I may be as crazy as he is because I like his discomfort. “Send my—”
“If you say love, I’m going to have to kill you.” His shoulders slump with resignation.
“Well wishes.” I grin.
“I think you might be suicidal.” He assesses me again a little too closely.
“Just tell her I said hello, and I’m sorry she has to put up with you.”
“She loves putting up with me,” Rex argues, and I’m happy for the deflection.
“I’ll let you know if I hear anything about Cloven,” I promise on a serious note.
“Good.” He pulls open the door and leaves without a goodbye or even bothering to close the door.
CHAPTER4
MAXINE
Sheer willpower and the need to prove to myself that I can do it is what keeps me out of Detroit for the next two weeks. I’ve made a few trips down to Cleveland, but I’m just not excited about the job. Well, excited is not the right word. I’m never excited to kill anyone. Eager would be more fitting, but I don’t even feel that desire right now.
I find myself bargaining to complete tasks I’ve always found comfort in, just so I can set a goal for when I can go back to The Dollhouse. I’ve even thought up scenarios about taking a date with me—cue vomit—so I won’t seem so conspicuous.
I need to make one more trip back down to Ohio to check up on Eddy Mitts before I can reward myself and dig up more nonexistent information about the club and its employees, but before any of that, I need to get flush with cash, which means a visit to one of my safe deposit boxes. One bonus of killing a bunch of corrupt assholes is that there’s never a shortage of money to line my pockets with before or after doing the deed.
I pull up my knockoff Lululemon leggings and shove my head through a cropped sweatshirt. Some of my hair pulls free from the purposely messy bun, adding to the look, and I fit the part of a carefree twenty-something. I slide on some big shades to hide my features, and then I’m ready to go.
Thirty minutes later, I’m back out of the suburban bank. The bag over my chest has enough cash to keep me floating for the next month or more.
Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll have to get a real job when this is all over, or if I’ll have enough money to last me a lifetime. I’m hoping for the latter. I just don’t think I could do the nine-to-five thing without pulling out my own fingernails.
If I were better at torture, I bet I could get a lot more money, but I know I don’t have the stomach for it. Quick deaths are my favorite. The less blood, the better.
Before pulling out of the parking lot, I pull up my audiobook app on my phone and start the book I’ve been listening to. The only romance I can stand comes in the form of books. I think of listening to the perfect book boyfriends—something no real man I’ve ever met could live up to—as a guilty pleasure.
The drive goes by quickly, and I’m a little bummed I need to turn off the book so I can concentrate on what I’m doing, but the feeling of dejection abates swiftly when I see ole Eddy hustling to the driver’s side door of his sporty little BMW in the middle of the day. Here I was, expecting to find his house empty so I could park around the block and sneak in through the back, but he surprised me.
My heart rate picks up at the quickness of his movements. Where is he going in such a hurry?
Men like Edward Mitts are comfortable in their own skin. They are so convinced they have the world by the balls, it never occurs to them that someone might know what they’re up to and be plotting against them. You’d think the many accidents and tragedies that have befallen their group would be a heads-up, but these assholes all possess a god complex, allowing them to feel invincible, or maybe they truly are heartless monsters and don’t give a shit about what happens to anyone else, even the people who are supposed to be their friends.
He doesn’t check his mirror once when he backs out of his paved driveway, relying on the little camera that misses so many details, like the fact that I’m parked just a house or two down.
I pull out behind him moments later to see where he’s going in such a hurry, making sure to keep a good distance between us. I allow cars to move in and out of the lane between us, but I’d be willing to bet he didn’t notice me. When he pulls into a parking garage, I take note of the name on the side of the building and slip past the entrance. It’s not as easy as I’d hope to find a parking spot on the street, so I end up a block away and have to jog to get back to the structure. I pop my ear buds in and clip my bum bag around my waist, transforming my casual outfit into a sleek workout set, allowing me to blend right in again.
I pause at the stoplight, pretending to take a breather, and pull my watch up to my face, but I’m really looking for my target. Sadly, I don’t see him walking out of the building’s main exit, so I circle the parking garage, but he doesn’t materialize. He was in a hurry, so there’s a chance I might have missed him, but there’s also a chance he hasn’t exited. He may be in one of the adjacent buildings. Too bad I don’t know which one.
Instead of wandering around aimlessly, I decide to head into the structure and find his car, thinking maybe that will help me figure out where he went.
Even the knowledge that I have a Glock strapped to my chest and that I possess enough self-defense skills to get me out of a pickle doesn’t make me feel all warm and fuzzy about entering the dim, damp garage. The low ceiling makes the place feel oppressive, even on the sunniest of afternoons.
I walk with purpose so I don’t look like a dolt who can’t remember where I parked my car and make my rounds on each level. I find the BMW parked on the third floor in an assigned spot, which gives me a lot more information than I previously had. This isn’t just an errand, because he or someone he knows owns the spot.
Interesting development. I slow my pace and pull out my phone. If there are any cameras around, I don’t want them to see me staking out the car. I come to a stop near the rear bumper and thumb out a message to myself. With my head lowered, I get a closer look at the car and where it’s parked, gleaning anything else I can before allowing my phone to slip out of my hand as if I dropped it.
I bend to pick it up, and after one more good look around, I head to the elevator and push the button for street level. I enter the name of the building, the floor, and spot number into the notes section on my phone so I can see whose name it’s registered under later, but for now, I return to my car. I might as well go back to his house to see what other secrets Eddy has in store for me today.
* * *
