AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He sent proof of life: Phoenix propped up in his bed, looking pale, but she wore a comical smile, holding a piece of paper with a message for me written in bold letters since he wouldn’t let her use her cell phone.
It read.
OPHELIA, I’M ALIVE AND WELL.
HERE IS PROOF OF LIFE.
DAMN BEHEMOTH IS HOLDING ME CAPTIVE.
SEND CHOCOLATE & VODKA.
I’LL CONTACT YOU SOON.
LOVE, THE WOUNDED, FRUSTRATED PRISONER.
XXX
If her humor is alive, her spirit is alive and well. Good enough for me.
I got Trinny to organize chocolate and vodka and a big bunch of get-well-quick flowers. I figured she wouldn’t get to enjoy the vodka for a while, but it was the least I could do. I know Slade will make the best male nurse a girl could ask for, so she is in the best hands.
Apart from the initial curiosity by the staff and Mario, I’m left alone to work on my novel I have been writing for a couple of hours every night before bed. I’m playing the role of a pregnant writer. And yes, for the record, I am interested in self-publishing my book one day—once I work out how. For now, it affords me the perfect cover story for being situated in the café for the past five days for hours on end as I appear oblivious to my surroundings, but for my laptop, food, and tea within my reach and the odd toilet break.
But I am anything but oblivious.
The thick-framed black glasses I’m wearing—which indeed look very bookish—have twenty/twenty vision lenses in them. I need only slide my finger down onto the frame in the right place, triggering the tiny cameras embedded in the front and on the side arms of the glasses. I get clear footage from three angles.
Very James Bond.
The minute I suspected what was going on the first day, I pulled Mack in as my outside surveillance. He’s been waiting out the back in the parking lot, laying low in his black SUV, videoing the girl walking to the restroom, unlocking the door, and waiting inside for Mario to arrive.
Roughly ten minutes later, Mario would leave 4B, often patting his hair back in place. The girl would then wait a few minutes before exiting 4B, walking back into the café with her hair, usually different from how she went in. As though she had taken longer because she was changing her hairstyle and applying fresh makeup.
Nobody paid any notice to the girl. They were never stunners who would draw attention to themselves.
A few days ago, I pretended to visit the restroom, making an imprint of 4B’s key for Mack to make a copy, at Mrs. Diamond’s request after she had seen the “comings and goings” footage Mack had taken of 4B’s outside activity. I gather she wanted to see how good we were because I am sure she could have given us a spare key to use, but this may, in her mind, absolve her of having too much input into her daughter’s relationship demise, with us doing all the dirty work for her.
We cut a key, and Mack used it to scout out places inside the restroom suitable for two listening devices and two micro cameras. Mrs. Diamond wasn’t taking any chances a device could be faulty. And I made sure Mario stayed where I could see him inside the café.
Mario acts as the model boss, ever courteous to customers, assisting with tables until his “afternoon delight” appointment arrives.
Let’s call her AD, the code I use with Mack.
Today I look like a sexy, hot Mama-to-be—as Mack called me. I’m wearing a cleavage-revealing, stretchy body-hugging, mid-thigh, fuchsia pink maternity dress—something a Kardashian would strut around in—with white platform sneakers to make my pocket rocket body appear taller, my legs longer. Tucker’s leather jacket hangs over the back of my chair because it is warm in here. I braided a section of my thick white-blonde wig in the back. I’m wearing blue contact lenses to obscure my green eyes with the black-framed glasses, giving me a sexy bookish look—Trinny’s words, not mine. My makeup is all about smoky eyes and red lips with silver hoop earrings to complete today’s eye-catching, head-turning uniform.
The fake baby belly contraption I have underneath the dress is seamless, so nobody would hazard a guess I am not up-the-duff, especially with my large breasts.
The first day it did cause my mind to take a bit of a stumble, but this is a job. Mrs. Diamond is dying, and there is nothing she can do to stop this process. I am lucky; I am still alive. I have had over a year of therapy, and this is a job with afake baby bump—end of the story. It is camouflage but at the same time a distraction and nothing more.
Nobody outside of Mack & Cooper Investigations can know I’m working this job, and the owner of the Fainting Goat Ranch is underneath this disguise. Holland and Juan don’t even know what I am working on.
I go by the name: Bunny. Bunny Coleman. And I have a Southern accent to match, disguising my Aussie accent.
Today I’ve caught Mario watching me with interest several times out of my peripheral vision. For the takedown to work perfectly, I need Mario’s interest to work in my favor and to put my needs ahead of his AD’s needs when the time arises, and there’s certainly no pun intended in that statement.
I draw my eyes away from the laptop screen to see the show is about to start, straightening my posture, recognizing the signs that Mario’s afternoon delight is getting ready to play out.
Today’s brunette AD is on her feet, her purse clutched in her fingers, about to stroll over to Mario and request the key to 4B.
