“Grab a few bottles of water. Long ride,” he tells Mr. Arrogant without looking away from me.
I don’t know if he leaves or not, because I’m too busy staring right into those gentle blue eyes that really do seem remorseful.
“Life sucks,” he says randomly. “Then you die. Might as well live while you’re still alive,” he adds, sounding completely less insightful than earlier.
It’s enough to break the tension, and an unexpected smile slips free from me. He winks as he leans over. “If you ever want help feeling alive, call me. I could use some life as well.”
When he draws back, I feel something in my hand, though I never felt him placing anything there. He walks around to the other side of the SUV, and I watch with rapt attention as he gets in.
My eyes finally fall down to the card in my hand as Mr. Arrogant returns to take the passenger side.
Logan Bennett…
His number is attached to his name, and sure enough, he’s FBI. When my gaze comes up again, he’s leaning on the steering wheel, watching me. Mr. Arrogant’s window is down, and he looks annoyed.
“Call me,” Logan says, grinning before pulling away from the curb.
Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a persistent one. Albert Einstein said that. My father always quoted Einstein as a way of explaining life when we struggled to understand it. I remember him quoting me that when our lives fell apart. He was hurting the worst, and trying his best to soothe me.
Einstein isn’t helping me understand how easily I was just read. Or how vulnerable and exposed I feel in this moment.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I look down, seeing the alert I set.
I have to be cold. I need to be cold. Anything less could fracture the shell in place that I need to execute the plan I’ve worked too hard on for too long.
Shaking off the residual weakness, I blow out a harsh breath and walk to my car. I drive fifteen miles, find the house I’m looking for, and drive on by. I wait until I’m parked in an abandoned barn before I put on my gloves, suit, and heavy men’s boots. I also strap on the backpacks weighted down with rocks… One on my back and one on my front.
Stealthily, I walk toward the house, slip open the door, and silently remove the backpacks, putting them down with careful ease to a chair.
My purse has everything I need in it, so I keep it on me. The heavy shoes come off next, and I silently place them on top of my backpack.
Movement upstairs draws my attention, and I slowly make my way to the staircase, careful to keep my steps light and silent. I’ve examined the floors for a month, finding every spot that creaks or groans.
I know his routine better than my own. Just like I know in five seconds, the water will come on.
Sure enough, the old pipes in the house clank as water shoots through them, and that’s when I make my way up the stairs, ignoring the way they creak, because he can’t hear a thing with that loud shower.
When I reach his room, my eyes dart to the bed. I know he’s single, but I always worry about stumbling across an unplanned woman. I watched the cameras from my phone, and they showed no woman here, but it’s still a thought that always plagues the back of my mind.
I breathe out in relief when I see no signs of an overnight guest. Just Ben and his usual messy home.
The shower cuts off, and I’m already in position, ready and waiting. Life would be simpler if I could use a Taser or sedatives. It really would.
Just as he walks through with a towel around his waist, my knife comes down, slicing hard against the Achilles heel. Screams pierce my ears, and I realize that moment of weakness with Mr. Profiler earlier doesn’t affect how pretty the screams sound.
I’ve worked too long, too hard, and too endlessly for this. I should have known one man couldn’t take away my edge.
Ben falls to the floor, crying out in agony, while clutching his foot. The towel flops off, exposing every naked inch of him to my eyes.
It makes my stomach roil.
But the terror in his eyes? That gets me high.
“What the fuck? Take whatever you want!” he shouts, sobbing as I approach, watching me with those wide, terrified eyes.
I get off on the terror. I want him to cry for much, much longer.
“What I want is for you to know my name,” I say quietly, eerily.