Blue (The Carson Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  She hated scoldings and didn’t do well with criticism. Further, she’d get defensive and argumentative, those traits triggered more lectures from me, and they were ignored.

  “I didn’t notice before, Devyn, I think you’ve become a complacent human being.”

  She needed a wake-up call.

  I ticked off the reasons on my fingers. “One, you aren’t learning anything new, not even interested. Two, your life is a constant routine. Three, you are totally predictable. Four, you hate change; and five, you stopped growing as a person.”

  "No… you’re mistaken," she protested.

  "And, you reject criticism."

  "You’re right, Ben, I’m sorry. It's just that you criticize me all the time."

  "Your Krav Maga skills won’t save you if you’re caught off guard," I said.

  "I can defend myself."

  She was obstinate. I walked in a semi-circle about the couch, then turned and walked back the other way, mumbling to myself.

  "Hey, I’m right here. I can hear you," she said pointing to herself.

  "You haven’t listened to anything I’ve said," I snapped.

  I was angry with her and worried about her lack of inattentiveness and safety. She'd bitten her nails to nothing. "Quit biting your nails," I chided.

  Devyn sat on her hands. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Geez, how many times can I say it?"

  And, she was sorry; worried I’d yank her off the case, more likely. But she looked pathetic. The last thing I wanted was for her anxiety to get the better of her because she frustrated me.

  "Look, Devyn, if you want to talk about your one-night stand, then I'll listen, but it will be under duress, mind you. I don't know how young girls deal with these things."

  She cried again. “If my mother was still alive, I could tell her. She wouldn't judge. I don't know what Daddy would have done. He'd blow a gasket..." She blubbered on and on. I let her.

  "I’ve been working you too hard. Maybe you need a little downtime to reset yourself," I suggested.

  Devyn protested as I knew she would.

  "Wait, I'll be okay. We don’t have time for me to reset."

  I put my hands on my hips and rocked back and forth.

  She put on a pained face. "Please, Ben, no."

  "If we go on like this, you'll be spanked, and I’m not into that."

  “Sure, you’re not.” I heard her mutter.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  "Look, today is shot, we're both worn out. Tomorrow's Friday. Take the day off, and we'll talk on Monday," I suggested.

  She grabbed her rucksack and water bottle and walked out the door. God, why did I ever think being her mentor would be simple?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Devyn

  Santa Monica

  The walk from the back of the house where the deck opened to ocean and sky’s magnificent palette of blues, to the quilted pattern of the dull concrete driveway, was a descent into reality before heading to my apartment in the urban sprawl of Los Angeles.

  My beloved electric blue Mini Cooper was sitting at the edge of Ben’s driveway. The interior was hot as a pizza oven, and I opted to put the top down and enjoy the fresh breeze. Black Ray-Bans and a baseball cap cloaked my shame as I drove back to my place.

  The departure from Ben’s wasn’t relief. It felt like we had unfinished business. The separation made me feel unsure, anxious, and concerned about my future as a private investigator and a young woman. I couldn’t shake the gnawing truths in his assertion of my being happy with the status quo. There was no reason to change. Routine was my friend. But humiliation intensified after that dismissal.

  My mantra includes a variation on focus, eat, sleep, repeat. Working within those parameters I wasn’t ready to shake. I pulled into my parking spot and breezed into my apartment, my sanctuary. The front door opened to the main living area.

  The walls were a blue-gray, the perfect neutral for a Kandinsky poster I bought at a thrift store. It included a galley kitchen and dining nook and two bedrooms that shared a bath. The fichus tree in one corner shed leaves on the floor.

  Filtered sunlight bathed the space. It was a blessing and a curse. My place was so dusty I could write my name on the coffee table. Housekeeping was at the top of my list to do tomorrow or the day after that… same thing I say every weekend.

  Nothing impeded the view of the front door in this room. My front door was flimsy. I locked and bolted it. When I moved in, the first thing I did was to buy the other locks, a peephole, and a door open sensor which chimes a ringtone when the door opens. The building was semi-secure, the lobby door needed a code for anyone entering the building.

  I’m a single woman, living alone. I would not be a victim of robbery again. When I moved out of the dorms into my first apartment, my attention to safety was lax. The complex included young professionals, recent graduates, and short-term tenants.

  The pool area was a social magnet, with pop-up parties going on all the time. A colorful collection of swim noodles was available for pool jousting, beer bong racing, and as handicaps for pool volleyball. I wasn’t shy. I liked to have fun.

  After settling in, I became friends with my immediate neighbors. I knew most on a first name basis.

  However, it was stupid of me to mention my apartment number to a new neighbor as well as the proximity to hers at one of the pool parties. Someone overheard.

  When I returned to my apartment, the door was wide open. Someone picked the lock. The burglar tossed my apartment. They'd found my coffee can filled with money. Among the stolen items were sentimental pieces of jewelry that belonged to my mother like her wedding ring and watch, a cable box, and small electronic gadgets. But the most expensive item was my laptop. It held everything. Luckily, I had backed it up to a cloud server. I reported the robbery to the police. They took a while to arrive because it’s LA, and little thefts like mine pale next to violent crimes and drunk driving blockades. The locksmith came that night to add a deadbolt.

  I gave the landlord notice and moved out of the apartment and in with Candace. I sought counseling and attended an empowerment self-defense seminar. Ben persuaded me to take Krav Maga with him and drummed into me that the burglary wasn’t my fault. It was a warning that something worse could have happened.

  The teapot whistled, and I finish preparing the green tea, looking out the picture window toward the Santa Monica Mountains. I needed music to soothe the wild beast inside me, the churning that comes with anger.

  "ALEXA, play classical piano concertos from My Music." The command started the voice-controlled AI assistant for the home. I fired up my laptop, a replacement after the robbery, but ancient by today’s technology; it was a reliable workhorse.

  It hid the Miller and Rathmore report in password-protected files in a cloud server. The reports held recent surveillance of Rathmore’s habits and his business dealings with Miller. Miller’s file folder was empty. I’d start with him.

  I had a short list of questions for Mr. Miller. We’d been playing telephone tag for a few days. The company was about to announce their new proprietary software called KEY-BOLT, whose details were top secret. I suspected the announcement related to Kai’s disappearance.

  As I expected, Miller’s assistant screened his phone calls. “Tech-Key Software, Nathan Miller’s office. Stan speaking.”

  “Hi Stan, this is Devyn Foster of Rosenberg Investigations. I’d like to speak with Mr. Miller regarding Kai Lin.”

  “Just a second, please. I’ll see if he’s in.”

  After a few minutes, Stan returned. “Mr. Miller wants to know if you can meet with him.”

  “Yes. When and where?” I asked, not believing my luck that a subject would want to speak to a PI.

  “If you give me your email, I’ll send the details of the meeting,” said Stan.

  "Okay. My email address is [email protected]."

  “Thank you, Ms. Foster,” said Stan.

>   I put down the phone and wondered where the meeting would take place. Soon, I hope to have answers from Nathan Miller.

  There was a knock on the door. I looked through the peephole. It was the mail carrier delivering packages. He handed me three. One was from Amazon, a voice-activated spy pen camera. I’d misplaced the last one. The second package held an expensive night vision drone recorder Ben told me to get. There are times I can’t get close enough to a subject for surveillance. For instance, a home in Hollywood Hills was believed to be the location for a missing child in a custody case. I almost broke into the place to see if a missing child was there. The third package was a refill pack of Prisma colored pencils and a sketch pad. I needed to get back to using the creative process of art in healing, an activity that helped after my mother’s death. The timing couldn’t be better. After today’s conversation with Ben about being complacent, picking up the pencils would be a step toward moving forward again. I put the pencils and sketch pad on my coffee table so they would be in my line of vision when it was time to unwind.

  The sound of an email notification came from the MAC and I looked to see if the email was from Nathan Miller with details about the meeting.

  It was from Stan, Nathan Miller’s assistant.

  To: Devyn Foster

  From: Stan

  Subject: Meeting with Nathan Miller

  Hi Devyn,

  Mr. Miller will meet you on Monday 10 am at the law offices of Snell, Smith, and Bell. Their offices are at 111000 Washington Blvd. Culver City.

  If you need to cancel or reschedule, please call our office.

  Stan

  I sent a copy to Ben.

  One down, one to go. Another cup of green tea, and I pulled up Byron Rathmore’s files.

  I pieced together Rathmore’s itinerary from drone surveillance. The drone captured videos of him outside the office campus. Recent photos, taken by Ben, exposed his facial expressions and I studied them. The study of human behavior was something I used often. It was a satisfying technique, especially if it helped solve the case. His expressions were more mood-driven than responses to actual interaction with people.

  I followed him to the private Cowboy Golf Course and pumped his caddy for information about Rathmore’s golf game, what brand of clubs he prefers—they were custom Taylormade’s—and choice of beverages—he drank water only—and if his golf companions were different individuals every time—I hadn’t run the facial recognition program, yet. The drone captured photos of his vehicle, a BMW 7 series Alpina. He had a private plane at the Santa Monica Airport and a helipad on the rooftop of the office tower.

  I studied the images until I could visualize them as a slideshow in my sleep. The vain man favored a simple, elegant, two-button, navy suit. He paired it with a white-collared shirt and a dark blue or a red tie. The only differentiation was his try at casual wear, substituting a collarless T-shirt for the white button-down in, wait for it... navy.

  Ben gave me a personality profile on Byron Rathmore. The determination was he’s a narcissistic sociopath.

  Big surprise.

  I suspected Rathmore would have a disturbing personality profile because Nathan Miller suspected him responsible for whatever happened to Kai. I'm glad Ben didn't hold back and shared the findings with me. He’d handwritten notes in the margin:

  BDSM. Dominant, sexual sadist, NC, enjoys other’s humiliation.

  Wow! What???

  NC? Doesn’t that mean non-consensual?

  I typed the keywords in the Google search bar and fell into a rabbit hole of BDSM stuff… how-to sites, forums, I even ran across a slave registry. OMG. I was surfing for hours.

  It was overwhelming, but some information was academic, and undoubtedly there was a BDSM for Dummies Quick Guide I could read on my Kindle. What if my sexuality is part of this assignment! I can't say it's out of the question. If I object, he will take me off the case. But wait, aren't I getting in over my head? Can I quit when things get hairy? I'm not okay with letting this guy assault me. I've never walked away from an assignment, but I can't be at a disadvantage due to ignorance. What do I need to learn?

  Pulling out my cell phone, I speed-dialed Ben. The call went straight to voicemail.

  "I read about Rathmore’s kinks. I can handle it."

  In the morning, I got this email from Ben.

  Devyn,

  This mission is a big assignment, and nothing you've done. It's okay to bow out. No harm, no foul. We can get this guy another way. Think carefully.

  Should you go forward, I want to review your strategy, look for missing holes or any weaknesses in your plan, review and revise.

  Ben

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ben

  Pacific Palisades

  Devyn: Thanks for giving me another chance. If it’s okay, can I come over?

  Me: Is your head on straight?

  Devyn: Last time I looked.

  Me: Come over at one and bring your thinking cap. Let’s go over the stuff you’ve been sending me the last 48 hours.

  Between phone calls, emails with attachments, and texts, Devyn had been badgering me for the past two days like it was her job to sound like a broken record. I burned the midnight oil yesterday, as my mother used to say. I couldn’t work like this. She must think I’m standing around waiting for her emails and texts.

  She’d spent Friday and Saturday researching the subjects, Miller and Rathmore, even getting a face-to-face meeting with the man on Monday. But it surprised me Miller offered to meet Devyn at his attorney’s office.

  At 1:05 PM, Devyn was at the house; laptop bag slung over her shoulder, in her usual uniform, dark hair up in a messy bun, no makeup, wearing a T-shirt, yoga pants, and light-up sneakers. Scented cucumber and lemon soap wafted past me.

  Devyn sniffed the air, put down her laptop and wandered over to the coffeemaker and held up the pot. She's useless without her coffee.

  "There's leftover coffee in the fridge..."

  She filled a tall glass with ice and poured in leftover coffee.

  “Got any almond milk?”

  "Yes, I do. Check the door." I folded my arms across my chest, watching her in amusement. She wouldn't be settling down to work for a few more minutes.

  She poured a lot of almond milk into the coffee, diluting it to a cream color. I handed Devyn two envelopes of sweetener. She smiled up at me adoringly. Minx.

  Plopping down on the sofa, she sipped the coffee and glanced at me, trying to stifle the guile.

  “Devyn, I’m impressed about the meeting,” I said, hoping those words softened the upbraiding she received last week. “Do you want me to accompany you?” I asked.

  Devyn paused for just a second before shaking her head. “But… I’d like your input on what to ask Nathan Miller besides the questions regarding Kai I’ve got on my list.”

  “Sure, let’s do it at the end,” I agreed, noting a departure from her ‘I can do it myself’ refrain.

  I pointed to the club chair facing the big screen. I'd used the concept of mirroring to compare our work. It involves sending what's on your computer screen to a TV or projector. Devyn shared research and photos she had on hers, and I shared plans on mine. It simplified the collaboration of our efforts.

  I’d been working on finding Kai Lin, the missing Chinese national who worked for Tech-Key. His family contacted us to help find him. The police told them the trail had gone cold, and they had other missing person cases on their plate. Their pleas were heart-wrenching. They were in China and had no means of coming to Los Angeles to look for him. Then, there was the language issue.

  A contract interpreter eased our communication. They found us through a missing person forum. We’d found two missing people that escaped the police’s radar, and word of mouth got our contact information on the internet. The background research Devyn put together augmented the rescue plan. Together we figured out how she’d best be able to make the plan work and find Kai,
alive and well.

  “Not that I caved to your wishes, but, you'd be most effective inside the firm as an employee, one who's qualified as a computer systems analyst.”

  She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, and I could see the wheels turning in her head.

  "There are risks," I continued. "The most obvious is your lack of hands-on experience in that job."

  “You can send me to ABC software. Ted, the head analyst, could give me a crash course on what I need to know,” she offered.

  “Good suggestion. Make a note to call Ted about it. Ask him if he can run you through the generic problem-solving approach, and coach you on looking like you know what you're doing.” I glanced at her, trying to read her eyes, but she's getting better at schooling her emotions.

  “Make them believe you; finding a problem to solve on their system is key. Learn how Sigma Stormsoft's computer systems work. We'll start a problem with the computers. Once you are inside, I can get Ted to plant a system-wide bug. The problem has got to be one you can solve. Convince them you are useful and belong there. You must find the other computers. I'm betting that Kai is close. Someone has to know where Kai is.”

  “That’s a great plan!” It enthused her, she got all worked up about it, tapping the notes onto her laptop.

  I wanted to be the systems analyst myself, but Devyn was eager to get back into my graces and start on the missing person assignment. If I excluded her, her confidence would erode. Confidence builds on success. She needs opportunities to have them.

  "To tell the truth, you are more than capable of pulling off this charade and be less of a suspect than I."

  Devyn nodded her head, a tiny smile on her lips.

  After that planning, I was in a better frame of mind. Still, I could see that Devyn needed reassurance from me that we were okay.

  “Can we hug it out?” she asked, all rosy-cheeked and apologetic, looking at me from under her thick lashes.