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“Whoa.” Pippa sighs next to me. “Who was that?”
“I have no idea,” I whisper.
I step inside the sparsely lit living room and look around me. The house is a disaster—clothes strewn across the living room floor and empty takeout boxes piled on the counter. The stale atmosphere clings to my airways, thick and vaguely noxious. It’s as though no one has bothered to open a window in months. The place is disgusting. I walk over to the dining room table and pull out a chair. Turning it to face the front door, I sit down to wait.
Twenty minutes later, the front door opens, and Randy Philips, Milene’s creep, walks inside. He doesn’t notice me right away because I’ve turned the lights off. However, when he flicks the switch and sees me sitting in his dining room, he stops dead in his tracks.
“Hello Randy,” I say.
His eyes widen, and he takes a step back. “What are you doing here? How did you get in? I’m calling the police.”
“I wouldn’t recommend that.” I lean back in the chair. “I came to chat. That’s all.”
“What do you want?” He sizes me up, then moves closer.
“I want you to forget about Milene,” I say. “You don’t talk to her. You don’t even look at her. When she comes into a room, you turn around and leave.”
“What if I decline?” He takes another step in my direction.
Randy’s a big guy, a little shorter than me, but with at least fifty additional pounds. His bulk, however, comes mainly from the extra weight he’s packing around his middle. He looks smug, like he’s sure he can take me on. Drawing conclusions that aren’t well-founded can get you killed. Most people fail to take that into account.
I see the precise moment he decides to lunge at me. Before he has a chance to do so, I get up, grab the chair, and smash it against his head. Randy crumbles and falls to his knees, palms pressed heavily against the floor. As he restores his balance and presence of mind, I reach into my jacket, take out my gun, and begin screwing the silencer onto the barrel. It won’t extinguish the sound of the gunshots completely, but it’ll definitely quieten them. I don’t want any of the neighbors interrupting our discussion.
“I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this, Randy, but you’re leaving me no choice.”
He looks up, and when he sees the gun, crawls backward on all fours. I aim to his left and pull the trigger, sending a bullet into the wooden flooring an inch from his hand.
“Stop,” I say, and he freezes. “The only reason you’re still breathing, Randy, is because I heard you’re a doctor, and I have a lot of respect for medical professionals. So, I’m giving you one last chance to comply.”
He nods quickly and whimpers, his eyes wide and filled with panic.
“Good. Tomorrow morning, you’ll resign from your position at St. Mary’s. If I ever hear that anyone catches sight of you within ten miles of the building, or Milene, your life is over. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Perfect.” I aim at his leg and shoot him in the thigh.
He screams and falls to his side, pressing his hands onto the bleeding wound. His knuckles turn white from the strain.
“Just a small reminder that I’m serious. You can call 911 when I’m gone, tell them you ran into a burglar.” I unscrew the silencer and conceal my gun, then head toward the front door. “Ten-mile radius, Randy.”
As soon as I’m in the car, I take out my phone and open the surveillance app. Milene is sitting on her sofa, eating chips and focused on a sitcom on the TV. The cat is sitting on her lap, trying to pull one of Milene’s snacks from the bowl with its paw. With her busy daily schedule, the girl needs better nutrition. Since I’ve been watching her, she’s only cooked for herself a handful of times, and only when she has a day off. Based on what I’ve seen, she’s awful at it. Other than those few instances, she’s been eating fast food. Sometimes, when she has longer shifts, she crashes when she gets home without eating a thing. If that goes on, she’ll get sick.
I send a message to Ada, my housekeeper, with instructions on what I need her to do, and place the phone in its holder next to the steering wheel, so I can watch and drive at the same time.
Chapter 4
“Jesus fuck!” I yelp and jump over the cat who’s sleeping unaware, sprawled lengthways along the floor right in front of the entryway. I almost squished him underfoot. Again.
Shaking my head, I go to the kitchen area, my mind on leftovers from the day before, and then sleep. The night shifts are killing me. I open the fridge, reaching my hand up to the top shelf, and blink twice. I close the fridge and turn around to make sure I’m in the right apartment.
My kitchen.
My cat.
The two-day-old pile of dirty dishes, also mine. No, I didn’t walk into the wrong apartment. I open the fridge again, gawk at its contents, and take out the phone from my back pocket to call Pippa.
“Did you drop by my place while I was at work?” I ask.
