Chapter 5
Specter
Back in my car, I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Whisper. He’ll be able to help.
“What’s up, Specter.”
“I need a license plate looked up.”
“Good timing. I’m at my computer right now. Whatcha got?”
“AG4-948. Name and address will do.”
“Give me a few minutes. I’ll call you back.”
“Thanks.” I sit back in my seat, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. It usually doesn’t take Whisper long to find a name, so I sit tight, thinking about what I’ll do when I find the bastard.
Gus told me he put up some resistance, but once he heard the cops were being called, he took off. I’ve dealt with my share of unstable people before, and I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to let one of them get close to Cashmere.
As expected, my phone buzzes a few minutes later and Whisper’s name appears on the screen.
I answer with a “Hey.”
“Christopher Browning,” Whisper says. “410 Watters Street in Crestvale.”
“Isn’t that a pretty nice neighborhood?”
“One of the nicest. What’s going on?”
“Dude got out of hand and is showing some dangerous behaviors.”
“Where?”
“Segreto.”
“I see. What’s your plan? Do you need backup?”
“No thanks. He’s a middle-aged loser. I got it. Gonna make him question all his life choices.”
Whisper chuckles. “Sucks to be that dude.”
“It sure does. I’ll be home after that. How’s Shadow today?”
“Normal.”
“And the new guy?”
“Hanging with Ghost. The boyfriend is still here. Apparently Shadow said he could stay until Sunday. He’s a goddamn senator’s son.”
“Huh. That’s a weird couple.”
“Putting it mildly. Stay safe. See you when you get back.”
“Bye.”
I end the call and start the engine, typing the address into my GPS. If Christopher is home and alone, I should be able to get over there, get it done, and get back in time to make sure Cashmere makes it home safely.
Technically, I’m not really supposed to be out here dropping unsanctioned bodies, but I’ve learned that with Shadow, it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.
As I drive toward my destination, Cashmere’s sensual performance replays in my mind.
Watching him had me doing everything in my power to stay seated and not swoop in and toss him over my shoulder to carry him off caveman style.
I’ve already examined whether I have jealousy issues over him showing off for random men and decided that’s not it.
I’m proud of his talent and beauty. I just want to be the sole benefactor of it when his shift is over.
At least I can do this for him. It’s obvious he can protect himself, but with me in his life, he doesn’t have to. Maybe I won’t even brag about it. I could just let him think the creepy guy decided to stay away. We’ll see.
I exit the freeway at Crestvale and follow the navigation to a nice upper middle class neighborhood.
I’ve been here before stalking targets, but not often.
I’m only about ten minutes from home, which means I could drag this out and make the guy lose his fucking mind before I take him out, but that means I’d have to trust that he’d stay away from Cashmere in the meantime. Too risky.
I spot the car from the club in the driveway, and I’m surprised to see the guy still sitting in the driver’s seat. He’s leaning forward on the steering wheel like he fell asleep. Is he too ashamed to go inside and face the people he lives with, likely a family and a spouse?
Shutting off my headlights, I sit quietly, parked in front of the house next door and keep an eye on him.
When fifteen minutes pass and he hasn’t moved, my curiosity is piqued.
I slip from the car, and with my hand on my weapon, approach the car silently.
I rap my knuckles on the window, but Christopher doesn’t move.
I bend down to get a good look at him in the dark and that’s when I realize why he’s not moving.
Blood splatter on the passenger window and seat catches my eye, and when I lean forward a bit, I spot the gaping hole in his right temple, a.22 lying loosely in his hand.
Motherfucker. He fucking killed himself. In the driveway of his own home where people, probably loved ones, will have to find him.
I walk back to my car, completely irritated that I drove all this way for nothing, but I guess I should be relieved that he took himself out of the equation and I didn’t have to.
Sitting in my car, I contemplate my next move and make a decision.
I grab my burner phone from the glove compartment, power it up, then dial the non-emergency police line.
“Crestvale Police Department, how can I help you?”
“I was walking my dog and saw something I think the police should check out. It looks like a man is passed out in his car, maybe even hurt. I might’ve seen blood, but I didn’t get close enough.”
“Address?”
I rattle off the address as I turn the car around and leave the neighborhood.
“And your name?” the operator asks, but I’m already ending the call. I toss the phone onto the passenger seat and head back towards the freeway. At least I don’t have to deal with a body. The police will show up, find the scene, and handle the situation from there.
I stretch my neck back and forth then punch up the volume on my stereo, blaring Frank Sinatra on my way back to Segreto.
When I arrive, I find a spot around the side of the building, where I have a perfect view of the employee exit and can watch Cashmere from a safe distance.
I don’t usually follow him home straight from the club, but it’s almost like I drove here on autopilot.
Less than an hour later, the back door swings open and several dancers file out, laughing and talking as they head to their vehicles. I sit up slightly, keeping an eye out for Cashmere, and when I see him, Gus is right beside him, guarding him as he escorts him to his car.
I watch the interaction, noting their demeanor and making sure Gus doesn’t have any ideas about taking him from me, but their body language says they’re nothing more than friendly coworkers. Good. I like Gus. It’d be a shame to put a bullet in him.
Cashmere is wearing leggings and an oversized sweater, his long hair pulled back into a pony tail. Once he’s safely in his car, Gus steps back and I wait until Cashmere pulls out of the lot.
I shouldn’t follow him. It’s weird and obsessive, I know.
I also know that the creeper won’t be waiting in the shadows for him.
As tempting as pursuing him is, I let Cashmere drive off without me in his rearview mirror.
I gotta get a fucking life if I don’t want to scare him off.
I’ll have to quit my job if I start hunting down every man who looks at him too long.
Dragging my fingers through my hair, I blow out a slow breath, light a cigarette, and resign myself to going home alone.
Again.