Page 57

Whisper

Someone’s following me.

It’s the third time I’ve noticed the dark sedan several car-lengths behind me at all times. It doesn’t happen every night, and I don’t know if it happened before and I didn’t notice, but I’m noticing now.

The windows are tinted, making it impossible for me to see who’s behind the wheel, and the license plates have a shield over them, so they’re hard to read if you’re not right on top of the car, and I’m not.

I have my suspicions about who it is, but I can’t figure out why. If Blush is following me, why wouldn’t he just ask me what he wants to know? Why the cat and mouse game?

When I saw him last night, he was his usual sexy self, riding me like a wild horse he was trying to tame, and I loved it. The man is incredible in bed and emotionally standoffish, just the way I like my hookups. He doesn’t seem to have a clingy, possessive bone in his body.

I slow to a crawl as I take a right turn into the parking lot of the apartment building where my target lives. I know he’s home; I’ve been tracking him for three nights and figured out his routine. He leaves his factory job at six, visits a woman at a cheap motel, then an hour later, he emerges and drives to a diner for a quick greasy cheeseburger. After that he drives to his apartment, where he lives with another woman—his wife, I assume. They argue every time he gets home, slamming doors and shouting, until the woman retreats and he plops down on a beat-up recliner and flips the TV on, often falling asleep in the chair. That’s where I expect him to be tonight.

The trouble is, I’m being tailed, and regardless of who it is, I can’t let them see what I’m doing. But this job needs to get done. The target has a court hearing scheduled next week and if it goes as expected, he’ll be extradited to Florida and in police custody. That won’t do.

He’s a convicted rapist who was out on parole when he decided to take an unapproved trip to Tampa. While there, it’s alleged he raped four teenage girls in the same night. The problem with letting him go to Florida is he has a brother who’s a highly influential judge in the Florida court system. He can’t be rehabilitated and it’s likely he’s been up to no good in Mistone too. The problem ends tonight.

The solution to my stalker is obvious. Approach and confront. If it’s not Blush, I’ll deal with them, but if it is, I’ll figure out what exactly he thinks he’s doing.

I slide my gun into the waistband of my jeans so it’s hidden by the back of my t-shirt then slide out of the van. I walk so the person following me won’t see me loop around and come from behind, but when I turn the corner of the building, the car is gone. I catch it just as it rolls past the parking lot and takes off, too quickly for me to grab the plate number. Dammit.

Oh well. I’ll deal with that problem later. Right now, I have a rapist to kill.

Creeping through the dark, I locate the target’s apartment and use my pick set to unlock the door. It creaks as I open it and I freeze, hoping everyone is asleep. The TV is playing a show quietly, the flickering light of it the only illumination in the space, but it’s enough for me.

A musty scent tickles my nose as a cat hops down from the kitchen counter, brushing against my legs. I bend down to scratch its head, and it flops over on my feet, purring loudly.

Cute, but I’m busy.

I pad quietly around the cat and find the target sleeping in the recliner in front of the TV just as I hoped. In the living room now, the ammonia scent of cat piss reaches me, and I spot an overflowing litter box in the corner and two empty dishes. There doesn’t seem to be any food or water for this animal, which is maybe why it’s so interested in me.

That fucking pisses me off.

I creep back into the kitchen, find a bowl in the cabinet and quietly fill it with water from the sink. The cat hops back on the counter, nudging my hand with its nose, and when I set the bowl down, it dives in immediately, lapping eagerly at the water. Poor thing was thirsty. Don’t worry, baby. I got you.

I walk back into the living room where the target, Brian Simmons, is still asleep. Pulling my gun from my waistband, I check the silencer is screwed on tightly, grab a throw pillow from the couch, and hold it up to his temple. His eyes shoot open just as I pull the trigger, ending any chance for escape or a reaction that could wake others up.

For a moment, I think about the woman asleep in the other room waking up to find her husband dead in the chair and consider removing his body, but the hungry cat is back, staring up at me with desperate eyes, mouthing a scratchy barely there meow, and I decide, fuck her.

After taking my pics for evidence, I scoop the cat into my arms and dip out of the apartment as quietly as I arrived.

“Do you like tuna, little friend?” I ask the cat as we make it back to my van. “Tomorrow we’ll get you a checkup and all the yummy food you can eat. You didn’t deserve to be neglected like that.”

I put the cat on my passenger seat and watch it curl up. What a smart cat. It knew I was an opportunity to get the fuck out of that nasty apartment and it took it.

Good kitty.

I drive back to Crestvale, making a quick stop at a convenience store where I buy a couple cans of wet cat food and some kibble. I’ll get the better stuff after a vet visit.

Back at home, I carry the cat inside, bumping into Ghost and Phantom in the kitchen where they’re eating nachos with a third man. All of them stop and look at me.

“Is that a cat?” Phantom asks.

“Yep. Rescued it from where I was working. It was starving with no water.”

“That’s fucked up,” the unknown man says.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Just came to get a couple of bowls so I can set it up for the night.”