JAMES
TWELVE
Every mistake I’ve ever regretted started with ignoring a feeling I couldn’t explain.
I close the front door quietly, leaving the girl I removed from the cult in Louise’s capable hands.
The woman has an innate ability to settle even the most terrified of victims, and she uses it to help take the weight of their pain as they wrestle with the demons and nightmares that lie ahead.
It’s going to take more than a shower and a change of clothes to recover from what she’s endured, but each life I steal from the clutches of the organization designed to make people disappear brings me a small amount of peace.
It also keeps my mind occupied, not that my thoughts stray far from the off-limits woman who has my attention.
Grabbing the laptop, I balance it on the passenger seat and flick open the cameras my sister hacked.
I tell myself it’s for her protection, but in reality, I’m getting my Stephanie fix from afar.
It’s been nine days since I saw her face that wasn’t through the lens of a camera.
Nine days I’ve been tracking Christopher for any sign he’s lost interest in her. Newsflash: he’s not.
Sometimes, when he isn’t truly taken with a woman, he’ll let them go and move on to someone easier. Alternatively, when he’s invested, the harder they are to catch, the more feral he gets. I should have known Stephanie would fall into the latter.
He hasn’t approached me for help, which means he knows exactly who she is and how I’d shut him down.
If I stepped down or was taken out, he would be the top candidate for taking over the organization, which makes him a top FBI target.
We have to cut down all those capable of leading it before we finally smash it to pieces.
I can’t wait to set fire to the world Jonathan created, and I fully expect to be destroyed in the process. It’s more than I deserve.
Stephanie breezes through the living room and into the kitchen.
I turn on the sound even though it’s a sweet torture to hear her.
Her infectious laughter is the first thing I hear.
I want to be the one making her feel that way.
How she shines with the force of a thousand stars when she’s being stalked by a monster is a miracle.
All four agents are gathered on the sofas as she reappears with a tray of steaming mugs and a plate of cakes.
Nurturing, sweet, good—the opposite of myself.
I am not obsessed. I simply know where she is, what she’s doing, who she’s talking to, and whether she’s eaten today.
Dropping in to check on her discreetly has to be enough. What will I do when she returns to her normal life? I’ll have to move on. My chest tightens, and I bang my head against the headrest. I’m an addict now, and it’s going to be brutal going through the detox.
A fifth guy moves into the room, and I lean forward. Who the fuck is that? None of the agents seem concerned, meaning he’s meant to be there.
My phone is in my hands before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: Who is the fifth wheel?
Camryn’s eyes flick to the camera and then down to her phone.
Camryn: Stop stalking me.
My lips twitch.
Me: Stalking? A gentle oversight at most. Answer the question.
Camryn: He’s Declan Reid, the appointed Executive Assistant Director. My boss.
My hands fly over the keyboard as I dig into his history. His name doesn’t ring any warning bells, but I don’t remember meeting him in my many interrogations.
Me: Is he new?
Camryn: Yes, a transfer. But I did my due diligence.
Me: Why is he there?
Something doesn’t feel right.
Stephanie drapes herself over the chair, creating distance from the agents. I’ve noticed how she favors single seating to avoid accidental touches. Unless she’s plonking herself on my lap.
Camryn: He’s the one heading up the investigation. He wanted to meet and talk to Stephanie in this less threatening environment rather than taking her in.
Logical, and yet...
Me: I want to know when you bring in anyone new.
Camryn: You need to let go of the notion that you have any power.
While that might put me in my place, there wouldn’t be a case without me. No investigation. No inching toward dismantling one of the world’s biggest trafficking rings they’ve tried to infiltrate for years.
Camryn: Louise messaged me. I see you’ve been busy going off-script.
Camryn: Again.
Me: She was breaking apart, and there were plans afoot to take her to the black site.
I’m referring to the place that moves in location, but the purpose remains the same—the killing of people for the entertainment of the rich. Ultimate power over a human life is a high these assholes get addicted to. The thought makes bile rise in my throat.
Camryn: Then you did the right thing.
I know I did. But I feel like one man with a bucket of water who is trying to put out a blazing inferno.
My search on Declan Reid reveals a startling amount of absolutely nothing.
Married with two teenagers and a sister who’s a kindergarten teacher at the local suburban school.
He’s got a clean exemplary record that should settle my soul, but it does the opposite.
I blow up his mug shot and try to remember if I’ve seen him before.
I’ve met thousands of men over the years, but I have an excellent memory.
Agent Thompson dishes out playing cards, dealing to everyone but Camryn and the assistant director, who have moved into the kitchen.
Stephanie’s brow furrows at their retreating backs.
She’s the type you need to keep in the loop, given her power was stolen from her not once but twice.
She might not have been raped the second time, but being kidnapped and hung is going to leave its mark on your psyche.
I attach his photo to an email and send it to my sister along with a message begging her to do a thorough analysis on him. If there’s anything, she’ll find it.
Jonathan was excellent at leaving minimal paper trails, but in the electronic world we exist in, there is no hiding when the right people look in the right places. The ones most wouldn’t even consider, and therefore don’t know to hide.
I flick to the external cameras on the side of the house. Nothing untoward. Nothing at all. Which is weird. The world doesn’t exist in a vacuum. I widen my surveillance to the cameras I had installed up and down the street, and include the doorbell feeds on the neighbours.
My gaze snags on a dark van without markings. I do a quick flick through the last five days, not finding it before today, and yet there it sits a few doors down from a hunted woman on the day a new face has appeared to help protect her.
My sister acknowledges my requests and promises to make it her priority, which means I’ll have answers in the next hour. I send another photo of the van and its registration to her and receive a thumbs up, making my lips tilt up.
I don’t tell her often enough, but I am so proud of what she’s done with her life and how she’s dedicated herself to destroying that which took our mother and her innocence.
She’s another woman whose light shines despite the horror she experienced.
Hunter has softened her edges, but not her resolve.
I love that she’s found the passion she deserves.
It’s what Stephanie also deserves from someone safe, which rules me out.
I sigh and start my truck, taking the road I need to disappear from the world for a time.
I need to gather myself for what’s coming and build up my walls.
I can only do that when I’m not under the microscope of the FBI or the organization.
Plus, I could sit here all night watching and worrying, which helps no one.
Three hours into the long drive, I pull into a gas station to fuel up. Stalking inside, I grab a basket and stuff it full of the same type of snacks Stephanie picked. I don’t examine too closely why. It’s for research and maybes that will never transpire.
Settled back into the truck, I check all is well with the safe house. It’s quiet. The two agents I don’t know are on duty as Camryn and Agent Thompson sleep. The AD must have left.
Stephanie paces her bedroom floor, waving her hands in the air while dressed in a black silky cami and shorts set that makes my blood heat. Who is she speaking to? I turn up the volume to understand what’s happening.
“I’ll be safe, he says,” she grumbles. “It’s for the best. But he still left. What a freaking idiot.”
Who is she talking about? I tilt my head as she turns, checking to see if she’s got that glazed look that indicates she’s sleepwalking.
But her cheeks are flushed, and she’s far too alert.
I’ve done a little research this week about trauma-induced sleepwalking and how to deal with people during an episode.
Not that I plan on being anywhere near where she is sleeping. It would be too much like temptation.
She drops her face into her hands and hunches her shoulders. I lean in closer, enraptured by her every move. Dangerous. I don’t obsess over women.
“Why won’t you leave me alone?” she utters before climbing into the rumpled bed and lying in the middle like a starfish. “James.”
I jerk back. Me? I scan my truck, looking for any sign that she can see me. Nope, all good, and there’s only room for one stalker.
She curls on her side and stares at the wall with a slight pout that makes me want to take a bite of her bottom lip.
I close my eyes and shake my head. She’s focused on me because she knows it’s never going to happen, making me someone safe to dream of. But I’m not the leading role in a fantasy. I’m the devil in the background.
I do one last check around the house and on the street. The back door of the van swings open, and two figures emerge dressed in dark clothing. Oh, hello. I zoom in on their faces. Where have I seen these guys before?
Fuck.
I grab my phone and call Camryn. She answers in ten seconds as I spin the truck in the opposite direction, heading the seven hours back to Stephanie.