ONE
Lucy
The sun begins to set along the horizon. The air is still, without so much as a breeze. There's no rustle of leaves amongst the trees, which makes this even more complicated an endeavor. I have to be quiet as I scale the metal fence.
It's difficult to see much with the hedges perfectly trimmed and aligned along the interior of the fence. Why bother with a privacy fence when there are wrought-iron gates and guards at the post?
I'm not the least bit graceful in my attempt to climb over the metal, and just as I crest the top, careful not to get impaled by the sharp, decorative design, I fumble and land face-first into the grass.
The property is immense for New York City. However, it's not as though we're in Manhattan. The house scales a city block, and the mansion is too far under the setting sun. I have to wait until it's dark.
I should have waited to scale the fence, but I'm an impatient person. I want to get this over and done with, and if I'm lucky, the guards will be busy having dinner, and I can sneak in, grab what I came for, and get out.
There's a garden nearby that stretches from the east side of the mansion to the back of the property. It's beautiful and well-kept, with recent yellow and pink tulips planted, the mulch fresh and bright red under the vibrant setting sun.
I inhale a sharp breath as I spot Nikita coming toward me. I duck and take cover behind an old oak tree, or I think it's an oak. It's tall, with a thick trunk, and has only one job—to protect me from being seen.
Nikita is in a dark black suit, the same as yesterday when I stumbled into him at the club, which wasn't by accident.
He removes his sunglasses and glances around.
Are there cameras?
Does he know that I'm here? This isn't by my design, breaking and entering. Although I've only trespassed at this point, I'm sure he'd just kick me out to the curb.
His footsteps are the only sounds I hear as I hold my breath. There's another hedge, a set of bushes to my right about twenty feet away. If I could just get behind those, I might be able to skirt past him without being seen.
Nikita strolls up just past me. His back is to me, and he heads toward the hedges and bends down.
I don't move. Maybe I can blend in with the tree, because if I move in the slightest, he will notice me. I'll catch his gaze and his attention.
What's he doing, hiding?
He retrieves his cell phone, and I am practically holding my breath. A slight breeze caresses my skin, and I exhale with the wind, afraid Nikita will hear me and look in my direction.
His focus is momentarily on his cell phone, and he lifts the phone, clearly taking a photo or video of something, but I don't know what he sees that I don't.
The sun is just barely above the horizon. An orange glow casts across the backyard and the garden. In the distance, there's a wooden gazebo, and the decorative white lights flash on, twinkling and setting the atmosphere.
Is Nikita spying on someone?
My vision is pretty decent, but I don't see anyone outside except the dark-haired muscular businessman crouching by the bushes. He seems somewhat out of place, but I'm sure he'd think the same thing about me.
"Come here," a male's voice carries outside.
"What's all this, Luka?" Hannah asks.
I recognize her from the coffee shop where I work. She's a regular, comes in almost every morning, dressed in scrubs, and works for Steele Concierge Medical. The girl always gets a tall caramel coffee with almond milk.
Does Hannah live here? How does she know Nikita? My head swims, trying to unwind the tangled connections, but it doesn't matter because there's a bee that lands on my arm, and I'm deathly afraid of bees.
And allergic.