Page 49 of Targeted By Desire

Wait a minute…

His work notes. I still had all of them.

My mother wanted to throw them away after he died. She hated that he hoarded them in the first place and couldn’t wait to finally get rid of them. But I pleaded until I was black and blue in the face to keep them. It was one of the few mementos I had left of his voice. There was no way I was letting them go.

I kissed my hand and pressed my palm against his headstone. “Thanks for listening, dad,” I told him. “I’ll visit again soon.”

I hurried back home and climbed up into the attic where I kept his things. All it took was one look at the mountain of boxes containing all of his notebooks for my hope to deflate. The only saving grace was that they were marked with ranges of years. I just didn’t know where to start.

My eyes landed on the box marked with the last year of his career. I’ve always wanted to look through it, but never could. With the others, it was easy to imagine my dad alive and in his prime. But with these, it was documentation of the last few months he spent alive. They’ll be the most painful to read, but could be the most important.

Sighing, I lifted the box up and hauled it into my study. I flipped through notebooks, nicely labeled with each case number and year, until I reached his final one.

I bought it downstairs, made myself a cup of tea, and settled into my lounge chair. Once I was comfortable, I flipped open the first page and started the story of the last criminal he ever chased.

THE ASSASSIN

The door hinges creaked as I slowly pushed it open. I gritted my teeth, cursing the damn thing for potentially giving me away. This was my first time breaking into Simone’s house while she was still here. I needed to be as quiet as possible, so I could catch her off guard - and end this shit before it goes any further.

Maria practically had my head when I told her about the little game I’d played with Simone. Her big brown eyes were livid as she frantically signed, scolding me for risking my life. I cannot lose you, she said at one point, her eyes glistening with the smallest hint of moisture. You’re all I have.

Her words and the look on her face sparked a small ache in my chest. I wanted to reassure her. Tell her she had someplace else to go now if anything were to happen to me. Her hacker boy-toy and friends within the Ruiz’s cartel would take care of her. But, I knew that wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

She was right, anyway. I was taking our games too far. I needed to put an end to this - soon.

I’d disabled Simone’s security system and snuck into her house with every intention of taking her life tonight. I didn’t know how I’d stage it yet - that depended on how much she fought back - but I’d figure it out.

I kept my steps light as I crept down the hall, walking closer to the little bit of light pouring out of the living room. My hand hovered over the gun on my hip, ready to pull it if Simone tried any funny business.

I pressed myself against the wall as I reached the doorway. I envisioned all the different scenarios that might happen when I went around the corner. Simone freezing in shock or attacking me at first sight or the room being empty. I was prepared for all of them.

Grasping my gun, I peeked around the corner.

I almost smiled at the sight before me.

Simone was curled up in her reading chair like a cat, legs scrunched up into her chest and head resting just under the cushioned armrest. Her shoulders rose and fell with every breath, accompanied by soft snores.

She didn’t even move as I stepped closer to her, the floor lightly creaking under my feet. The girl was out cold.

It would be so easy to take her out like this. A pillow over the face would get the job done. Pose her body to make it look like an accident - choked on a snack or tangled in a charger. No suspicions; just disappointment.

But there wouldn’t be any fun in that. The fire in Simone’s eyes was the most memorable and admirable part of her. Hell, it was the main reason I’ve let her live this long. She wasn’t one to go down without a fight. And I didn’t want to kill her without one.

I looked down at the notebook nestled under her arms. From what I could see, the pages were filled to the brim with writing. Was she journaling?

I scanned the cushion, searching for a pen. My brow rose when I didn’t see one.

Slowly, I reached for the notebook. I pinched the end of the book and carefully wiggled it out from beneath her arms.

She stirred from the paper brushing against her arm, and I froze. A tiny hum purred in her throat as she adjusted her arms, pulling them closer against her.

Now freed from her grasp, the book was easy to slide across the cushion.

Dates were the first thing I noticed when I looked down at the writing. It was written atop each entry, no matter how long or short. But the noted year wasn’t recent. It was over ten years ago.

Curiosity got the best of me as I flipped the notebook completely open and turned the cover over the pages. Written in black marker were the words: Case #1789; Opened August 28th, 2007

Ah, so she was reading case files. But whose files? And why?