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I stared at the wall of TVs that each held stills of Jesse from last night at the den, and studied each frame, looking for clues, searching for hints into this man’s psyche. There was one taken from the entry point where he was glancing over his shoulder at one of my security men.
Wary. He was wary from the second he set foot inside the den’s doors. That was smart, all things considered, and just another indicator that I had been right in my initial assumption. He was just like Lee had been—intelligent and cautious…unsuspecting.
The second still was of Jesse walking into the Rendezvous Site for the first time, and that was the still that held the most interest to me. With a remote in one hand, and a glass of bourbon in the other, I walked over to the black-and-white image of the wide-eyed lamb who looked so out of place, so scared of all that he was seeing, but intrigued all the same, and my dick stiffened in response.
That was what I wanted to experience up close.
That was what I wanted to bask in.
The innocence. The fear. And the excitement he got from feeling that way.
I wanted to revel inside of it, nurture it and comfort it, right before I tore it apart.
“Let’s see, a punnet of strawberries, four oranges, and a pound of carrots…” Mr. Brown, one of my regular stops at the weekly farmers’ market, squinted at his calculator over his glasses. “Comes to eight dollars today, Jesse.”
I fished out a few wrinkled bills from my pocket and handed them over. “Thanks. See you next week. Tell Mrs. Brown I hope her back feels better.”
“I’ll do that. You take care.”
After carefully placing my purchases in my canvas tote along with the other vegetables and homemade bread I’d picked up, I gave Mr. Brown a friendly wave and stepped out of the tent. It was a misty, slightly chilly day at Southend Pier with the breeze blowing off the Pacific, but I hadn’t bothered with an umbrella. Unless it was a downpour, no one ever did.
As I continued on down the pier, I stopped at Felicia’s Fudge booth to say hello, but resisted in buying any of her delicious treats, even though the sight of the turtle nut fudge squares made my mouth water. Rent week was always the tightest of the month, so I couldn’t waste even a few dollars to treat myself.
One day I won’t have to worry about having enough for a square. I’ll be able to buy the brick, and more if I want to.
On I walked, waving or saying hello to the familiar vendors and shoppers I saw during my weekly visit. That was half the reason I came back—it made this city feel a little smaller, a little more like home to see the same faces and share how our weeks had been. It made me not feel quite so alone, even though, Brayden notwithstanding, I was.
A tingling sensation on the back of my neck had my head whipping around to see who was watching me. Over the past week, I’d felt it, that creeping feeling like I was being followed, but every time I’d turned around, there would be no one there. It was getting to the point where I felt paranoid. Maybe it was residual effects from the encounter after leaving the Wolfe’s Den a week ago, or maybe I was going crazy, but I couldn’t stop the sudden chill that ran up my spine, and I knew that wasn’t made up.
I continued to scan over the crowd gathered on the pier, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, and definitely no one paying attention to me. It was silly to think anyone would be following me. I mean, it wasn’t like I could offer anything. If someone wanted to mug me, they wouldn’t get much, that was for sure.
Rubbing my eyes, I figured maybe I needed to get more sleep. I’d been restless all week and had pulled doubles at the café, since I needed all the money I could get.
“You okay, Jesse?” Kay, the owner of a small shop downtown that came to the market to sell organic soaps and bath melts, asked.
Dropping my hand from my face, I flashed her a smile, not wanting to cause any concern. “Yeah, I’m good. How are you, Kay?”
As she began to tell me about her daughter coming home for the summer from college, I nodded along, still fully aware of the chill that hadn’t left. A bump came from behind, and as I turned around to help the woman who had tripped over the pier’s uneven wooden planks, a streak of solid black caught my attention. Dressed in a long overcoat and an umbrella, a man was walking away at a leisurely pace, and something about him set off all of my red flags. He looked completely out of place at the market—he wasn’t carrying a bag or even paying attention to any of the vendors.
