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We can have it, baby. We can have all of it. Whenever you are ready. Just come to me and surrender. Let go of the anger and grief and let my love in. If you don’t, I will come for you and there will be no stopping the inevitable.
Love always,
Always watching.
The tear stains that have dried since the first read through last night, are replaced by new ones. Ones meant to cleanse me of a need for something I can never have. But instead. They make the yearning real. The pain of knowing I could but can never is unbearable, deplorable and suffocating. Especially when I want nothing more than him. Agent Callum. The one man with the power to put me away, because not only does he know who I am, he knows what I have done.
Four months ago, he came to my house, asking questions about the massacre. He questioned me for hours trying to pry as much information from me as he could. The thing is, at the time, I didn't know a fraction of what I do now. I had just begun my mission and had only killed two people at that point. So, there was nothing to tell him.
During the entire interrogation in my living room, I could feel his eyes begging me for something. Something I couldn't put into words and honestly, I wasn’t sure why they would be trying to elicit anything from me. He said my name several times and with each time, his voice would become heavy and emotional before he would clear it and seemingly put himself back together. The meeting confused me, but it also left me with a sense of…trust in him. Sounds dumb I know, but there was something in the conversation and his tone that told me he knew more than he was letting on, but he would never speak on it.
So, a sort of dance began with us. After each kill, I would leave my calling card, a playing card if you will of a dark angel, cloaked in black, hood overhead, face staring at the big black hole of her heart beneath her. The following day he would show up at my house, never asking me directly if it was me who committed the murder, but telling me he knew with his eyes and his patience. Then, hours later a letter would show up in my mailbox. He knows my secrets, but if he was telling them, I would already be locked up. Unfortunately for him he won’t be able to keep me safe or hide my secret for long. Eventually all the dots will be connected, and it will be over for me. I just pray my mission is complete when that happens, and the blood of my enemies is covering me when they come for me. Then, I will go in peace.
FOUR
CALLUM
ONE WEEK LATER
My life has becomea country song. It's filled with sadness and regret. Longing and stolen moments never sought. An achy heart filled with so much I can't separate it. But, one thing always remains the same from the moment I saw it. The need to be her everything. Which is what is bringing me to the outside of her home, once again to drop off another letter, like always praying it finally brings her to me. Hell, she knows where to find me. I have been where I have been since I came to see her the first time. In the house across the street. Yeah you heard me. The minute I left her I used my weight to get the owner to sell his home to me. I moved in, set up surveillance everywhere so I can always watch her and be ready when she needs me.
Every time I think about it, I am disgusted at how low I have fallen. What I am doing is not stalking, but I am committing federal offenses. Like the one right now. “Breze, are you there?” Shit. I need to snap out of it.
“I’m here.” I tell my intelligence guy, who is down the block in an undercover van.
“Great. The comms are live. You can make the move now.” Cursing under my breath for what I am about to do, I get out of my car and ring the doorbell of the one person my girl still trusts.
“Miss DeSantis?”
“That depends on which one you are looking for,” she says, crossing her arms. I remember the first time I saw her file I was in disbelief; positive the agency was wrong in thinking someone this tiny and dainty could be a Mafiosa. She has definitely proved me wrong over the last few months.
“My name is agent Callum Debrieze. I am looking for Aurora DeSantis.”
“That’s me. How can I help you, G-man?” I can’t help but chuckle at the moniker.
“I am hoping you can help me find Miss Catriona Scott.” We stand there staring at one another, neither blinking. I am impressed with her ability to show no emotion. Not a blink, inhale or flared nostril.
“And why would I help you do that?”
“She is a potential witness in a murder case, and I just want to ask her some questions.” It sounds like bullshit to my ears but it's what I’ve got.
“I don’t know where she is. She comes and goes.” Facts.
“Do you have a phone number for her?” I don’t expect her to give it to me, but it is worth a shot. She is not letting me past the door however, and that is not good for my plan.
“No. I never do until she calls.” She is too smart for that.
“It is imperative I speak with her. If you hear from her, call me immediately.” I am not holding my breath. I hand her my card, which has a chip in it. If she places it in her pocket, near her phone, it will still do the trick by downloading the listening software wirelessly.
“And what should I tell her? That you want her to contact you cause you think she killed someone?” Her sarcasm is funny and reminds me of my Angel.
“I don’t want her, Miss DeSantis. I need her. Please let me know if you hear from her,” I tell her the truth in the best way I can. “Goodnight,” I say in response before shutting the door. When I walk away from her door, my mind drifts off to the day her file came across my desk.
“Callum. You got a live one.” My boss slides a folder across the table, his jaw ticking letting me know whatever he is giving to me is causing him stress.
“What you got golden boy?” I look at douchebag Rogers, smirking when my gaze makes him blink first. He mumbles under his breath something about nepotism and walks out the room. I let it fall off me. Used to hearing shit like that my entire life. When I graduated high school at the top of my class, it was because my grandfather was the Governor. When I finished Summa Cum Laude from Yale, it was because my parents are both legacy. When I was recruited straight out of law school to the FBI it was because my father was putting his hat in to be president. I have never once been seen as someone who busted his ass. It was always due to my family name.
“You gonna open it or are you gonna dream about it?” My boss grunts. Smiling, I remove the seal and drop the file on the table. Opening it, My eyes scatter across dozens of dead bodies littered on the ground. Blood everywhere and no evidence of anything other than gunfire.
