Page 12 of Wolf
I swallow the nervousness forming a lump in my throat and keep working. When I find out that a second waitress is a no-show tonight, I promise myself I’ll get to the bottom of it in my own way. The tragedy I experienced during my early years has been a big influence on every aspect of my life. Whoever it is that’s watching me, he doesn’t know I have other skills to, that I’ll fight like an animal to make sure no one can ever get close enough to hurt me. I’ll make damn sure ofit.
The next time I bump into Cece, I ask her to borrow the red wig she wears every Wednesday night like clockwork. She swears that she pulls in double her tips when she wears the damn thing, which, I hate to admit, looks a lot like my natural hair. I’m counting on that similarity for the scheme I’ve hatched. With a few ideas in the works, I push it out of my mind. I get into waitress mode. Before ten o’clock rolls around, the place is packed solid. We don’t close up shop until three in the morning, and the way the crowd is looking, it’s going to be a longnight.
6
Thorne
I need to know who this girlis.
She knows that she’s being watched. Since I started this assignment, I’ve seen her stop dead in her tracks when I have eyes on her. She freezes like timid prey does in the wild when something vicious is stalking them. Just like I’m stalking her. But she’s not timid. She moves like a predator. Her schedule, her routines and patterns are precise and well thought out. She has a damn good sense of her surroundings, a sixth sense whenever I’m watching. Considering her age, she’s too young to have been trained as a soldier. Cadets, maybe, or military school. All I know is I can’t let my guard down with her, now that sheknows.
The day after she has dinner with her friends, I make my move. I’ve already memorized her routine, walking the grounds several times before, researching the best vantage points from the woods. Tonight, my goal is to gather and assess every scrap of information I can find in her bedroom. There’s not much to her grandmother. She gardens, cooks, and cleans, then it’s bedtime when eight o-clock rolls around. Simple enough. Rose, on the other hand, there’s a lot more toher.
Once Rose has punched the clock at her job at the Speak-Easy, I break into her house through a second-floor window to find my own intel. It’s not common for my employer to provide a detailed file on surveillance targets, so I wasn’t concerned when I didn’t get one for Rose and her grandmother. It’s the first time I wish I had more than just my eyes and ears. This is not a run of the mill gig. No one’s ever sensed me so quickly before. If I’m not careful, Rose will beat me at my own game. I can’t afford to underestimate her. Notagain.
Her bedroom door is closed when I climb in through the window. I study every detail under the fading evening light, but I can’t deny there’s a lot more than professional intel gathering going on. The second I saw this girl, I was drawn to her like nothing else. She’s fucking gorgeous for starters, but there are so many layers beneath her tough exterior, all of them begging to be peeled away, exposing the mystery of who she reallyis.
Looking around the room, I know she’s meticulous. The simple eggshell walls have no portraits or picture frames, nothing to give me insight into her. Her bed is made, pillows smooth and not a crease in sight. There’s a computer on her study desk, and an e-reader, but no books, and again, no family photos of anyone, not even of her or her grandmother. The clothes in her closet are hung neatly, sorted by color. Nothing is out ofplace.
Even the clothes in her laundry hamper arefolded.
I see the dress she wore out to dinner peeking out from under the t-shirt she wore to bed last night. I’m instantly hard from the image of all those curves, that tiny waistline, her big tits, and the shock of thick red hair swinging behind her, drawing even more attention to her ass and hips. She has a body built for a man like me, but that’s the other reason I need to stay focused. The woman turns me on like nothing I’ve everknown.
But she’s offlimits.
Not on themenu.
Reminding myself to dial back my excitement, I check the large travel chest on the floor beside the hamper. I know I’ve found what I’m looking for when I open it and see a GO-bag and a weapons stash to rival my own. Knives of every size seem to be special to her. And every gun I inspect isloaded.
I shake my head as it sinksin.
The woman has a GO-bag.
I’m fuckingintrigued.
I find my next clue to her real identity when I open a small metal box tucked under her GO-bag at the bottom of the chest. There’s a well-worn photograph taped to the top of the box. It’s a family photo. The couple is dressed in business attire. The woman has red hair, and the man has piercing eyes, just like Rose. The little girl between them must be Rose. When I see printouts of online news clippings about the same couple, I know this is her real family. I sit on the edge of her bed and read each one. Every article is about theirmurders.
Rose Adams is an alias. Her real name is Marie McClintock. She’s the daughter of Douglas and Rita McClintock, lawyers who were killed in their home with their daughter present. Marie was not hurt. Not physically, atleast.
Rita was an Assistant DA, while Douglas was a criminal defense attorney in private practice. Douglas’ last known case before his death was the infamous Murphy brothers trial, a powerful family in the Irish mob. The brothers were charged with every gangster-related charge under the sun. Murder, conspiracy, racketeering, and the list went on. A few days after Rita stepped down from her role as a prosecutor on the case, citing a conflict of interest, Douglas had issued a press release stating that he was no longer representing the Murphy family. Douglas and Rita were murdered days later. One article suggests that Rita might have been approached by the brothers and ordered to destroy evidence. Their killers were neverfound.
What I know about the Murphy brothers is that back in the day, the older brother was more old school. He lived by a code, which is why Rose is still alive. Kids were off limits. But the older Murphy is long since dead. The younger one, his only rule is to leave nowitnesses.
There’s a recent set of printouts among Rose’s papers that I’ve seen on the news. I hadn’t been paying much attention to it at the time, but now that I know it’s relevant to my assignment, I’m even more curious. The younger Murphy brother was charged again. He’s openly stated during press conferences that his case will never be heard, because too many household names will go down with him. I don’t doubt that. There’s so much overlap between organized crime, big industry and politics. I can almost see the connection between Murphy’s case and myorders.
Fuck.
I recognize something familiar about one of the faces in the background of one of the photos. Squinting, I bring the paper close to my eyes and try to figure it out. Dawn Bridges, my buddy’s late wife, is standing in Murphy’s entourage. Right there, for the world to see, I find proof of the connection to something much bigger than I want to know about. This shit’s way above my fucking paygrade.
After recording every document with my hand scanner, I put Rose’s things back exactly in their place and leave no evidence of having been in herroom.
The image of Dawn in that photo leaves me on edge. I can’t focus after I make it back to my stakeout spot. Then I do something I’ve never done since I joined the company. I break protocol and leave. There are no eyes on my target, her place, her grandmother, nothing. Heading out on my bike, I drive the hour and a half it takes to cross into the next state and find the nearest payphone. I leave a coded message for Bridges, and I head back to myassignment.
Stopping at Rose’s house again, I sneak inside, and this time, I leave a trail. A tiny bit of proof that I was in her room. There’s no doubt in my mind that when she sees it, she’ll know. It’s my less than subtle message that I’ve beenhere.
It’s time we meet face toface.
7
