The Stranger Behind My Orgasm

Abigail

The hand over my mouth reeked of cigarettes. I bit down hard, drove my elbow back into the man behind me and when his grip loosened, I spun around and sent my knee straight up between his legs.

"Fuck!" He doubled over, one hand shooting to the wall to stop himself from dropping to the ground.

I yanked off my heels quickly, holding the pointed ends aimed directly at his face. "Who the hell are you?"

"Wait," He wheezed, still clutching his balls. "I’m on your side, dammit,"

He straightened slowly, one hand still pressed to his lower abdomen, his face creased with pain. "Put the shoe down."

Like hell I would. I kept it up, tightening my grip around them.

He was older, in his late fifties, maybe with grey hair at the temples. There were deep lines around his eyes, looking like he hadn’t slept in days.

His yellow flannel shirt rumpled with each movement he made. His blue eyes moved to the window, back to me, then to the window again.

"How did you find this address?"

"You go first," I snapped. He obviously knew who I was because the first question he asked wasn’t who I was.

He exhaled then dragged a hand over his face. "Put the shoe down, Miss Kellerman ."

My arm dropped an inch, just an inch. "Are you Mr Raymond Cole?"

His jaw tightened. "Detective Raymond Cole and you need to keep your voice down."

He moved to the window, two fingers pulling the curtain back half an inch, scanning the street below. Whatever he saw or didn’t see made his shoulders drop slightly. He let the curtain fall. "Were you followed?"

"I don’t think so?"

"That’s not good enough." He crossed to the other window and checked that one too. "Did you drive straight here?"

"Er...I didn’t drive around in circles like this was a fucking cartoon so I guess that’s a yes?"

He groaned looking like I just told him his cat died, panic flaring in those blue eyes. "You shouldn’t be here. You should never have come here. How did you find this address?"

"Does it matter?"

"It matters!" He turned from the window, "If you found it, other people can find it."

I lowered the heel fully. Something was clicking into place. "You’re the one who sent me the box and the picture. That was you, wasn’t it?"

He didn’t confirm it. He also didn’t deny it, still obsessed with peeking out the window.

"You know what happened to my parents."

"I know what I was investigating before I was transferred." He grunted. "Sit down, Miss. No, not near the window, dammit!."

He pointed to a torn sofa far from the window and I dropped my ass on the edge of it, sliding on my heels. "How do I get the case reopened?"

He gave the driest laugh I had ever heard come out of a human being, moving to the table to grab a cigarette.

"Reopened by who? The people working to keep that incident buried aren’t ordinary people, Miss. They have connections and resources." He paused.

"They had me transferred out of New York fifteen years ago to a whole new state, slapped the case closed and ended it as just an accident." His eyes moved to the window as if he was nervous.

"You’re not up against a dirty cop and a forged report. Do you understand that?" He added.

"I understand that." I leaned forward, clasping my hands together. "I’m not ordinary either. What brought it back? After all this time, what made you send me that box?"

He moved to the chair across from me and sat, lighting up the cigarette. "I’ve been working on a trafficking investigation, it’s a different case entirely in a different city when a shell company came up in the financial trail."

He paused, taking a deep drag and spewed smoke out. "Your parents’ names were on an account linked to that shell company."

The floor tilted slightly under me. "That’s impossible-"

"Of course I know that. Only tells me that those behind their death are also behind this trafficking and I remembered they had a little girl before the grandparents moved out of New York and tried searching for you."

"Wait, so if it’s related to trafficking, does that mean my parents saw something? Something they weren’t supposed to see."

"That’s what it looks like, yes." His eyes went to the window again. "I’m close to something. I need two more weeks. Maybe three and we can get a strong lead that will force that case reopened. But-" He leaned forward.

"I need you to go home, Miss Kellerman, and wait for me to contact you. Not the other way around. You do not call me. You do not come here again. This address doesn’t exist, do you understand me?"

"Are you trying to run away?"

His face scrunched up and he looked offended. "You’re lucky I ain’t your granddaddy, I’ll whoop your ass back to Sunday. I came back to this god forsaken city to expose the truth of that night. No, I’m not running away,"

I nodded, guilt slamming into me and that fear was back. "I have so many questions-"

"We don’t have time," He grumbled, rising on his feet. "You have to leave. Now!"

"B-But-"

"Now, Miss. I’ll call you to keep you in the loop. If anyone suspicious contacts you, just call that number you’ve been trying."

My eyes widened. "Wait a minute, that was you? Why didn’t you pick up the call?"

"Anyone could be listening," He shrugged then gestured to the door. "I’ll contact you, alright?"

"Alright, alright," I grumbled, trudging towards the door. "If I don’t hear from you in a week, I’m coming down here,"

He made a noise in his throat. "Are you always this stubborn?"

"I’m a Kellerman," I rolled my eyes and shrugged before popping the door open.

When I got into my car, I dropped my head against the steering wheel, clamping down the bile rising up my throat.

Trafficking?

Just what had mom and Dad been roped into?