Page 76 of Deeply Examined

The next day West waits three cars down from Monica’s luxury sedan.

“Don’t you have a job to go to?” I snap when I see him.

His answer is calm, breezy. “Ten years with no time off. I’ve gotlotsof vacation days stored up.”

My hands ball into fists as I resist the urge to punch him. “This is how you’re spending them? Stalking me?”

A half shrug, the motion leisurely. “I’ll retire if I have to. Make this my full-time job.”

Anger surges through me. “You’re wasting your time. Ihateyou.”

“You know what they say about love and hate.” He pauses, waiting for me to ask what, but I refuse to give him that satisfaction. My silence doesn’t seem to perturb West, though. He sends me a lazy smile. “Two sides of the same coin, Jessica. Love and hate.”

“Well, I flipped the coin, and it landed on hate, so fuck you.” I hurry to the car.

He follows, calling, “You know you still care about me.”

At the last second, I wheel around to face West and hiss, “I hate that I care. If it would burn you out of my veins, I’d set myself on fire.”

I fling myself inside the car and slam the door, but not before I hear him call, “You’re adorable when you’re angry.”

He’s laughing as I drive past with my middle finger raised.

It’s a week into spring break, and still West follows me. He comes closer now and tries to get me to speak with him, but I won’t. I pretend like I’m deaf to him, like he’s invisible, even though my breath stutters every time he’s near.

How does he know where I am? I’ve changed my routine. Driven miles out of my way. Tried every trick I know to lose him, to disappear, but inevitably I look up and there he is—lounging, staring, waiting. His hungry gray eyes fixed on me like he’ll never look away.

Like he’ll never stop wanting me.

Adam

It’s 11:00 p.m. Dimitri snores softly beside me, the sound like a small boat sputtering in the open sea. His head is slumped forward, his chin on his chest, one hand clutching the vodka bottle I brought for him. It’s half-empty now—he’d polished it off mumbling about how much he hates the old lady in 13C.

Turns out Dimitri has a drinking problem. A little fact I uncovered over the past week while I carefully wormed my way into his confidence, supplying him with his favorite poison so I can hang around the security office of Monica’s building without raising suspicion. Tonight, I needed him incapacitated, and he delivered.

His snores cut off abruptly, and I freeze, heart pounding.

A choked inhale, and then he's snoring again. Thank God, he’s still out cold. His chest rises and falls in an uneven rhythm. The bottle teeters precariously in his grasp. I gently pry it from his grip and place it on the table.

Perfect.

The faint hum of the tracker app on my phone pulls me back to the task at hand. Jessica thinks she’s so clever for finding the tracker I implanted in her neck. She doesn’t know there’s another one hidden in the diamond earrings I gave her for Christmas.

They always say two trackers are better than one…or wait—maybeI’mthe only one who says that?

Hmm.

Either way, the earring tracker was a brilliant idea. I can keep an eye on her like a guardian angel, or in my case a guardian devil. Not only does this tracker show Jessica’s location, but it contains a microphone. I can hear everything—her conversations, her surroundings.

The catch? I have to stay within range for it to work.

That’s why Dimitri had to go down tonight. With him snoring away, I’ve claimed his jacket, with the security company’s logo stitched on the back, and stationed myself at the desk. If any tenants wander through, all they’ll see is a new doorman eager to help.

I’ve even figured out where to put packages and how to contact maintenance. Not that it matters. At this hour, the building is silent. Most of the residents are older and have long since gone to bed.

Movement flickers outside the wide front window, catching my attention. It’s Brad, the junkie from Jessica’s old apartment building. The one who tried to break down her door, so I had to break his face. He’s barely recognizable now, with unkempt hair and eyes wild enough to rival a feral raccoon. Not that he was ever a picture of stability, but this?

This is next-level tragic.

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