’d had any responses to his online want-ad for a new employee. There were three résumés waiting for him, one from a Mr. Anthony Miller, a second from Mr. Franklin Ingles, the third from Mr. Patrick McKenzie. After reading through Mr. Miller’s, Brock eliminated him because of his lack of experience. Ingles and McKenzie, however, looked promising. He checked their references, and then got in contact with them to set up interviews—Ingles on Tuesday morning, McKenzie Tuesday afternoon. Mr. Ingles, whose overzealous attitude matched his red hair, managed to rub Brock the wrong way from the moment he introduced himself. Brock still gave him the benefit of the doubt—at first. During the interview, the man talked about the jobs he’d done for his previous employers, and how expertly he’d handled them—“Much more professionally than anyone else working there,” to quote him. By the time the interview was completed, Brock knew he wasn’t going to hire him, and told him so as diplomatically as possible. When Ingles stormed out of the office, Brock was more than certain he’d made the correct decision. “Brock, Mr. McKenzie is here,” Sandra, his receptionist, said over the inter-office phone a couple of hours later. “Send him in, please.” Brock crossed the room when his office door opened, holding out his hand as he introduced himself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McKenzie.” The man was good-looking, although not handsome, which was preferable in Brock’s opinion. It wasn’t the best idea for a detective to stand out in a crowd. While he didn’t have a beard per se, Brock wondered if he was trying to grow one, or if he was the sort of man who, because of his black hair, would shave in the morning and look like he hadn’t by afternoon. Thanks to his own darkish blond hair, Brock didn’t have that problem. “Please, call me Pat, Mr. Moran,” McKenzie replied as they shook hands. “Pat it is, as long as you call me Brock. Have a seat.” Brock gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. When he sat, Brock settled behind the desk, glancing for a moment at Pat’s résumé. “I’m impressed with your qualifications.” “Thank you. I’m impressed with yours, as well. I wouldn’t have applied for the opening if I weren’t.” His response was deadpan, and then he grinned. “I probably did as much in the way of checking you out as you did me. Of course the fact my former boss said you were one of the best in the business helped.” “So you moved halfway across the country on the off chance I’d hire you? Gutsy.” “Not really. I wanted to get away from my folks, and my sister and her husband live here.” Brock lifted an eyebrow in question. The last thing he wanted was to hire someone who was running away from their problems. “Why?” “My parents are older and set in their ways.” Pat looked directly at Brock. “They don’t understand why, by the age of thirty, I haven’t gotten over what they call my ‘adolescent gay phase’. It’s not normal, to quote my father. They deal with it, because I won’t have it any other way, but there’s too much tension. It finally got to me so I decided it was time to move somewhere else where I wouldn’t have to put up with their censure. I figured if I could find an agency here that would be interested in me, at least I’d be close to the one person in my family who didn’t think I was some sort of aberration.” “I swear, I don’t understand people like that, and there’s too damned many of them around. Just so you know, I don’t give a damn that you’re gay.” “Good. One less thing to worry about. Before you ask, I told you because I needed to know if it would be a problem.” “You’d have changed your mind about wanting to work here if it was?” Brock asked. “Yeah, I would have.” Pat smiled dryly. “Yours isn’t the only agency in the city and I’m not big on being where I’m not wanted, which as I said is why I came out here in the first place.” “But we are the best.” Brock smirked, polished his nails on his shirt, then turned serious and began the process of interviewing Pat in depth. When he finished, he was certain he was going to hire the younger man, and said so. Pat let out what Brock thought had been a pent-up sigh of relief. “Thank you. I accept. I’m ready to start whenever you want.” “Excellent. Let me show you around. You’ll have your own office, the same as my other operatives. All two of them.” “Thomas Harris and Daniel Clark. Told you I did my homework.” Brock was impressed, but had to tease him. “DOBs?” “Now there, you’ve got me. I didn’t dig that deep. Is that a deal breaker?” “Not hardly.” * * * * “This was my office, until my father retired,” Brock said, opening a door across from his along the hallway. “It’ll be yours, now.” “Not bad.” Pat surveyed his new domain. It was smaller than Brock’s, but what it lacked in size was made up for by the two windows overlooking the side street. Bookcases and file cabinets stood along one wall, with a desk facing them across the room, a computer and monitor taking up half of it. The printer was on a low cabinet in the corner. There were two chairs on the clients’ side of the desk, as well as an office chair behind it. “There’s a storeroom off the waiting room. It’s where we keep our office and cleaning supplies,” Brock informed him. From there, they went down the hallway to an open door. Brock rapped on the doorframe to get the attention of a man who appeared to be in his mid-forties. “Mind if we interrupt?” “Not at all.” The man looked past Brock at Pat. “A new client?” “No. This is Pat McKenzie. He’s joining the agency. Pat, Tom Harris.” “A pleasure,” Tom said, standing to extend a hand. Pat crossed the room to shake it, noting as he did that the office was comparable to his but with only one window. A low table beside it held a coffee pot and cups. “Are you a native?” Tom asked, resting one hip on the edge of the desk. “Nope. I moved here two weeks ago from Philadelphia.” “Big change.” Pat chuckled. “If you mean there’s fresh air, sunshine, and a view of the mountains, it is.” “Why here?” “Family. One of my sisters and her husband are here and they love it, so when I decided I needed a change of scenery I figured why not Denver.” Pat glanced at what was showing on Tom’s computer screen. “Background checks?” “A necessary evil. I’m almost finished. Then I get to do surveillance on a woman who might be pulling an insurance scam.” “Been there, done that,” Pat said with a wry grin. “Brock,” a man in his mid-thirties said, pausing at the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m heading out to search for that runaway kid.” He looked at Pat and then back at Brock in question. “Daniel, this is Pat McKenzie, our new employee.” “Good to meet you. I’d stay and chat but as I said, there’s a runaway boy who needs to be found before some predator gets his hands on him.” “That definitely takes precedence over meet-and-greet. Good luck.” “Thanks.” Daniel saluted before leaving. “Ready to meet the last of the crew?” Brock asked. Pat nodded and followed Brock down the hallway to a door at the end, opposite what he figured was Daniel’s office. The room they entered was large, broken into obvious workstations. A man with dark hair, graying at the temples, looked up from a microscope, waggling a finger at Brock. “Stop being impatient. You know I can’t produce results at the snap of your fingers.” Then he noticed Pat and grumbled, “You also know I don’t like you bringing clients in here.” “He’s not a client, Len. This is Pat McKenzie. He’s the newest addition to the team.” “Is he mine?” Len looked hopeful. “Nope. Sorry.” “Great, another investigator to add to my workload.” The words might have been caustic, but the smile that accompanied them told Pat that Len was probably kidding—he hoped. “I’m Len Wilson, the forensic expert around here. I’d shake your hand, but I don’t want to take a chance of contaminating that.” He pointed a gloved finger at a counter laden with what Pat presumed was case evidence. “No problem. Do you mind my asking what you’re doing?” “Comparing hair and bodily fluid samples found on the clothing of our client’s husband with hers. She’s certain he’s having an affair and asked us to prove it.” Len shrugged. “Or disprove it, although she’s certain she’s right.” Pat turned to Brock. “You can’t have him followed?” “We’re doing that, too, but so far without any luck. If it’s happening, he…they’re being very careful not to be seen together. The fact he’s the night manager of a large, upscale motel gives him plenty of leeway to use one of the rooms for an assignation, if that’s what’s happening. Obviously, he wouldn’t enter it if he saw anyone in the hallway, and there’s no way we’re capable of bugging every room.” “Which his wife understands,” Len added. “Ergo, the forensic search for evidence.” “It’s a good thing you can do that. By the way, this—” Pat swept his arm around, “—is another reason I applied for the job. Moran Investigations may be small, but having your own forensics lab was definitely a plus in my book.” “That was Dad’s idea and it’s paid off in the long run, given what private forensics labs charge for their services.” Brock opened a door to one side of the lab, beckoning for Pat to join him. “This is the storage room for everything we need to set up surveillance and anything else we might be called on to do for a client.” Pat stepped into the room, looking at the shelves crammed with equipment. “You could start your own store with all this.” “Having a good stock saves both in cost and in time spent shopping at one of the dealers here in town.” He led the way through a second door into a short hallway perpendicular to the main one. “The employee restroom.” He gestured toward it as they walked past. “And that’s the grand tour. I’d like you to start first thing tomorrow morning.” “What time?” “We open at nine, and close for business at six.” Pat chuckled. “But work well past that if warranted.” “Absolutely. Crime, major or minor, doesn’t follow normal business hours. Set up your office the way you want it as soon as you come in, and I’ll give you the passwords you’ll need for the computer and the sites we use. Then you’ll start on background checks. For now, go home and relax.” “Sounds good. Again, thanks.” “You’re welcome. I have the feeling you’re going to be a good addition to the agency.” * * * * Pat did as Brock suggested and went home. While fixing supper, he thought about the men he’d met. The two employees he’d had a chance to talk with didn’t seem the least bit uptight about the fact Brock had hired him. He hoped that held true for Daniel, as well. From his interactions with Brock, he had the feeling he would be easy to work for as long as he performed up to expectations. He wasn’t the least bit surprised that the first thing he’d be doing was background checks, which would free Tom up for whatever else was on Brock’s calendar. Not that he minded. It would give him a chance to get used to being there. Stakeouts, hunting for lost kids, and the rest of what the agency handled would come in time. After he ate, he called his sister, Janie, to let her know he’d gotten the job. She quizzed him about the people he’d be working for, teasingly asking if any of them were interesting on a personal level. “Damn, Janie, don’t even go there. This is a job, not my private meat market. Besides, from what little I saw and how Brock reacted, my bet would be I’m the only gay guy on the staff.” “Well, that sucks.” She laughed. “Guess you’ll have to start hitting up the bars in Baker or Cap Hill.” He rolled his eyes, even though she couldn’t see it. “I am not looking, so get that out of your head right now. Working there will take up all my weekdays and probably a lot of nights, too. They may be relatively small but I’m betting their client list isn’t.” “Poor baby. No social life.” “Janie, honestly…” “I’m only looking out for your wellbeing.” “I know, and thanks.” They chatted for a few more minutes before hanging up. Pat found a movie to watch until it was time to head to bed at ten. His last thought before falling asleep was that Brock might be straight, but he was definitely easy on the eyes. For sure I’d try to get to know him if I ran into him in a bar.