I know from her notes that she would spend months learning her targets’ routines, mapping out their houses, and plotting how she would kill them, but I don’t have that kind of patience. I don’t care if his death looks like the targeted hit it is, and I also don’t care if everyone else on the list knows I’m coming for them. In fact, I would like nothing more than for them to lie in bed at night, wondering when I’ll come and if it’s their turn to die.
I’m not even worried that they’ll hire security or try to protect themselves. There are only two things stopping me from sending them all a message that they have been living on borrowed time—Max, and the police tying the murders to her.
Inactivity gnaws at me. I want to move on Ian now, since I know exactly where he is, but I know it’s not the right move, not yet. I’ll let Max have her way. I’ll let her make her plans and decide how he’ll ultimately die, but it will be by my hands. She’s done enough on her own. I’ll clean up the messes from now on.
With nothing else to do other than watch her sleep, which feels a little creepy, I search the house with the app Iron suggested. He should know, since he has cameras all over his house. Luckily, I don’t find any signs of surveillance equipment being used in the loft.
When I come downstairs, and the blip still hasn’t left the property in Boston Township, I open another browser window and exercise my credit card. It’s not in my name, but I pay the bill, so it’s mine. I have everything set up to be delivered to a locker, even the food, because I don’t need anyone knowing where we’re staying. Call me paranoid.
Unfortunately, the pickup times are staggered, so that means a few trips out, but it’s the best I can manage without doing the shopping myself, since I sent the crew that followed us here home after they kept watch over Ian at the park.
I have two hours to kill before I can pick up the food, so I find myself leaning back on the couch, watching her sleep. Creepy or not, there’s nothing else I want to do.
MAXINE
The sound of the door slamming jolts me awake, followed quickly by Winger cursing.
I peer over my shoulder and watch him deposit handfuls of plastic bags on the kitchen counter. He went shopping. He left me here alone and didn’t even wake me. I rub my eyes, then catch sight of the open computer with a small sheet of paper notched in the keys, propped up by the screen.
Be back soon. Don’t leave the apartment without me.
The gesture is sweet. I rise and stretch a little before joining him to sort out the bags. “How long are we staying here?” I question after seeing all the food.
“Don’t know, but I hate empty cupboards,” he admits in passing.
We take care of the groceries in amicable silence, and it only takes a few minutes to get everything put away.
“I’ll go grab the rest.”
“The rest? Did you buy everything in the store?”
“No.” He shrugs.
“I’ll help.” I shuffle over to the couch, where I kicked off my shoes.
“You can wait here,” he offers, standing at the door.
“Nah, I need to stretch my legs anyway. I can’t believe I fell asleep,” I divulge, joining him. Winger opens the door and ushers me out in front of him. I never would have fallen asleep when I was on the job before. “Sorry about that.” I’m slightly embarrassed.
“About sleeping? Why?” He seems genuinely curious.
It’s my turn to shrug. “I’m usually more focused. I don’t usually sleep on the job.”
The elevator doors open, and a woman starts to exit without even lifting her eyes from her phone. Winger clears his throat so she doesn’t run smack into him, startling her. He certainly doesn’t move to get out of her way.
“Oh, sorry.” She flushes prettily as her eyes roam over him. She appears to be a few years older than me, closer to Winger’s age, with the kind of blonde hair that is way too time consuming to keep up with, not to mention expensive. Her fitted black slacks and creamy white sweater make her look classy, and I really don’t like the way she’s looking at him. I possessively thread my fingers through his and glare at her, but she still doesn’t move to get out of the way.
Winger snaps his hand up quickly to keep the doors from closing, and she drops her eyes, clearly flustered. “I’m not used to anyone else being up here, I suppose.” She tries to cover her fumbling and finally steps to the side, exiting the car.
Once she’s gone, Winger pulls me in with him, because I’m busy staring daggers at the woman’s back. When she looks over her shoulder, I’m still sending a death glare in her direction, so she jerks her head forward to watch where she’s going.
Winger’s jaw is ticking by the time I sidle up to his side. Our hands are still joined, and even though she’s gone, I don’t want to look away. “Did she not see me standing right here?” I’m mostly speaking to myself.
“She was too busy gaping at my scar,” he grouses with irritation.
“Winger…” I shake my head when he glances down at me. “She was not gaping at your scar,” I inform him.
His top lip curls up in disgust. “What the hell else would she be staring at?”
