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I don’t think this situation is as simple as that, and she’s clearly naive about what happens in this life. This isn’t a movie where someone learns to shoot over a week and is a crack shot all of a sudden.
As I stand under the hot water, I think about the other reason I didn’t fall asleep straight away. I almost had a heart attack when she called out sleepily for her mother, and then I heard her crying. I didn’t want to open the door in case I woke her.
I wash my hair. I’d always found Ana attractive. I’d always wanted her, but that cry… that cry did things to my heart that I didn’t think were possible. Thousands of tiny needles, all stabbing at the same time. I wanted to hold her and go in and comfort her, but I can’t start something that isn’t allowed.
I’m in enough trouble with the family without falling for my brother-in-law's daughter. If she cries like that again, though, I don’t think I will be able to control myself.
Dry and dressed, I walk into the kitchen and turn on the coffee machine. I take out two cups and set them up on the countertop before I scratch through the cupboard for something to eat.
I’ll have to order something, maybe a toasted breakfast bun from down the road.
I go to my laptop. It’s not traceable, even by my family, who think they know everything about me. First, I order groceries and more supplies. That’s number one off my list. Then I make a fake social media account, using a nifty software a friend gave me to appear on people's friend lists. I don’t need that, but if someone comes across it, it will look like I’ve been here a while. I backdate the profile to a few years ago. Then I pull specialized software to link it to my internet browser and search for all photos where East Harlem is tagged as a location. Thousands come up, and while that search finalizes, I grab my coffee.
I then spend a long time tediously going through the photos. I just need one. My eyes scan each image before I hit the right arrow to go to the next. It takes an hour and a half to find one with Mateo Catalan caught in the background.
I smirk.
I screenshot the photo, crop out the part with Mateo so I have a shot of him, and drag it to the software’s right panel. The picture is grainy when I initially pull it over, but the software clears it to crystal. Then I hit find in East Harlem.
I sit back as the software finds all the photos of Mateo in East Harlem that it can.
I get up to get more coffee, and as I do, I hear the shower going. Anastasia is awake, and I try my best not to picture her wet, naked form.
God.
I cannot fall for her.
Can I?
There’s a knock at the front door, and I touch the gun tucked in the back of my pants. I creep to the door and peek through the peephole. It’s a delivery guy.
Still wary, I open the door. I hand him a tip without speaking and take the parcels from him. Shutting the door, I go to the kitchen and start making breakfast. Leaving a few cans on the counter, I throw on some toast and pack everything else.
Ana comes through with sopping hair, wearing the baggy clothes from the cabin. I chuckle, and she raises an eyebrow. “I want to wash the touristy clothes.”
“I got you some better clothes. They’re on the table.”
She picks them up and smiles. “Thanks. I’ll go change.”
She leaves, and I open up the cans. I empty some fish and preserves into bowls, and I set some margarine on the table. I make a few more slices of toast before she’s back.
I go to the laptop and check the search.
“What are you doing?” I glance over my shoulder at her face right beside me and smile. “I’m searching for pictures with Mateo in East Harlem, so I can generate a timeline to establish a pattern, if there is one.” I look at her. “Make sense?”
“It’s genius,” she breathes, leaning over my shoulder.
My email goes off, and I click on it. It’s Dominic.
Lui.
Need to come home.
Anastasia Volkov is missing, and we need every man to look for her.
Dom.
I look at Anastasia and sigh. “I’m going to have to tell him you’re with me.”
