“Well, let’s hope. But we need to be sure.”
I nod and leave to trade my large weapon in for something more discreet, then I shed my top layer of gear. I can’t wait too long and lose her, either. Even assuming I found her, I wouldn’t know the trail she took—any stops, phone calls, hurried texts.
The
re’s nothing to worry about though, as I find her quickly. I send a text to Lance to follow me with a car. A quick check shows she lives in Jersey and that means we’re not going to be walking the whole way. I tell him to throw the audio equipment in the back seat, just in case.
As far as I can follow her—down into the subway, but not on the subway, since I’ll be spotted—she doesn’t do anything alarming. No phone calls, no texts. She doesn’t even fiddle with apps to distract herself.
She looks sad. There’s a sort of sag to her shoulders, her mouth set in a practiced frown. There’s nothing about her that gives me any inkling she might be spying for her stepfather or anyone else.
Raj said her dad died, and that he used to bring her to the swing when she was little. Maybe that’s why she was there, for sentimental purposes.
Her two last names confuse me. There was no time to ask Raj about it.
As she waits for the subway doors to open, I try to figure out how to play this. Given the stops, she could be heading into the city to shop, or she could be heading home. For half a second, I consider blowing my stealth all to hell and just approaching her. I could probably get the information I wanted by watching her closely while I simply asked, and if not, there was always brute force. Of course, on a subway full of people that wouldn’t be as effective, and it wasn’t likely she would follow me into some secluded alley to chat.
I wasn’t able to peg her, given the briefness of our encounter and her odd reaction to it, so I don’t take that chance.
Once she’s in the subway car, I call Lance and give him the subway stops.
“Put someone on the train in case she surfaces. I’m gonna take the car.”
I head for Jersey, because I think she’s going home.
She doesn’t surface at the stops, and before long it’s clear I was right. Someone did get on the subway with her at the next stop, someone she wouldn’t have recognized as watching her, and they verified that she hadn’t done anything suspicious. Checked her phone once, they reported, but seemed to only be checking the time.
I wanted to get to her home first anyway because it could be a fortress. I didn’t know if she lived with her mom and stepdad or had her own place. If it was the former, evading notice would take a little doing.
But when I get to the address, there’s no fortress. It isn’t some big, cushy, well-protected mansion, but a little blue house with too many windows. Wasn’t going to be hard to keep an eye on her.
A green truck sits in the driveway and the back right of the house is well lit. I double check with the person tailing her that she’s heading my way, then I park up the street and wait.
My mind wanders back to the tree, pushing between her legs. I had to believe she was playing me, but there was a certain gleam in her brown eyes that made me consider maybe she wasn’t.
I couldn’t let her know I was there, of course, but I wouldn’t mind if I could. Show up on her doorstep, have the little act she pulled earlier be real. Follow her inside, push her up against her living room wall…
I shift in my seat, attempting to accommodate my budding erection. No point thinking about all that. I need to observe and not interrupt her routine so I can see if she reaches out to her stepfather.
Ugh, her stepfather. Fucking Pietro Basso. Just thinking his name swiftly kills my arousal. Fucker’s a rabid dog that needs to be put down.
Before long, Annabelle pulls into her driveway in a beat-up little blue car—not what I expected her to drive with the kind of money her family has.
I watch her climb out and size up her wardrobe, now that I’m thinking about it. She looks cute in her casual jeans and gray sweater, but nothing about her outfit seems especially good quality.
Does she not have money? How would she not have money?
Since she’s heading inside, I turn on the amplifier and there’s a sudden—if crackling—burst of noise, as if I had walked right into the house with her.
There’s a sound like keys being dropped, then something unclear in the background.
“Yeah,” Annabelle says, her voice lifeless.
“Where were you?” I make out. The voice moves closer, so I can hear better toward the end of the question than the beginning.
“Had stuff to do. What are you doing home so early?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” the other voice asks. A male.