The grocery store, a small Albanian family-owned place a few blocks away, welcomed Connor with the familiar scents of fresh produce and baked goods. Grabbing a basket, he began gathering essentials-milk, bread, eggs-his mind still dwelling on Jim and the promise he had made.
Turning a corner, he almost collided with someone.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he muttered reflexively, looking up to find the young woman from the previous night.
Recognition flickered in her eyes. "Hey, you're the guy from last night. Are you okay?" Her concern was evident.
Connor nodded, a faint smile forming. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just picking up a few things. How about you?"
Her amber eyes softened with gratitude. "Thank you again for helping. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't."
"No problem," Connor replied, staring deeply into her amber eyes that began to melt his frozen heart. He didn't understand how he couldn't have remembered her face; she had the wild physique of an exotic model but a calm demeanor of an angel. Still caught trapped in her amber gaze, he said, "Those guys were trouble. They won't bother you again."
Relief spread across her face. "I'm Eva, by the way."
"Connor," he introduced himself. "Nice to meet you, Eva."
They exchanged a few more words, Eva sharing that she worked part-time at a nearby café while studying at the local university. Connor found himself drawn to her strength and resilience-qualities that went beyond her striking appearance. It was a brief moment of normalcy amid the turmoil of his life.
"Well, I should finish my shopping," Eva said, glancing at her basket. "Maybe I'll see you around?"
"Yeah, maybe," Connor replied, watching her depart. He felt an unexpected connection to her, a feeling long buried beneath his pursuit of justice.
As Connor proceeded through the store, an elderly Albanian man behind the counter caught his eye. The man greeted him warmly, his voice tinged with sorrow. "Sorry about your father, Connor," he said softly, a shared grief evident in his expression.
Connor nodded gratefully, touched by the man's sympathy. "Thank you, Mr. Petrov."
Mr. Petrov nodded back, his eyes conveying understanding. "Take care, young man. Take what you need on the house."
After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Connor resumed his shopping, though his thoughts continued to linger on Jim and the unanswered questions surrounding his death. He couldn't afford distractions, not now.
Completing his shopping and checking out, Connor's thoughts returned to Jim and the ongoing investigation. Despite the distractions, he resolved to stay focused. Back at his apartment building, he stored away the groceries and prepared a quick breakfast. As he ate, his phone buzzed with a message from Lisa, asking if he was okay and reminding him to come by the bar later. He sent a quick reply, assuring her he was fine and that he'd see her later. He appreciated her concern, but he didn't want to burden her with his troubles.
Reviewing the information he had gathered, Connor realized he needed more from Jim's files-files he had left behind at Jim's place, now a grim reminder of his mentor's murder. With determination, Connor set out again. By the time he left his apartment building, dusk was settling in. The hours had slipped away unnoticed, absorbed in memories and preparations. As he rode towards Jim's small bungalow, the city streets, bustling by day, now quieted with the approaching night.
Thoughts of Eva surfaced again as Connor navigated the streets. There was something about her that intrigued him, a vulnerability masked by strength. But he pushed aside these thoughts, focusing on the task ahead. The investigation consumed his thoughts, driving him forward with a singular purpose.
As Connor arrived at Jim's small bungalow, he took a moment to absorb the sight. The evening sun cast long shadows across the familiar porch, now ominously quiet. He began to have a rush of memories flood his mind before they were swiftly interrupted with flashes of light that caught his attention, flickering from behind the drawn curtains of Jim's living room window. His heart raced with a mix of apprehension and determination. Someone was inside-someone who shouldn't be.
Instinctively, Connor moved towards the front door, intent on confronting whoever had invaded Jim's sanctuary. But as he approached, a surge of caution washed over him. Recklessness could cost him more than answers. Instead, he circled around the back of the bungalow, seeking a quieter, less conspicuous entry point.
The back door stood slightly ajar, a sliver of light leaking through the gap. Connor slipped inside noiselessly, his senses on high alert. The faint murmur of voices reached his ears-Spanish, he realized, though he couldn't discern the words. The intruders were speaking in hushed tones, their conversation punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter, unsettling in this grim context.
Careful to avoid detection, Connor crept closer, his back pressed against the hallway wall. Peering around the corner, he spotted two men in Jim's living room, their backs turned as they rifled through papers strewn across the coffee table.
"¿Lo has encontrado ya?" (Have you found it yet?) one man asked impatiently, his voice edged with frustration.
The other shook his head, flipping through a stack of documents. "Todavía no. Este lugar es un desastre. Pero tiene que estar aquí en algún lugar." (Not yet. This place is a mess. But it has to be here somewhere.)
Connor's jaw clenched as realization dawned. They were searching for something-evidence, perhaps, or a clue to Jim's murder. His grip tightened on the edge of the wall, torn between confronting them immediately and waiting for an opportune moment.
Taking a slow, steadying breath, Connor weighed his options. Confronting them now could jeopardize his chance to uncover their motives. He needed more information, a clearer picture of their intentions.
Quietly observing them, Connor tried to blend into the shadows. However, in a moment of misfortune, he accidentally knocked over a vase, causing it to crash to the ground and shatter. The sudden noise startled the two men, putting them on high alert. They exchanged wary glances and began to cautiously move towards the origin of the sound.
"¿Quién está ahí?" (Who's there?) said one of the thugs, who then pulled out a knife.
Things had finally begun to take a turn for the worse again. As the tension mounted, Connor realized he had to stay sharp, each decision a potential game-changer in the pursuit of justice for Jim.