Chapter 3 #2
The fact is only a limited group of wealthy individuals would be interested in acquiring such a watch. And she has already met with a handful of them. While the others would never meet with her in person. They would send their family representatives.
Clapping loudly, Ophelia shouts. “Less talk, more hustle, Parker. You need to snatch her before she gets to her next appointment.”
“You’re right. Now or never, bitches, let’s get our girl!”
Pushing off the sidewalk, I start to moderately jog, because running would be asking for too much.
Outside of sex, I really try to keep all physical activity to a minimum on a full stomach.
Thanks to my short stature, weaving through and around pedestrian traffic is an easy task.
Ducking and diving, by the time these fine folks realize I have maneuvered around them, I am already gone like the wind. Like a bad baddie.
“She’s headed up to Fifth. I never saw her as an academic type. Suppose looks can be deceiving,” Taco rambles off while I begin to sweat under my arms, between my tits, and definitely at the crotch of my jeans. This is so fucking gross.
Panting, I ask, “Where am I going?”
“You could cut her off if you take Fortieth. I think Bensen baby is going to the library.”
To make a scene at the library would be sacrilegious.
It’s a holy place where first editions and historic records from the beginning of time are being kept.
White gloves only touching those pages, if you are ever given the privilege.
I fucking love that library. And the ceiling is hand-painted like a cathedral, with intricate architecture that gets me horny.
And never mind the hundreds of rows of books housing thousands if not millions of pieces of classic literature.
Still jogging, my lungs hurt, getting angry at me by causing me to audibly pant.
Looking up from my feet, the green sign that says Fifth is within arm’s reach when Taco stomps on my hopes and dreams. “Just kidding. Not at all an academic. She’s walking up toward the park.
A hotel is just across the street. If she makes it in, I can access their system and see where she heads. ”
I want to tell him, Good boy, but my heaving chest won’t let me.
I need water, desperately. Reaching the corner, the red hand says, Don’t you fucking dare.
Cars speed past and I stop, hunching over with my sweaty palms resting on my knees.
I fight the sudden dehydration and exhaustion to complain.
“I can’t do another stakeout. I can’t. I will simply die.
” Chafing on my thighs from my soaked jeans only adds to my miserable discomposure.
O, being obvious, states, “Then get her before she goes inside, Parker.”
Still bent over, I raise one hand and flip her off. I know they can see me and I hope she fucking sees that. It doesn’t take long to hear a chuckle. It’s Connor. He loves it when I get sassy.
Rising, I look both ways, unable to wait and obey the red hand, then haul ass across the street. “Sorry, not sorry. Thank you, cars,” I shout, while waving. Traffic is at a crawl, anyway. They can get over it.
I see the blonde head of hair in sight. I am so close.
Deciding the jog approach is the only option, I hop to it at once, begrudgingly.
Because I will not stake out, that is my motivation now, not the cool quarter of a million bounty.
Looking over her shoulder, Bensen checks for traffic as her body moves to the edge of the sidewalk, and weaves between two parked cars. Once satisfied, she goes for it.
With my luck, knowing me, all luck has run out and I will get a ticket for casually breaking the law by crossing illegally. Then the SWAT team will come once more as I tackle the blonde. Unprovoked. And the entire evening will turn into a thing I would rather not be part of again.
Thankfully, a crosswalk magically presents itself coming out of the dark entrance of the park and I pump my arm in excitement, and shout-whisper, “Yes!” And the angry red hand has not yet shown itself. Bonus points for me. Things are looking good.
As my foot touches the pavement, the evil red hand starts on its bullshit.
Rolling my eyes, I knew this was too good to be true.
My body rushes to cross while the evil red hand flashing warns me against it.
But I love danger. Wow, okay, that sounded much better in my head.
Then, a loud honk expresses how much of an inconvenience I am playing with said danger, which isn’t original at all on their part.
Do they not realize I am honked at regularly?
And not in a good, looking for a ride way either.
Ignoring the noise, I continue crossing, and in all honesty, I have started to move slower with my steps to piss them off.
They honk again, but this time it’s much closer than the last. Casting a glare over my shoulder, because now they are just being really fucking rude, my eyes widen, because they are really fucking close.
And my “fuck off” attitude may have been a tad too much.
Voices in my ears yell. But it’s too late.
Shit.