Maddox P.O.V

I softly groan, sorting through the seemingly never-ending pile of files and papers on my desk. Most were case documents, with the odd bill or random flyer mixed in. As business picked up over the past few weeks, the system I had to keep everything in place collapsed. And now this.

For fucks sake. I could be here all day and still wouldn't finish.

A slightly muffled beep sounds from underneath the stack to my right. I lift the papers, locating my phone, and check the message.

It's a video from Francesca. Leaning back in my seat, I quickly press play.

A large double-paned window with rain streaming down its surface appears on the screen. The bits of white brick around the edges don't give enough of a hint as to the location. Shrugging, I focus back on the video as the camera slowly zooms in on the dark clouds looming beyond the glass. And just as the video cuts, a white-tipped, slender, brown finger enters the frame, tracing the path of one tiny rivulet down the cool glass.

A text awaits me underneath the video.

Francesca: Remind you of anything??

It says.

A smile curls my lips as the memories of the night we'd met flood my mind. Much the same as now, it'd been pouring down raining. I'd been out drinking at the local bar not far from my place when I bumped into Patrick, an acquaintance of my friend Chance. Aside from that, I knew absolutely nothing about the guy.

But anyways, he'd introduced us, and we'd quickly hit it off. We'd spent most of the night drinking, dancing, and flirting before heading to my place. Halfway there, we'd succumbed to our desires in the stairway while lightning rumbled overhead, providing an ethereal beat to our frantic mating.

I shift in my seat, my cotton briefs becoming uncomfortable around my growing bulge, before finally replying.

Me: The night we met.

Francesca: mmm

A half-second later, another message comes through.

Francesca: Fuckk. Now I can't stop thinking about you.

Me: And that's a bad thing?

Francesca: Usually, no. But when I have a hospital full of patients to tend to...yes.

My head rolls on the headrest as laughter bursts past my lips before I reply.

Me: Maybe you should take a break.

Francesca: Why? You up for a recreation?

The thought hadn't honestly crossed my mind, but now that it was on the table, I sure as hell wouldn't refuse.

I'll take sex over sorting any day of the week.

I start to type out a response, but the silver frame on the right corner of my desk catches my eye. A young Scarlett stares back at me, grinning from cheek to cheek with her arm thrown across my shoulders and a half-eaten ice cream cone in hand.

We were only around fifteen in the photo, but I still remember every bit of that day as if it happened yesterday.

Things were different back then. Life was simpler.

Especially when it came to relationships and fucking dating. Now falling in love was a dangerous game where you hoped not to get burned. Or at least strong enough to survive the fallout.

A fallout I'd been privy to more than once throughout my job. At this point, seeing the downside of failed relationships was quickly becoming a natural occurrence.

Where lies, deception, and secrets tore apart and destroyed families or even worse. And I would do everything in my power to protect Scarlett from that hurt or at least shelter her from some of it, even if it meant pissing her off in the process.

Starting with this Luciano guy.

Who the hell even was this asshole?

I don't know why he irks me so much. None of her other passing infatuations did. Maybe because this time, she seems to have a genuine interest in this dickwad. And why that would bug me is one tangled web I don't even want to begin to unravel right now.

A knock comes at my office door, rescuing me from my thoughts.

"Yes?" I drop my phone into my top drawer, forgetting all about Francesca. And even toss a few papers alongside it even though it doesn't make the slightest difference in appearance.

A heavy-set woman with medium dark brown skin and a slight limp in her walk enters the room as I shut the drawer and stand up. The sleeves of her apricot t-shirt and the bottom of her jeans appear damp, but the black umbrella dripping down by her side seemed to protect her from the brunt of the heavy rainfall.

Behind the cat-framed glasses resting on the tip of her nose, her dark, almost black eyes flit around the room as she comes closer before finally landing on me.

"Hello, I'm sorry to bother you," she says, leaving the umbrella by the door and removing the rain bonnet covering her salt and pepper curls. "But I'm looking for Private investigator Maddox Cross."

"That's me." I stand up and round my desk, stopping before it. "What can I help you with?"

"I uh..." Her voice slightly quavers, and she looks off to the side. But not before I glimpse the unshed tears glistening in her eyes.

"Mrs.-?"

"White. Joy White." She says.

"Mrs. White, would you like to take a seat?" I gesture to the nearest wooden chair in front of my desk.

She nods and takes the offered seat, her back rigid and hand fisted tightly around her purse strap.

"Can I get you something to drink? Water, coffee..." My eyes stray to the kitchen doorway on the right side of the room. The glass coffee pot occupying most of the counter space in the tiny kitchen contains less than a swig, which was more than I could say for the cupboards and the mini-fridge, given they were both bare. "Or water? I haven't had a chance to go shopping yet. It's on my list of things to do right underneath hiring someone to help organize this mess."

She lightly chuckles, and even though it's at my expense, it's worth it as some of the tension in her shoulders ease. "Water is fine. Thank you."

I hurry to the kitchen to get the glass of water before returning and handing it to her. With a smile, she thanks me again before drinking her fill.

"I need your help to find my granddaughter, Aria." She says after she finishes.

"Have you filed a missing person report?"

"Yes. And the cops say they're investigating, but I haven't heard any news."

I push aside a stack of papers enough to clear a space to sit on the edge of my desk. "How long has she been missing?"

"It's been five weeks now. And nothing." Her voice grows thick toward the end as the tears threatening to fall from earlier finally spill down her cheeks.

Damn. Five weeks were a long time to go without answers. The chance of finding her was a long shot. And alive at that... Ugh. I didn't want to think of those odds. But as long as there was a chance. I wouldn't give up. The least I could do was bring closure to her grandmother and the rest of her family.

"Every day, I see that model Sienna on the news or hear the reports on the radio. And I tell myself that maybe if Aria had half... at least half that amount of exposure, she would be home right now instead of God's nowhere. But..." She sniffs, pulls a packet of tissues from her purse, and blows her nose. "I don't have Sienna's family's connections, and I've lived long enough to know people like you and me aren't high priorities to the police. Now, don't get me wrong. I don't want to make it about race. I just want my grandbaby back."

"Yes, ma'am, I understand, but can you give me more information about Aria?" I grab a small notepad and pen from my drawer before returning to sit before her.

She sits up straighter, a glimmer of hope appearing in her eyes. "Are you... Are you going to take the case?!"

I lean forward, set my hand on her and gently squeeze. "Yes, ma'am. I am. Aria needs someone as relentless as me out there looking for her."

"Oh, bless you. Bless you." She cries, placing her other hand on top of mine. "It's just us two at home. We're all each other's got. But with your help, I no longer feel alone."

"Can you tell me more about her?"

"She's 22, pretty, smart, and always dreamed of being a model. But when they cut back my hours at work, she took a few jobs to help me out."

I stop writing and look up at her. "Wait. She's a model?"

"Yes." She lifts her glasses and dabs a tissue underneath her eyes. "Well, up and coming. She's done a few shows, but when she took time off to help me, her modeling career kinda suffered."

"Do you have any pictures of her?"

She nods, pulls her phone from her purse, and shows me the lock screen. It's a close-up photo of a beautiful young lady with a flawless milk chocolate complexion, button nose, and long wavy locks cascading down her back. A bright smile curls her glossy red lips giving the dimple in her left cheek a run for its money.

"Can you send me a copy of this photo?" I ask.

She nods again.

"Does she have a boyfriend, or was she dating anyone?"

"No, she was too busy working."

"Working where?"

"Uh..." Her brow scrunches up as she looks toward the floor.

"It's alright. Take your time."

"No, it's just she's always working multiple part-time jobs. And it's hard to keep up."

"Was she working the night she went missing?"

"Yes, at the Krave Cafe."

My eyebrows shoot up. "In The Rook?"

"Yes."