It’s quiet.
Too quiet.
The clock ticks in the background, and a methodic pair of footsteps creaks above me. Back and forth.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
Yet, it’s silent. Claire is silent.
She took precautions after my television appearance four days ago and crashed all her devices the same night.
I knew it was a possibility that Claire would take my threat to that level—it was a variable I would be stupid not to consider. But if it meant keeping Addie from being charged with murder, which could’ve led to another kidnapping attempt once in police custody, it was a risk I was willing to take. I could’ve taken her somewhere no one would find her, but that would be ripping her away from any semblance of a normal life. Not that she has much of one now, but at least we have a chance at getting it back once Claire is taken care of.
I had hoped the red-headed bitch would be too prideful to consider disposing of her devices, but I suppose Claire wouldn’t be where she is if she was an idiot.
We tripled down on security around Parsons, ensuring not a goddamn bird gets past the perimeters without me knowing about it. In the meantime, we’re working on getting a signal back on Claire. Now that we know exactly where she is, I can have one of my men get as close to her island as possible. Then, we’ll fly out a drone that can send a viral EMP to her location. That’ll send a virus to any technology within her area, and then we can decipher which devices are valuable from there. It will take a couple of days to get someone out there and within range, and there’s plenty she can cook up in the time that she’s off-grid.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
I roll my neck, the muscles popping and groaning.
She hasn’t made any moves yet. But that’s not fucking right. The bitch is reactive. Her head is the size of this manor, and just as dark as the inside of it.
The footsteps halt, as if hearing my thoughts and offended by the notion. I take a sip of my whiskey, daring the asshole to try me. I’m on edge enough to fight air, and I’ll fucking win, too.
After a few moments, the footsteps resume, and I huff out a humorless laugh.
Whichever ghost it is, it’s as restless as the bones in my body. Maybe it’s a direct reflection of how I feel. A manifestation or some shit. Parsons Manor is full of energy, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it could be so easily manipulated.
I gulp down the rest of the contents in my glass, hissing at the burn. The clock continues to tick, drawing near the three AM mark.
I got home a few hours ago from taking down a ring. This one has victims as young as newborns, and I haven’t been able to sleep yet. I’m too full of rage and with the knowledge that Claire has something planned.
Phantom fingers of dread are inching up my spine like a spider, tightening my shoulders with each jab. Whatever it is, it’s going to piss me the hell off. Call me fucking psychic, I guess.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
Pulling out my phone, I dial Jay, bouncing my leg as it rings.
“You hate me,” is his groggy answer.
“Something is wrong,” I say, digging in my pocket to pull out my cigarettes.
“What happened?” he asks, sounding more alert. I shake my head, struggling to put it into words.
“I don’t know yet. It’s quiet around Parsons. No sign of anyone. But that’s too obvious.”
Jay’s silent for a moment. “I assume this is about Claire. What could she possibly do?”
“Who fucking knows,” I grumble, irritated with myself, and angrily sticking the tip between my lips. “The cunt will think of something creative, I’m sure.”
He yawns. “Did you talk to Addie about it? You couldn’t have woken her to talk about your feelings and then call me when you know something is actually wrong?”
Shithead.
“She’s sleeping.”
“I was sleeping.”