It was driving my omega side crazy. I wasn't obsessed with cleaning, but I preferred a tidy space. It was a lot easier to think in a space that was ordered, as opposed to chaos.
That was probably why I enjoyed studying at home so much. I could control the environment.
So why did it feel like the control was slowly slipping through my fingers?
Every time I had come home, something hadn’t felt right, and this cold, seeping, dark dread crept into my stomach.
It was only getting worse.
When I padded over to my small desk, my eyes landed on an envelope on the top. Heavy cream paper, with no address, just my name across the front.
It was another letter.
There were no postage stamps, unlike the ones my mother sent me. Turning it over in my hands, I looked for any more information.
How had it been delivered? Someone didn’t push it through my door, instead it was neatly placed it on my desk.
Panic fluttered in my chest as it dawned on me what that meant. My heart rate skyrocketed as my vision blurred. Closing my eyes, I drew in a few ragged breaths, desperately trying to calm down.
Someone had been in my apartment.
Chapter 9
Spencer
It was time to take our surveillance to the next level. Bear had done some good recon during his brief visits to her apartment, but I wanted eyes there permanently—a silent guardian, always watching.
Someonewas following Flora. I needed to check on her regularly, otherwise I was going to lose my mind, panicking about all the bad things that could happen to her. It was highly doubtful that whoever was following her had innocent intentions, and I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.
Sneaking into a single omega’s apartment and planting a camera was beyond ethically and morally corrupt, but I simply didn’t care. Bear was tied up in knots about Flora, and I was very much feeling the same way. So, whatever was needed to figure out who was following her—and why—I was going to do it.
I parked close to her building, but not so close that anyone would notice me, and grabbed several cases from my trunk. My job meant that surveillance equipment was always available. AllI had to do was ask Chase and he handed me boxes of everything I could need.
Flora stuck to a routine, so I knew I had nearly two hours before she came home. In a way, she was a stalker’s dream because she was so locked into her habits. It was useful to me, but I worried it was also useful to anyone with nefarious motives.
Walking up to her floor at an inconspicuous speed—not too fast and not too slow—no one paid attention to me. I was an expert at blending in, even in situations where I probably shouldn’t have. Then again, I’d opted to wear a university sweatshirt and a pair of jeans for this outing.
The sweatshirt made me itch, but it was all for the job.
The job that we weren’t getting paid for.
For years, we had done this job because it made us good money… only this time, there was something else driving us entirely.
Using the cloned key we’d made after Bear’s last visit, I opened the door and wandered in, taking a second to pause and inhale that delicious, floral, sweet honey scent I was becoming addicted to.
I only allowed myself a moment, though. Leaving everything untouched, I did my best to commit every detail of her space to memory. The fruit-shaped items that were dotted around the place, the paperwork stacked in what felt like every corner, along with endless textbooks.
A half-eaten yogurt sat on her desk, making me pause. Was she eating enough? She was pale and tiny. It took only three steps to head over to her little kitchenette area. When I opened the fridge door, I was sorely disappointed by what I saw.
Leftover takeout food. Out-of-date yogurts and two microwave meals. There wasn’t a single fresh produce item insight. How was she surviving? Flora needed a keeper. If she were mine, she would eat three square meals a day, containing all the food groups. Fresh fruit and vegetables would be nonnegotiable.
Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do about it right then and there; that would have to be a problem for another day. I had a limited amount of time to get the cameras installed, but that didn’t stop my irritation at the contents of her fridge as I got to work.
After placing the boxes on the floor, I opened them and started rummaging through my supplies. There were several acceptable places to hide cameras and microphones in a small apartment like hers. The vents were always a good choice.
Maybe it was creepy to hide cameras in her apartment—it was a violation, for sure—but we were professionals. We could watch over her and keep her safe. That was it. What she never knew wouldn’t, and couldn’t, hurt her.
I took a few laps around the apartment, assessing where the best placements would be. Because the apartment was tiny, only a few areas could successfully conceal a camera.
