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Usually, they’d never get to that.
Usually.
Opening my eyes, I straighten and fumble for my phone. Ignoring the texts from Nicolo and Diego—both letting me know the job’s going smoothly because they’re asking fucking annoying questions about Karlee—I find the number I’m looking for.
Wendy picks up on the first ring. “Tizio?”
Her calm efficiency soothes. I’ve known her for years, and that note in her voice isn’t concerned something’s gone wrong on the job. It’s something else I don’t like. Something that says she picked up on the tension between me and the brat.
“I need you here.”
“Night job?”
“You got it.” I bite back and sigh. “There isn’t much in the way of food here. I know you brought some, but . . . I’m putting in an order for morning delivery.”
“I’ll pick up some more things.” She pauses. “The girl’s Fallon’s sister?”
I drum my fingers on the fridge as I close it. “I’m aware.”
“You gonna spill?”
“I don’t know anything other than she’s on my watch list.”
Wendy doesn’t say I’m more than proficient to handle a babysitting job. She doesn’t ask why I’m asking her to take time from my old business—hers now—to help. She’s also got a lot of other questions wanting air, but she knows better than to voice them. She’ll get the best, including her, on this and move the fuck out of my way when I need it.
“I’ll be there in fifteen,” she says and hangs up.
Then I make a list of supplies and things Karlee might want and I place an order for the morning so Wendy can be here if I’m not. I’ve got no idea what the fuck she eats, so I ordered the basics. Milk, bread, salads, fruit, and some frozen things she can throw in the oven or microwave.
Too much like she’s here for a long time. Maybe she’s going to be, maybe she isn’t, but the less deliveries and outsides beyond school, the better.
I need the files because the sooner I work out what’s going on with her stalker, I suspect is courtesy of whatever the fuck Fallon’s mixed up in, the sooner I can just have Karlee on a more hands-off detail, like Fallon had.
Which means, of course, I’m going to have to pay him another visit, sooner rather than later.
But not right away. That might raise suspicions if there are any to be raised, that is.
I rub a hand over my eyes a second before I notice the Harold file isn’t there.
Fucking Karlee must have taken it.
I really don’t want to see her tonight.
But on the off chance someone separate from all this is harassing her—and she’s not going to tell me—I need that file. I need to see her.
I go and knock on the door.
“Karlee?”
She doesn’t answer.
“I know you’re not asleep, there’s light from beneath your door and music.”
The door opens, and she glares at me. If her eyes are a little too shiny, I pretend not to notice because there’s the file on the floor. Shit.
I go in and pick it up.
“Men suck.”
