Chapter 14
DANE
I park my car a block away from Lila's apartment. The morning air nips at my skin as I enter the dilapidated building, glancing around to make sure no one's watching.
I settle into my makeshift observation post, eyes fixed on the grainy feed of Lila's apartment.
She's finishing up a bowl of cereal, moving with that quiet grace that always catches my attention.
Part of me wants to look away, but I've crossed that line already.
No point in pretending I'm better than this now.
Lila grabs a denim jacket, shrugging it on over a NYU sweatshirt. For a split second, I wonder what it'd be like to be the kind of guy who buys her coffee before class. Do guys like me ever get Norman Rockwell mornings?
She heads out, and I watch her exit the building, that auburn hair catching the morning light. My fingers twitch, wanting to zoom in, but I force myself to wait. One Mississippi, two Mississippi...
Five minutes pass. No sign of her doubling back. Time to move.
I exit the old building and cross the street. My fingers dance over the keypad, inputting the code I memorized last night as I watched her put it in. The lock clicks open. Too easy.
Inside, I take the stairs two at a time, my footsteps echoing in the empty stairwell. At her door, I pull out my lockpick set. It's been a while, but muscle memory kicks in. Within seconds, I'm inside.
Lila's scent hits me first, a mix of lavender and something uniquely her. I inhale deeply, hating myself for how much I crave it. Her cluttered apartment speaks of a life lived in haste. Textbooks and notebooks litter every surface, pens scattered like landmines waiting to be stepped on.
I move through the space carefully, cataloging details. A half-empty mug of cold coffee on the nightstand. The green dress she wore on our date, draped over a chair. My fingers brush the silky fabric. I pick it up and smell her scent, keep it in my hand, relishing the feel.
Next, I open her closet, rifling through clothes that feel as if they still hold her warmth. My hand closes around a small stuffed animal, a worn teddy bear missing an eye. Something about it screams 'childhood relic.' I wonder what nightmares it's chased away.
On her desk, a stack of papers catches my eye. Internship applications. One for Veritas stands out, covered in highlighting and scribbled notes. So that's what she was talking about.
My feet carry me to her bed. I sit on the edge, running my hand over the rumpled sheets. Images of Lila here, alone, vulnerable, flood my mind. I could protect her. Keep her safe from the monsters of the world.
I would do whatever you need me to do, Lila.
The sound of a key in the lock jolts me back to reality. Shit. I'm on my feet in an instant, heart hammering. There's no time to get out. I duck into her tiny closet and close the door, praying she won't need a sweater, then realize I'm still holding on to her dress.
The door opens. Lila's voice drifts in, talking to someone on the phone. "Yeah, I'm just running a little late. Be right there." A pause. "Okay, bye."
I hold my breath, trapped in a prison of my own making, surrounded by the scent of the woman I can't stop thinking about.
What have I done? If she finds me here, it's all over.
My heart pounds like I'm pinned down by sniper fire. Sweat beads on my forehead as Lila's footsteps draw closer. I'm not religious, but I find myself praying to whatever cosmic force might be listening.
"There you are," Lila mutters. "Now, where did I put that stupid dress?"
Fuck. Me.
I drop the dress at my feet, heart pounding like artillery fire as I press myself deeper into the closet. The hangers rattle softly, and I freeze, hardly daring to breathe. Lila's footsteps grow closer, each one a countdown to my inevitable discovery.
Fucking amateur hour, Wolfe. Some spec ops soldier you turned out to be.
I can picture Lila's face if she finds me here—shock, betrayal, terror. The thought twists my gut.
Her scent surrounds me in this cramped space, a reminder of my fucked up obsession. It's intoxicating and suffocating all at once. I'm drowning in her, and I can't bring myself to swim for shore.
"Where the hell is it?" Lila mutters, frustration coloring her voice.
I press myself against the back wall, willing myself to melt into the shadows. The irony isn't lost on me—a predator becoming prey in the blink of an eye. How quickly the tables turn when you're on the wrong side of morality.
Her hand brushes the closet door, and I hold my breath. This is it. The moment of truth. When she opens it, will she find me here, a wolf in sheep's clothing, caught red-handed in her personal space?
The closet door swings open, and I'm face-to-face with my own demise. But Lila's eyes never reach me. They lock onto the green silk puddle on the floor.
"There you are," she mutters, bending to scoop up the dress. "You're going to the cleaners then back to Tessa."
I don't even dare to blink as she turns away, heels clicking. The front door opens, closes. Silence descends like a fog.
I wait one heartbeat. Two. Three. My lungs burn, starved for oxygen. Finally, I allow myself a shaky exhale.
Fuck me sideways. That was too close.
I step out of the closet on unsteady legs, adrenaline still singing through my veins. Here I am, a trained killer, nearly taken down by a closet and a damn dress.
My eyes scan the apartment, seeing it with new clarity. This isn't just Lila's space anymore. It's a crime scene. My crime scene.
I sink onto her bed, the mattress creaking under my weight. The scent of her shampoo lingers on the pillow, and I resist the urge to bury my face in it. Christ.
This infatuation, this... obsession. It's consuming me, turning me into something I never thought I'd become.
But isn't that always how it goes? We turned into the very thing we set out to destroy. The abyss gazes back, and all that philosophical bullshit.
I stand up, straightening my jacket. Time to get the fuck out of Dodge before my luck runs out completely.
As I take a few steps, my eyes catch on Lila's desk. The Veritas application stares back at me, mocking in its innocence. Something about it nags at the back of my mind, a loose thread I can't quite grasp. I shake it off.
My hands finally stop shaking, and I get to work. I didn't come here for a joyride through Lila's internship search. I pull the surveillance equipment from my pockets—tiny microphones barely larger than thumbtacks, wireless cameras disguised as innocent objects.
The first bug goes under her coffee table. Simple, clean placement that'll capture most conversations in the living room. I position the camera inside a cheap wall clock—the perfect line of sight.
"Sorry, Lila," I mutter, testing the adhesive on the second mic. "But I need you so fucking much."
I place another mic under her desk, angled toward her most-used chair. The bathroom gets nothing—even I have standards. But the bedroom...
I hesitate at the threshold of her room, equipment in hand. I place the final camera on her bookshelf, disguised as a phone charger brick. It has perfect sightlines to her bed.
Through my phone, I check each feed. Crystal clear audio, decent video.
I stand in the center of her apartment, surrounded by hidden eyes and ears that will feed directly to my phone.
There's a perverted intimacy to it—I'll be with her even when I'm not.
I'll know her secrets, her fears, her true self.
Isn't that what everyone wants? To truly know someone? Connection?
I take one last look around, making sure everything is in place and nothing looks disturbed. Then I head for the door, stepping carefully, leaving no trace.
In the hallway, I lock her door behind me. Down the stairs, out the front entrance, into anonymity. Nobody gives me a second glance—just another face in the crowd, another shadow lurking at the edges of someone else's life.
Back in my car, I check my watch. The whole operation took less than fifteen minutes. Efficient despite the completely fucking deranged, near-death closet experience.
I start the engine, the familiar rumble grounding me as I pull away from the curb. On my way, I message Milo and ask if she's tapped into her phone yet. When he gives me an affirmative, I breath a sigh of relief.
Now I'll know her exact location at all hours, and she will be much safer because of it.
I send another message to Milo mentally kicking myself for letting my obsession with Lila derail Langford's case. Client work pays the bills, not stalking a woman who I should leave the hell alone.
Dane: Missed the window to bug Langford's apartment. Need another entry point. What've you got?
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel while waiting for Milo's response. The kid's probably knee-deep in energy drinks to be up this early on a Saturday. My phone buzzes.
Milo: Dude, wtf? That was prime entry time. What happened to Mr. Always-Professional?
I grimace. Fair question. Well, green eyes and auburn hair happened. A woman with freckles who makes my chest tight when she smiles. A fucking distraction I can't afford.
Dane: Life happened. Just find me another window.
Three dots appear, disappear, then reappear.
Milo: You were with that bartender, weren't you?
Christ. Even Milo can see I'm compromised. That's when you know you're fucked—when the guy who forgets to eat because his ADHD brain is bouncing between five different screens notices your personal life.
Dane: Just find me another entry point, Milo. Preferably before Langford lures that college girl to his love nest.
I toss the phone onto the passenger seat and rest my head against the wheel. The universe is a cosmic joke sometimes. Here I am, hunting an asshole while becoming one myself. The symmetry would be beautiful if it wasn't so fucking wrong.
My phone buzzes again.
Milo: Maintenance scheduled for building's HVAC next Tuesday, 2-5 PM. Security system will be on bypass. Don't fuck it up this time, Romeo.
I snort.
Dane: Thanks. Removing extra zeros from your invoice for the attitude.
Milo: Worth it.
Dane: One more thing. Look into a company name Veritas, ties to journalism.
Milo: Got it.
I toss the phone onto my passenger seat again and rub my face with both hands. The gritty sensation of stubble against my palms grounds me, reminds me I'm still human despite the monster I'm becoming.
This thing with Lila... it's a fucking tailspin. One minute I'm a professional with boundaries, the next I'm planting bugs in a woman's apartment like some deranged mother fucker. The line between protection and predation blurs too easily for comfort.
But that's the dirty secret about darkness, isn't it? It doesn't announce itself with fanfare. It creeps in through the cracks you didn't even know were there until you're neck-deep and can't remember how the hell you got there.
Time to get my shit together. Langford isn't going to surveil himself, and Claire isn't paying me to psychoanalyze my own fucked-up psyche.
I check my watch. If his office schedule—a courtesy of Milo's hacking skills— hold, Langford will be leaving home soon for a day of golf with clients. Perfect time to pick up the trail and see if that's not code for something more nefarious.
Back to hunting that bastard.