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“Wendy and Alan will be outside tonight. Watching. I’ll be back to collect you for school.
And with that, I walk out the fucking door. And though it’s late, I get to work.
Exhaustion burns every cell, and I collapse on my sofa—mine at my home, not the one where Karlee is.
At least she’s still there. Wendy’s made a couple of visits, all unannounced, but she’s been there. Not one alarm has gone off, and no doubt Karlee’s going through everything.
Good luck to her because it’s soulless and empty of anything personal. All items are catalog-bought, generically tasteful, and fine for my needs.
I need her close, in a better place than Fallon’s. Not that his isn’t up there, it is, but he lives there when in town. My place is meant to be high security, meant to keep others out and her in.
I get up and pour myself a bourbon, then sit back down and sip it. No ice, I couldn’t be bothered, and the heat of the burn warms the cold in me.
Something is rotten here, and it’s been that way since Avah came into the De Luca fold. Into Nicolo’s arms.
It popped up deeper in Enders Ridge, and now . . .
Keeping her under control isn’t the only reason I moved Karlee into that house. I sit up and grab my iPad, pulling up the feed on the house. I switch to the camera feed—outside only and turn it on. If anyone comes about, I’ll get it on film. She’ll be watched so no one’s getting close, but I want it on film if someone fucking tries.
I take another swallow of the bourbon as Alan approaches the house, checking the outside and then ringing the doorbell.
I want to fucking know because something’s bugging me over this. Fallon calling me in to watch over her is within the realms of straight up, even though I don’t think it is, but for him to not be legit about it to my face is all weird. But he could have asked me to get in a better security detail, which I did, but he wanted me.
That says it’s more than his worry about college boy shenanigans. He knows who I work for. What I do now.
So, I want to know why someone is targeting her. And who the fuck are the people looking for her because she’s his sister?
Don’t get me started on him not wanting me to let her know he’s in fucking prison.
The web’s thick and messy.
Standing, I grab my phone, keys, and some equipment and make a call as I head out. He's a guy who works for the enforcers sometimes, and he’s a very handy handyman. I give him the address and meet him at Fallon’s.
“I need these cameras put up. I hand him the box.
“Dude, it’s?—”
“I’ll find someone else to help.”
The guy swallows. “I’ll do it. No problemo.”
It doesn’t take him long. I should get them in the house, too, but the thing is, I know Fallon.
If he has some info somewhere, something someone might want, he’s never putting it in his home. Not in a toss the place just right, and you’ll find it way. Others won’t know that. But with the sensor cameras, if someone tries to get in here, I’ll know.
Bases covered as much as I could today, I paid the man and started heading home.
My fucking phone pings, and I press answer, “Wendy?”
“Your bird didn’t answer the door, and no alarm went off, so Alan used the key and went in.”
“Let me fucking guess, she got out through the kitchen window.”
“How. . .?”
It’s a hard one to get in and out of, and that one can be faulty why I . . .” Why I have a fucking camera on that window. The others aren’t trained on the house, but near it, to see who approaches. Except for that one. “Never mind. When?”
“Sometime in the last hour. She left a note about a school thing, but . . .” She takes a breath. “She’s gone.”
