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I kept an eye on him as he rolled through town, and I couldn’t really keep up since he was going so fast. We had a few cars’ distance between us at all times.
Me: Hey. Where you at?
I tossed my phone on my seat after texting him, able to see him ahead but not clearly in traffic. We had about a block and several cars between us now.
Thatcher: At home, why?
The fuck?
I started to text him again, but the light changed, and I needed to keep him in my sight. I left the phone on the seat and decided to keep chasing. He had no reason to be lying right now to me, and instinct had told me when I initially saw him, he might be trying to check the house out like me. He might have just wanted to help by combing the place for Noa and thought he was or something.
That was starting to not feel like the right conclusion as I continued to tail him, and when I eventually did get closer, I stayed back. If he was lying, he was lying for a reason.
I stayed vigilant, giving us a couple blocks’ radius when cars became few and far between. My buddy appeared to be keeping his focus on speed because he charged the fuck through town all the way to the last place I thought he would.
He ended up at Windsor House.
Windsor House was headquarters to the Court, but needless to say, none of my friends or myself had been going there for meetings or to hang the fuck out. We’d all been busy. Busy with everything and trying to help one of our own keep his shit together. We’d been trying to help Wolf, and that didn’t involve sneaking over to Windsor House when one of us claimed to be at home.
But that was exactly where Thatcher went, keying in his entry code before the iron gates let him in. I stayed back, watching him before I too did the same. There wasn’t a lot of traffic coming and going out of the place since there were no meetings or anything today.
The property had pretty much been a ghost town. I mean, half the town was looking for Sloane and helping the Mallicks. Most people were downtown at the capital, or at least the most powerful were. We all looked out for our own around here, and power usually lined the walls of Windsor House.
Today, the widespread property usually packed with guys and girls playing Frisbee and just chilling out was empty. I followed Thatcher mostly by sight from there, but I assumed he’d be parking in the garages. I remained back to let him do that, then parked behind the building. I got out in enough time to see him going into the clubhouse with something large on his back.
A bag.
It was nice and thick, but I couldn’t see inside it. The door closed behind him, and I waited a beat before following.
There were a couple of dudes in front of the fireplace once I sprinted inside, others around and playing chess, but no Thatch.
“Where’s Thatch?” I barked, and backs immediately straightened, eyes wide. I hadn’t been here in weeks. “He came through here.”
I saw him, and right away several fingers pointed toward his route.
“What’s up, Dorian?” a guy asked me, but I ignored him, following my buddy’s trail. I didn’t see Thatcher until I hit one of the halls.
He was picking something up.
A paintbrush… one sole brush with a long handle and thick bristles. He was getting it, and I stopped, tucking myself around a corner. Peering out, I caught him looking around the hall.
He panned the area for a second before stuffing the brush inside his bag, and at this point, I didn’t let him get a wide berth from me.
I stayed on his fucking ass.
Thatcher took the stairs, ending up on floor six in the end. This place had so many fucking rooms and corridors, and it was easy to get lost in this bitch. I had a time or two when I’d been a kid. This old castle was even older than the home I grew up in. It had hardwood floors that creaked like a bitch, and I followed every one of Thatcher’s creaking steps.
I followed him right up to a door.
I let him go inside that door, hanging back again. My hands flexed, my fists knuckling, but I waited each of the seconds it took my buddy to come out of that room. These were all bedrooms up here, places where Court members could stay. The Court often had events and out-of-town members and their families typically made use of the rooms when they came back for whatever the society had going on that day.
The room Thatcher went into should be empty, though. Most of the rooms up on this level were. There were newer rooms, better ones, that were refurbished on the lower floors.
Perhaps he knew that.
I held my breath but did wait until he came out of there. He had no bag once he did, rubbing his hands on his ripped jeans. He tossed fingers through his hair before he shifted on his Chucks away from that door.
He ran into me.
