"You're insufferable."
"Maybe," he says softly, "but you still can't keep your eyes off me."
"Maybe I don't want to."
♥___________♥
𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢
Playboy, arrogant, and egoistic-sounds like a typical jerk, right? But there's more to Marco th...
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The next morning, I found myself standing outside an auto repair shop on the edge of town, the kind of place where shady deals went down behind closed doors. It wasn't exactly where I imagined this investigation would take us, but James had insisted it was worth checking out.
I glanced at James, who was busy scanning the area with that annoyingly focused expression of his. "You really think this place is connected?"
He shrugged. "The account that paid Lydia off was traced back to a shell company. That company's registered address is here. So, yeah, I think it's worth a look."
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Ugh, you're such a bossy know it all."
James smirked," Noted. Now come on, or do I need to drag you?"
I grumbled but followed him into the shop. The smell of oil and grease hit me as soon as we walked through the door. A mechanic with grease-stained hands looked up from under the hood of a car and eyed us suspiciously.
"Can I help you?" he grunted.
James flashed his badge. "Detective Carter, and this is Marco Rossi. We're investigating a case and need to ask you a few questions."
The mechanic's eyes narrowed. "I don't know anything about no case."
"We're looking into some payments that were made from a company registered to this address," I said, crossing my arms. "Care to explain?"
The mechanic wiped his hands on a rag, clearly stalling. "I just fix cars, man. Don't know nothing about no payments."
James stepped forward, his tone hardening. "Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. We just need some information. Help us out, and we'll be on our way."
The mechanic scowled, "Look, I don't know much. Just that some guy pays to keep an office in the back. He shows up once in a while, handles his business, and leaves. Don't ask questions, don't get in trouble, you know?"
"Where's this office?" James asked.
The mechanic pointed to a door at the back of the shop. "Down that hallway. But I wouldn't go poking around if I were you. The guy who uses it ain't exactly friendly."
James and I exchanged a glance before heading towards the door. "You think this guy's involved with framing my dad?" I asked.
"Could be," James replied, his hand hovering near his holster. "Or it might be nothing. Either way, we're about to find out."
We reached the office door, and James gave it a firm knock. No response. He knocked again, harder this time.
"Looks like no one's home," I said.
Without saying anything back, he tried the doorknob. It was locked, of course. James pulled out a bobby pin his jacket—because of course, he'd have one of those—and started working on the door. "You've got to be kidding me," I muttered under my breath.
