Chapter One

As the month of February dawned a cold winter morning, it dawned on me that Valentines Day was just 14 days away. While this wasn't something that frightened my wallet, it is something that makes my mind drift into some cold, dark hell.

I've never been one for Valentines Day. All my life, I've been a loner. The thought of becoming that attached to someone that I'd have to purchase them over-priced flowers, chocolates and treat them to a fancy dinner was just something that never appealed to me.

Being single and working as a private investigator in downtown New York City has its perks. I work when I want, how long I want and do so not needing to worry about risking my life at the sake of someone else. When I need to lay it on the line, something I've only done once before, I do so without hesitation.

As I sit at my desk, I fan through several cases. They're all bullshit. I may have a cool job and favorable perks, but landing real cases is tough work, especially after the fuck up of three years ago. Try as I might, I will never live that moment down.

A stolen bike, stolen purse, suspecting cheating husband, they're all here. All three are cases I couldn't give less of a shit about. There once was a time where I was on top of the world, but those days are long behind me. Now, all I have to show of my former fame is a faded Nittany Lions jersey and worthless diploma that has my name neatly printed below a prominently displayed Penn State logo. I wore 57, and had that many tackles my senior year.

The snow continues to fall outside my window. For others, this is their worst nightmare, but when you live your life and work in the same space, it makes for an easy commute. My couch is situated next to the heating unit, so I'm warm when I sleep, and my clients are comfortable when they arrive. I live on the story above a Golds Gym, so my gym membership provides me with a full bathroom that I use.

9:15 A.M.

I suppose it's time I get started on these cases. Truth be told, all could be solved before dinner time tonight. For the bike, it would take one trip through Central Park and I'd find it in a bush. Not too far away, the purse is likely to be stashed, as well. The cheating husband, well that it's easy considering I only landed that case because his office is right across the street from mine, and I have a perfect view as we're on the same floor of our respective buildings.

Rick is his name. He usually eats at the coffee shop below his office every morning. On occasion, our paths have crossed, but the extent of our communication stays at the nod of a head. He lives his life, and I live mine.

What I do know about Rick is that he's an expensive man. If it weren't for his silk ties and button down shirts that never repeat, his rolex and Lexus parked outside the building give away his fortune. He's the kind of asshole that has no problem letting you know he's higher than you on the economic totem pole.

Considering the weather conditions, Rick's case is the most convenient. I begin to piece together the details of what I already know about the sleazy dirt bag cheating on his stay-at-home wife. Debra, his wife's name, believes the woman to be blonde and average height. I spoke to the bellman at the door and asked about the woman he'd seen with the Rick, and he'd described an absolute bombshell that would be "hard to miss," he said.

I look out my window. It's now 9:30. By now, he's usually at the coffee shop, ordering an espresso while reading the Wall Street Journal and chowing down on a egg, cheese and ham breakfast sandwich.

He's not there yet, but with traffic the way it is due to the weather, him running behind isn't really anything to worry about. Within the half hour, he'll likely arrive, park his sports car out front and storm his way into the coffee shop shouting into his bluetooth headset about how behind schedule he is and how much money he's missing out on. Chances are, he'll make it a point to save the financial portion of his rant until he's inside the shop so that everyone knows just how much money he makes.

There's a knock at my door.

Oh, good, I say to myself. Another person lost something and wants me to find it.

"Come in," I say with a forced enthusiasm. 

And like a centerfold that had come to life, there she stood.