30
One Year Later
The sun beats down as I cut the diseased wood from the rhododendron and place it in my bucket on the grass. The flowers are soft pink, like tissue paper, and when they fall to the ground, they become a sea of cotton candy.
My phone beeps, and I take it from my back pocket to read Cormac's message.
Cormac: Heading your way. Briefcase. Grey suit.
I step out from my cover in the undergrowth as students pass by in their own little worlds of assignments, attending class, and baseball games. Oh, to have a life so simple and innocent. When my view is clear, I spot the target walking across the football field, swinging his briefcase while biting into an apple.
Me: Got him.
Crouching down behind the shrub, I peer through a small space between branches to watch him walk off the field and onto the path that leads right past me. I suspect he’s heading to the parking lot, but to be sure, I step out onto the path and follow behind, pretending to examine the plants as I follow him.
I’m dressed in my usual gardening gear: old denim, ripped shorts, rubber gloves, and a grubby T-shirt. I carry my bucket, so I look the part.
The target tosses his apple core into the garden rather than walking three steps to the left to place it in the trashcan. There’s nothing that fucks me off more than someone who litter, especially in the gardens that I’ve been working in for the past 18 months. Every discarded candy wrapper, every cigarette butt, and every fucking apple core I’ve picked up because of the useless wankers who couldn’t be bothered being good people.
An imposing figure moves close to me and tense until I see who it is. Cormac. Bag slung over his shoulder, hand in his sweatpants pocket, walking casually as if he’s got all day.
“Had a good day?” he asks, pressing his lips on my temple.
“The best ever,” I state sarcastically, picking up the apple core and throwing it into my bucket, peeved.
“I bet my time,” he states flatly as if it’s not a big dead, even though it’s massive.
“That’s amazing. Congratulations,” I crow as the briefcase man turns to look back at us, but Cormac and I are far too infatuated with each other for us to notice him looking. It’s an act, of course. We’ve become very good at acting.
I pause to fawn over a red rose in bloom as Cormac keeps an eye on our target, who is striding ahead, still swinging that briefcase. He’s a tutor here at uni and has been on Gabe’s radar for the last couple of months. One paedo or rapist often leads to others since scum drops the bottom of a pond.
The garden opens onto the parking lot, and suddenly, I’m out of place with my bucket and garden gloves, so I pause and search for the shiny, black SUV in the parking lot.
Cormac turns back to me and waves, “I’m heading home. I’ll see you later, babe?” he says, winking.
I hover by the archway of trees and the path weaving through, watching Cormac walk to his car and climb inside. I jog back through the trees to the pink rhododendron, leave my bucket under the branches, pull my gloves off, and jog toward the Science building. I keep jogging because I have a specific purpose and a reason until I come out to the main entrance area, where the black SUV has driven and waits for me to arrive.
As I climb inside, I lean over to the driver, Gabe, and kiss his cheek. “Cormac is on his tail,” Gabe states, pulling out of the parking lot and putting his foot down on the gas. He then reads a message on his phone, either from his son or Blake.
We don’t speak much because I know that Gabe is in business mode, and small talk is merely a distraction. He finds a park by the lake near the playground, switches the motor off, and adjusts the rear vision mirror.
“It’s the pink one,” he speaks for the first time in ten minutes.
I turn back and spot the pink 1960s apartment block in a line of brightly colored three-story blocks. Blake’s old truck is parked several feet away, sitting empty. As soon as our target vehicle arrives, we wait five minutes before climbing out of the SUV.
“You ready?” he asks, looking at me proudly.
“Always,” I reply, shoving my Glock into the back of my shorts. I walk casually across the road, open his gate, stroll on, and press the doorbell. We know that his wife left him, and he lives mostly alone.
He answers the door and frowns in confusion, having just seen me earlier at uni. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but are you, Professor Langley?” I say flirtatiously, biting my finger and running my eyes down his grey pants.
He glances past my shoulder suspiciously before answering, “Yes.”
“So, I was wondering,” bat eyelashes, bite my lip, “if I could come in.”
He hesitates instinctively and knows something isn’t right, but his hunger to manipulate and seduce young girls is his gig. He simply can’t resist.
“Sure,” he opens the door wider, and I step inside, placing myself at significant risk because, beneath his drab exterior, he’s a dangerous predator.
As soon as the door closes behind me, Blake appears from down the hall, armed and masked, and tosses one to me to slip on.
“What’s going on?” the target stresses, moving back toward the door.
“We’re going for a little ride,” Blake orders in that charming voice, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and dragging him to the back of the house and out the backdoor.
Once the house is empty, I open every door I can see for the girls but come up empty. There is a tap on the front door, and I swing it open. “I can’t find them,” I say in a panic to Gabe.
“Do you think he moved them?” I ask, stepping into a musty bedroom, swinging open the closet door, and searching through the clothes.
Gabe helps me search every room and combs his fingers through his silver hair when it’s clear they’re not here. “I’ll message Blake to torture the location out of him.”
As he swipes on his phone, he steps heavily on a rug and pricks his ears. Immediately, he crouches down and sweeps back the rug to find a trapdoor. Carefully, he hooks his fingers under a latch, pulls the door up, and shines his phone's torch down there.
The scent of feces rises to greet us as the light catches three sets of soulful eyes, wide and terrified - three little girls who went missing four weeks ago.
“It’s okay. The man who lives here is gone, and you won’t ever see him again. I promise you,” I breathe in relief, knowing how frightening I seem with a ski mask, but it’s too risky to be recognized. “We’re here to take you home.”
The End