A few minutes later, she’s having lunch under the umbrella tables at the burger shop with Orion and someone else I recognize.
Callum fucking Anderson?
Suspect in at least ten murder cases. More assault charges than I can count. Grand theft.
Slippery bastard. Nothing sticks.
Dangerous as hell.
“Who the fuck are you, Juliet Lovelace?”
I scribble Callum in the notebook.
Orion feeds her a fry.
It’s fucking obscene.
Foreplay disguised as fast food.
Callum leans in.
Licks her mouth.
Jesus Christ.
They’re worshiping her.
I sip my coffee.
Shift in my seat.
Imagine her sucking my fingers while she eats. Picture pulling her into my lap. That little skirt a flimsy layer between us.
“You like it rough, don’t you? Got a thing for bad boys.”
After they eat, they all part ways.
Orion and Callum could be connected to Vitaly.
Or Oksana.
I trail her. A few car lengths back.
No lights. No radio.
Just me, my instincts and the gut-deep certainty that if I blink, I’ll miss what she really is.
It’s just information. Part of the profile.
I’m not… stalking her.
This is surveillance.
This is necessary.
My job.
She parks at a grocery store.
