Chapter 6
Mace
There are four computer screens fanned out across my corner of the office.
One is devoted to streaming whatever security cameras I need to monitor, and another two display the results of spyware that, amongst other things, scans our targets’ messages and filters out any suspicious activity.
The final screen isn’t dissimilar to any other VDU with all the usual office applications.
It’s only if you look closer that you’d notice that not everything in my email inbox is addressed to me.
The wealth and complexity of the information at my fingertips can keep me absorbed for hours, but not today.
I’ve managed to get through most of the week without following Lily’s every move, but the level of self-control it’s taking has been draining.
Obviously, I still track her car and check the CCTV in and around her apartment block, but that’s just a safety precaution.
I refuse to invade her privacy any further.
I’m still proud of myself for not slipping my hand into her purse in the club and installing spyware onto her phone.
Despite how I may have acted, she isn’t mine.
And I’m not a stalker. I could be. And damn it, when it comes to Lily, I want to be.
But no, that’s a particular rabbit hole I don’t want to send myself down.
“Do you still have eyes on Barrett in Poulton Springs?” Ash asks.
My gaze shifts to the grid of security cameras I’m monitoring, and I immediately spot Lily picking up mail on the ground floor of her apartment block.
She works from home some days, and is currently parading around in shorts and a t-shirt despite the cool weather.
I zoom in for a closer look. Her hair is tied in a messy top-knot that makes her look like she’s just rolled out of bed.
It’s four o’clock in the afternoon, but maybe she’s having a mental health day.
It’s a look I wouldn’t mind seeing – if I wasn’t such a fuck-up.
There’s a saying Reid coined just to piss me off.
‘Those who can, do. Those who can’t, spy. ”
I zoom the camera in on Lily’s upper body.
The t-shirt she’s wearing is dark, possibly navy blue, and too fucking big for her.
Is that another man’s clothes she’s wearing?
I know she hasn’t had any visitors, but maybe there’s an ex she’s pining after.
The thought has me rethinking my stance on her privacy.
I could slip into her apartment and have that t-shirt shredded in a matter of minutes.
Possibly while she was sleeping in it. Then I’d be able to see what’s underneath…
“Mace? Are you even listening?’ asks Ash, louder this time.
I puff out air from my cheeks. What had he asked?
“Sorry, problem with the feed.” I glance at the grid of cameras streaming from Poulton Springs, then scan a list of alerts.
“Barrett was in town for breakfast, then drove out to the building site. He hasn’t shown up yet in either the rental where he’s staying, or the airfield.
And the Emerson jet is back in New York. ”
“And he hasn’t had any unusual visitors?”
I pull a face at my brother from behind my wall of screens – the added benefit of having so many is that I can close myself off when the others start irritating me, which is most of the time. Ash doesn’t need to check up on me. I’d tell him if there was anything suspicious going on.
“No, he’s just been hiring staff for the house,” I say, skim reading today’s alerts.
My gaze snags on a booking at the town’s only guesthouse late last night. It’s for a lone woman called Quinn Jamieson. An automated background check has come up blank beyond basic government and education records. That’s an immediate red flag in my book.
I run a quick face recognition search, cross-referencing her driving license with private CCTV footage I’ve accessed in and around Poulton Springs. “Shit,” I mutter.
“What?” It’s Reid this time. His desk is the only one close enough for him to overhear me.
I sometimes wonder why the hell we don’t have our own individual offices. It’s not like we don’t have the space.
The headquarters of Griffin Corps claim the top two floors of a thirty-story office block, and while the majority of our staff work on the floor below us, this floor is predominantly ours.
We have it arranged so there are four desks in a large open space – correction, five now Maddie’s joined us.
We’re spread out enough to leave room for a conference table in the center, but we’re not far enough away from each other to get some fucking peace.
I know why we do it, and it’s the reason I complain but never act. My brothers and I are cogs in the same machine. Separate us and we’ll just spin aimlessly. Me especially. And today is a good example of that.
“Barrett had breakfast with someone called Quinn Jamieson. She could be another new hire. According to her business profile, she’s been working as a project manager for the last eighteen months.”
“But?” asks Hunter. He knows just from my tone that I don’t buy it.
I shrug. “Her records are squeaky clean. Too clean. But if she’s using a false identity, it’s a pretty good one.”
“Can you unravel it?” Maddie asks, strolling over to my desk so I can’t use my screens as a shield. Hunter follows. Now I have an audience.
“Possibly. If I had her fingerprints, or DNA,” I say, noticing the casual way my brother slips his arm around his wife’s waist.
I don’t think Hunter’s even aware he’s done it.
There was no hesitation, no second-guessing what Maddie’s reaction might be, no fear of rejection.
I can’t imagine being that comfortable with someone.
I stop the frown forming, and force my thoughts back to the conversation. We were talking about Quinn.
“If she needs a false identity, it’s likely she has a criminal record I could use to find a match. I just have to hope it hasn’t already been erased.” It’s what I’d do.
“Surely it’s worth a try. Can we get DNA?’ Maddie asks.
My stomach twists as I tap my keyboard. “She’s already checked out of the guesthouse and her car’s been returned to the rental company at the airport.” I tap a few more keys. “And her name doesn’t appear on any flight manifests.”
“You can see that? Damn, that was quick work,” Reid says.
“Quick work he could have fucking done this morning,” grumbles Ash, swiftly throwing cold water over Reid’s praise.
“What the hell is wrong with you lately, Mace? We have people close enough to Poulton Springs that we could have swooped in and taken a glass or a toothbrush, or whatever else you could have used as a sample. The last thing we need right now is more fucking unanswered questions.”
“I’ll keep looking,” I mutter, tapping a few keys and willing Hunter and Maddie to go away.
Hunter gets the message, but Maddie being Maddie, continues to prowl around my desk.
“Is everything OK, Mace?” she asks, coming close, and talking low enough to keep our conversation relatively private.
I turn in my chair, checking another screen so my back is to her. “I’m good.”
“You haven’t been rude to me once today,” she complains.
Looking over my shoulder, I narrow my eyes. “You’re not important enough for me to notice.”
She moves closer. “Not as important as…?” She waits for me to finish her sentence. I don’t. Faced with my blank stare, she adds, “Are you sure there’s no one you want to bring as your plus one to tomorrow’s gala?”
“If it was down to me, I’d be a minus one.” I don’t want to go. What if Lily hits the clubs again? What if she’s lined up a date with someone who doesn’t have a pathological fear of relationships?
Maddie wrinkles her nose. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to it either, but I need you there to keep all the gawkers away with your scowl. I’m going to feel like I’m on parade.”
“You will be,” I say, making no attempt to help her feel better.
Maddie expects nothing more. “There isn’t going to be another Griffin wife, so you might as well accept that you’ll be an oddity.
Not that you aren’t already.” I glance down at the narrowing space between us. “You’re invading my personal space.”
Maddie rolls her lips. “Sorry, I must be picking up your bad habits.”
My sister-in-law knows better than anyone how I like to snoop. She’s called me out on it plenty of times, but her words cut deeper this time. My expression falls before I can school my features into one of indifference.
“Are we done?” I ask when she doesn’t back off.
Maddie kicks the trash can hidden under my desk. It’s a mass grave of opened candy bars – a bite taken out of each. “Something’s distracting you, Mace,” she says. A smile pulls at the corners of her mouth as her eyes sparkle. “And sooner or later, I’m going to find out who she is.”