Chapter 3
Cullan
A rcher’s Diner is crowded when I enter after nightfall, but the hostess finds me a booth in Elena’s section when I ask for it.
I sit with my back to a wall, pull out my laptop, and take a slow, casual glance around for any security cameras that might be able to see my screen.
It’s safe, and with no one able to peer over my shoulder, I open it.
While it boots up, I glance over the screen at Elena. There’s a couple with a fussy baby a few tables down. Elena has picked the baby up and is making her smile with the pink feathery pom-pom that’s stuck to the end of her pen. There’s a beautiful smile on Elena’s face as well.
I lean back in my seat and watch her cuddle the baby. How bright and animated her eyes look. My daughter Rosie would love her.
A few minutes later, Elena spots me and comes over with a bright smile. “Mr. Grant. It’s lovely to see you again.”
“You’re good with babies,” I say, nodding at the infant in the high chair.
“I love babies,” she tells me with a smile as she puts a menu in front of me. She glances at my laptop. “Working hard, Mr. Grant?”
I’m meant to be working out an infiltration plan for my new client, but I haven’t got a thing done. I’ve been staring at her. The pink feathery pom-pom pen is now stuck through her ponytail. “Not too hard. Is Leon picking you up after your shift?”
She shakes her head. “Not tonight. He’s busy.”
“Then I’ll take you home.”
Her eyes widen. “I’m sorry?”
“I’ll take you home. I wanted to talk to you anyway.”
“Oh. Okay.” As she moves away, she’s biting her lip and her eyes are troubled. When she comes back to take my order for a club sandwich, she won’t meet my eyes, and her smile is forced, like she’s worried. Or afraid.
Is Elena afraid of me? I glance down at myself, and then at my laptop screen, wondering if I’ve given myself away somehow. I’m dressed blandly in a sweater. There’s nothing incriminating on my laptop screen.
I’ll get to the bottom of this later. I need to work.
I spend an hour looking at the property I’ve been hired to infiltrate on an online Street View map and via property records that are public access. I make note of potential access points and the likely locations for the art my client wants to get his hands on.
I had someone on my team take surreptitious photos of the property from every angle, taking care to zoom in on every gate, lock, door, and camera. He also spent several days monitoring comings and goings from the house and the immediate neighbors.
On the upside, the house is in a low-traffic area and the owner loves to gamble at night. The security is not a rapid police response system, but I didn’t expect it would be. No one with hot products wants the cops turning up at their home with an excuse to come inside.
On the downside, the branding on the alarm system tells me it’s one that’s difficult to jam, which means I’m looking at a crash and smash: go in fast, locate the control panel that’s hidden somewhere inside the house, and disable it.
Control panels are often difficult to find.
I know because placing them where they’re hard to find is something I pride myself on, and I’ll only have sixty seconds to find it.
A waitress approaches Elena, who’s wiping down the next table, and their whispered conversation makes my ears prick up.
“Archer’s done it again.”
“You’re kidding,” Elena replies, visibly upset.
“Check your pay stub.”
Elena fishes inside her apron pocket and opens an envelope. “Oh no, there are four hours missing from last week’s pay.” She looks like she’s about to cry furious tears.
“And you know there’s no point confronting Archer about it,” the other waitress replies bitterly. “He’ll just say it’s because we were late or lazy or whatever.”
Elena’s being shortchanged out of her pay?
As she gets back to work, I scan the restaurant and see a man in the kitchen talking to the chef. He’s not wearing a hospitality uniform, and he carries himself with a swaggery air. That must be him, Archer of Archer’s Diner.
My hands tighten into fists, and I feel my blood boil as I watch him talking and laughing. I can’t stand people who don’t look after those they’re responsible for. Shortchanging a group of struggling, hardworking young women is vile.
When I see Archer reaching for his coat, I put away my laptop, drop some bills on my check, and head outside. After dropping my bag in my truck, I wait for Archer.
He heads out of the diner and approaches a blue Buick.
I approach Archer with my friendliest smile. “Excuse me, can you please help me out with directions to…”
As soon as he turns to face me, I drop the smile and smash my fist into his nose.
The cartilage breaks with a satisfying crack against my knuckles.
While he’s dazed, I drag him into the shadows.
I grab him by the shoulder and wrist, push him face-first into a brick wall, and wrench one of his hands up behind his back.
He opens his mouth to scream for help .
“Yell, and I’ll break your legs,” I hiss in his ear. His blood is across my knuckles. More is spilling down his lips, but Archer doesn’t scream. Typical bully, picking on those weaker but about to piss himself when someone bigger comes along.
Sweat breaks out on his brow. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“I’m a concerned citizen. Very fucking concerned. You haven’t been paying your workers what they deserve. Either you go back into your diner and fix it, or I’ll cause you an incredible amount of pain today, tomorrow, and for the rest of your life.”
I’ve performed torture to acquire codes and passwords from stubborn individuals.
I rather enjoyed myself. I take a small knife out of my boot and grind the point behind his ear.
“Well? I’m not hearing a yes. Do you understand how angry I am?
Would you like to see me even angrier? How about I deafen you in this ear? ”
“N-no. I’ll fix it,” he stammers.
“Good decision.” I put the knife away and feel around in Archer’s jacket and back pocket for his wallet.
I take out his driver’s license and read his full name and address back to him.
“Nice part of town. If you see me in your diner in the future, no you fucking didn’t.
You will not fire any of your staff. If you make me angry again, I will come to your home while you sleep, inject you with a paralytic, and set fire to your house.
You won’t be able to scream or move. You’ll burn to death in excruciating pain. Do you understand? ”
Archer is crying now, his tears mingling with his blood. He nods.
“Then I’m happy, and you and I never had this conversation.” I kick him hard in the calf so he crumples to the ground, and I walk quickly away. From a vantage point between two vehicles, I watch Archer turning on the spot, hunting in the darkness for danger.
With a tissue over his bleeding nose, he goes back into the diner and heads through a door marked Office .
Twenty minutes later, he emerges and hands out additional pay envelopes to the waitstaff, then he leaves. I admire the smiles on the faces of Elena and the other waitresses as they realize they’ve been given their full pay.
A thrill goes through me. A little bit of violence, and I’ve made Elena’s world better. I admire the blood on my knuckles, and then wipe it off and go and wait in my truck.
When the diner closes an hour later, I get out and lean against my vehicle, waiting for Elena. What a dark-haired beauty she is, and with entrancing light-colored eyes. She’s far too young and innocent for me, but there’s no harm in quietly appreciating her—protecting her from afar.
As she approaches me, she’s checking her paycheck as if she can’t believe what just happened.
“Anything wrong?” I ask.
She pushes the envelopes into her bag and shakes her head. “Just surprised, that’s all. I guess my guardian angel is watching over me today.”
I guess he is.
I open the passenger door for her. “Get in. ”
Elena hesitates, and her eyes fill with pain. “You can just say it here and get it over with.”
I frown at her. “Say what?”
Her eyes cut away from me, and she mutters, “That I’m not good enough for your son.”
Elena, not good enough for Leon? That’s what she looked so upset about in the diner? I wonder why this beautiful, hardworking young woman could possibly think I want her to stop seeing my son.
For a moment, I indulge in a fantasy of telling her to break up with Leon and go on a date with me instead. The thought makes my insides light up with possessiveness and pleasure, but it has to stay a fantasy. I couldn’t do that to my son.
“Elena. Look at me.”
She’s staring at her feet, so I put my finger under her chin and raise her eyes to mine.
“You’ve got it the wrong way around. I would never tell you you’re not good enough for my son. Every man who looks at you is telling himself that he’s not good enough for you.”
She gazes at me with parted lips.
I stroke her cheek with the back of my forefinger and lower my hand. “What I wanted to ask you is if you’re interested in some babysitting work once or twice a week.”
It takes Elena a moment to catch up to what I’m saying. “Babysitting? Really?”