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“Hey, what’s wrong?” Holden asks, and I realize my expression is far too honest. “You can tell me.”
“I can’t, though,” I confess. “Years ago, I did something awful. And Gabriel covered for me. I owe him my life, and I love him, but I just—”
“He covered for you?” Holden asks, a mar in his forehead.
I can only nod, confessing, “He did everything for me, but he left me. His coming back is like hitting play on a pause button for a movie I never wanted to know the ending of.” Holden listens, nodding along, and as the tears stream down my face, I hold everything I can in and I don’t say another word. I’ve already said too much.
“Let me get you another tea,” Holden offers, not judging and not pushing further.
“Thank you.” I pluck the tissues out, and the moment the door shuts, I admit to myself what I’ve been denying for three days straight. I’m terrified.
If someone knows, they either want Gabriel dead... or they want me dead.
GABRIEL
Present
“And this is all you have?” I ask him to make sure.
“Yeah,” the shop owner says, pocketing the envelope I just passed him. There’s five thousand dollars inside, and I seriously doubt he’s going to be reporting that to the IRS. “Look.” The owner finally looks at me. His white button-down shirt is ironed, and he’s paired it with blue jeans. No tie, not that I would expect him to be wearing one. “I don’t have the most up to date system. The memory card’s set up to record on a loop, like a DVR. If I don’t pull the card, it auto deletes anything more than five days old. The dude I paid to install this thing called it a security spam folder.” He shrugs. “Sorry I can’t do more.” Like the other shop owners on this corner, the man is older and the place is a bit rundown. Not much has been updated on this strip.
It’s more than likely another dead end. Still, I pocket the card. It’s something. And anything is better than nothing. “Iunderstand.” We’ve gone through hours of footage from three dozen security cameras, tracking the hooded man until we reach a dead end. This camera may have a view, it may not, but it’s worth a look. And to the man behind the counter, that’s worth five grand.
“Have a good day,” he tells me, and I respond with a curt smile and “You too.”
I leave the shop, a compact shoe store that’s half a block down from Kiersten’s apartment, and head down the street. This was the third place I’ve been to today, helping Roland and my team gather as much information as we can on who’s been leaving these threats.
It’s been three fucking days. Three days too many of not putting an end to this goddamn nightmare. Three days of Kiersten barely speaking to me because I kept it from her. I know I fucked up, but I’m going to fix it. Then, I’m going to fix things between Kiersten and myself.
At the corner, I’m met by my driver for today, another man from Joshua’s security firm. Joshua’s watching footage and current surveillance. Together, we walk to my vehicle for today, a black detailed SUV that’s far more secure than the soccer-mom look it's sporting. “Were you able to find what you need, sir?”
“Doubtful,” I tell him, pulling out the memory card and adding it to the pile.
When we get into the SUV, he plugs it into the built-in computer and with a few keystrokes sends it on its way to the rest of the security team. “Don’t worry, sir. If there’s anything there, they’ll find it.”
Although I know he’s right, relief is hard to come by.
I nod, leaning back in the padded leather seat as the driver takes off.
For the hundredth time today, my mind wanders to Kiersten. I know she’s safe, but I hate not being right by her side. Space and time are two things we’ve had for too long.
She’s all I think about as the engine rumbles and I wait for a call from anyone. An update on any fucking thing. I’ve only been back for a week, and yet it’s like we’ve picked right back up to where we were.
No one calls during the drive, and there’s no update when I return to the office.
I sit down and open up a video chat to my security team, needing to get an update on anything. Fucking something. “What have you found?”
“Still nothing, sir,” Roland says. “We’ve seen three potential sightings of the stalker on the footage, but nothing concrete.”
“What do you mean, potential?”
“Male, average height and build,” Roland explains. “There are a lot of people to narrow down, but we’re doing our best. He has always kept his face unrecognizable or hidden from any cameras. I even had the techs try to do the whole ‘reflected image enhancement’ thing. Which, by the way, is ninety-eight percent bullshit compared to what you might think it is from television and movies.”
The knot in my stomach tightens. “So no leads?”
Roland shakes his head. “No. We’re still analyzing the newest footage, but I’ll be honest, Gabriel, this might be a waiting game. He’ll fuck up at some point. Nobody’s perfect forever.”
I nod, leaning back. “Understood. Do your thing.”
