Chapter 9 #2
The morning passes peacefully with Sariah content to nap in her favorite sunny spot while I read and occasionally throw tennis balls for her entertainment.
I bake some cookies to welcome Mrs. Patterson home and sneak Sariah a couple of bites of peanut butter dough.
The house feels cozy and lived-in, filled with family photos and comfortable furniture that speaks of decades of happy memories.
The doorbell rings just after noon, sharp and insistent in a way that makes Sariah immediately alert.
She jumps up from her nap and begins growling, a low rumbling sound I’ve never heard from her before.
Usually, she greets visitors with excited barking and tail wagging, eager to make new friends and demand attention from anyone willing to provide it.
This reaction is completely out of character for a dog who considers every human a potential source of treats and belly rubs.
I approach the front door cautiously, Sariah’s continued growling making me hesitate before opening it.
Through the peephole, I see a man in a dark suit standing on the porch, holding what appears to be a leather wallet or badge case.
He looks official and professional, like the kind of person who might be conducting some kind of government business.
“Can I help you?” I call through the door, unwilling to open it completely until I understand what he wants.
“Ma’am, I’m Agent Marcus Lang with the FBI.” His voice carries a mix of authority and friendliness. “I’d like to speak with you about a matter of federal interest.”
Sariah’s growling intensifies, and she positions herself between me and the door as if preparing to defend against a threat.
Her hackles are raised, body tense with aggression I didn’t know she possessed.
The sweet, goofy dog who brings me sticks during hikes has transformed into someone protective and suspicious.
I open the door partway, keeping the chain lock engaged while Agent Lang displays his badge for inspection. The identification looks official enough, though I have no expertise in distinguishing real federal credentials from convincing fakes.
“What kind of federal matter?” I ask, maintaining distance while Sariah continues her low growling.
“May I come in? This would be easier to discuss privately.” He glances down at Sariah with obvious annoyance, and I catch something cold in his expression that doesn’t match his friendly tone.
“This isn’t my house, and I’m comfortable talking here. What did you need to discuss?”
His smile becomes more strained, professional courtesy wearing thin at my refusal to invite him inside.
“We’re investigating criminal activities in this area, specifically involving individuals who may have used local accommodations for illegal purposes.
” He gestures to my house across the street.
“You do live there, don’t you, Ms. Bourn? ”
I nod as the words hit me like ice water in the face.
He’s talking about the hosting business and guests who’ve stayed in my house.
He’s talking about Aleks. I’m sure of it.
“I run a legitimate short-term rental through QwikRent,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the way my heart has started racing.
“All my guests book through the app, and I follow all local regulations.”
“I’m sure you do, ma’am, but sometimes, criminals use legitimate businesses without the owner’s knowledge.” Agent Lang reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a photograph, holding it where I can see through the gap in the door. “Have you seen this man recently?”
The photograph shows Aleks clearly, though he looks different somehow.
More serious and dangerous, like someone who belongs in a federal investigation rather than sharing wine and conversation in my living room.
The image appears to be from surveillance footage rather than a casual snapshot, grainy and taken from a distance that suggests official monitoring.
My mouth goes dry as I stare at the picture of the man who shared my bed a week ago, and whose mysterious notebook disappeared from my house under circumstances I still don’t understand.
Every instinct Dad taught me about self-preservation screams I shouldn’t admit to recognizing him or reveal any connection that might draw federal attention to my activities.
“I don’t recognize him,” I lie, keeping my expression as neutral as possible while Sariah continues growling at Agent Lang’s feet.
“Are you certain? He may have used an alias, possibly something like Aleks Sokolov.” Lang’s eyes narrow slightly as he studies my reaction to the name. “We have reason to believe he stayed in this area recently.”
“I told you, I don’t recognize him.” I repeat the lie with more confidence, grateful for Sariah’s continued hostility toward this man who claims to represent federal law enforcement.
“If you have specific questions about my rental business, I’d be happy to provide documentation through proper legal channels. ”
Agent Lang’s friendly facade cracks entirely, revealing something harder and more threatening underneath.
He takes a step closer to the door, and Sariah’s growling becomes more aggressive in response.
“Ma’am, obstruction of a federal investigation is a serious crime.
If you’re protecting someone involved in criminal activities, you could face charges yourself. ”
The threat is clear and professionally delivered, but something about his approach feels wrong.
Federal agents investigating legitimate crimes don’t usually make house calls without backup or proper warrants.
They don’t rely on intimidation tactics with cooperative citizens, and they certainly don’t threaten charges based on someone’s failure to recognize a photograph.
Most importantly, they don’t look like they want to kick small dogs who are protecting their territory.
As if reading my thoughts, Agent Lang glances down at Sariah with obvious irritation. He shifts his weight and lifts his foot slightly, as if preparing to discourage her growling with physical force.
“Don’t.” The word comes out sharp and angry as protective instincts override diplomatic caution. “She’s just doing her job.”
“Control your animal, ma’am, or I’ll control it for you.”
The mask slips completely with that statement, revealing someone who views obstacles as things to be eliminated rather than problems to be solved through proper procedures.
Real federal agents don’t threaten to harm pets during routine investigations, and they don’t lose their temper when citizens exercise reasonable caution about unannounced visits.
“I think you should leave.” I start to close the door, but Agent Lang’s hand shoots out to stop it.
“We’re not finished here. I’ll be back with more questions, and next time, I expect full cooperation.
” His voice carries a menace that has nothing to do with federal authority and everything to do with personal threat.
“Think carefully about whether you want to make this more difficult than it needs to be.”
He releases the door and steps back from the porch, but his gaze never leaves my face. The look promises consequences for my lack of cooperation that extend beyond legal procedures into something more immediate and personal. “Have a good day, ma’am. We’ll speak again soon.”
I watch through the peephole as he walks to a dark sedan parked on the street, noting the license plate and make of vehicle because I’m so rattled.
Sariah continues growling until his car disappears around the corner, only then relaxing enough to accept the praise and treats I offer for her protective behavior.
My hands shake as I lock the door and check the windows.
Agent Marcus Lang might be exactly who he claims to be—a federal investigator pursuing legitimate criminal activities—but every instinct I possess insists that something about his approach was wrong, and his interest in Aleks and his threats toward me represent something more personal than professional duty.
Whatever Aleks was really involved in, whoever he actually was beneath the charming businessman facade, I’ve now attracted the attention of someone who doesn’t hesitate to use intimidation and veiled threats to get information.
It clicks in my brain that the notebook that disappeared from my house contained evidence of activities federal agents are actively investigating. The man I slept with was important enough to warrant surveillance and official pursuit, and I just lied to a federal agent about my connection to both.
I sink into Mrs. Patterson’s favorite armchair with Sariah curled protectively on my lap, trying to process how a simple decision to rent out my spare bedroom has evolved into something that feels genuinely dangerous.
Outside, the suburban street looks exactly as peaceful and ordinary as it did an hour ago, but everything has changed, and I can’t ignore the feeling that Agent Marcus Lang’s promise to return represents a threat I’m not equipped to handle alone.