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Cole isn’t like that. In fact, I bet I could pop-quiz him on everything I’ve said tonight and he’d probably be able to quote me verbatim. He’s that engaged.
“Good night,” Cole says as he walks me to the ladder-like stairs. It vaguely feels like getting walked to the door after a first date, but that’s wrong. This is nothing like a date. It’s just two people making the best of a difficult situation.
Yep, that’s it. Nothing to see here, nothing inappropriate, nothing weird at all.
“Sleep tight, don’t let the boogieman bite,” I finish suddenly, then explain. “That’s how my Grandma always said it. Not good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite. Said she wasn’t inviting bugs anywhere near her bed so she refused to say it the regular way.” I smile as a memory replays in my mind. “One time, I asked her about inviting the boogieman, which, to me, seemed way worse than bed bugs, but she laughed and said that he was too scared of getting her frying pan upside the head to come around so she’d take her chances.”
His lips twitch up at the corners, and he repeats, “Don’t let the boogieman bite.” I decide to take the win and leave on a high note so he doesn’t change his mind and kill me in my sleep.
I start to climb, wondering if he’s going to stare at my ass as I go up, but a glance behind me shows that he’s already turned away and is striding toward the couch. He’s being gentlemanly again, but I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit that I’m a teeny-tiny bit disappointed.
I shouldn’t be. He’s being respectful, a rare and unexpected trait.
But in a weird way, tonight was... fun. More fun than I’ve had in a long time. Not once did Cole seem annoyed with me or like he was tuning out our conversation, and I enjoyed pushing to see if I could crack his stoic exterior.
Lying in bed, I stare at the lofted ceiling and listen. I hear Cole spread out a blanket and the creaking of the couch as he lies down. He takes a few deep breaths and then his breathing goes steady and even.
Is that it? That’s all it takes for him to go to sleep?
Good for him. In my experience, it takes a quiet head, a clear conscience, and a happy heart to sleep that easily. Or some good medications.
I’m usually a pretty good sleeper too, especially after a long shift. But tonight? With a stranger sleeping below who might hear my snoring and decide to murder me after all just to shut me up? And an entire evening’s worth of conversations to replay in my mind and obsess over?
I think I’ll toss and turn for a while. Probably.
CHAPTER4
COLE
I’mup before the sun, which isn’t unusual for me on assignment. In the darkness, I can hear Janey snoring away, like even in sleep, she can’t be quiet.
There used to be an adage about women having something like ten thousand words a day. Whoever came up with that never met Janey. I think she has ten thousand words per hour. Over dinner, I heard all about her job, her patients, and some guy she works with, Mason, and his facial hair escapades. I heard almost every detail of her daily life.
What I didn’t hear as much about is this boyfriend she says is coming to meet her for a romantic getaway, which is odd. But I didn’t ask questions. Or at least not about that. I didn’t have to. Janey kept a running commentary about everything and nothing.
It was entertaining. It was enjoyable. Those are not things I usually associate with being around other people. People are annoying. They lie, cheat, do things that only serve themselves, and hurt others. I see it every day. Hell, I profit from it.
Janey was different last night. Her litany of verbiage was given with no hint of pretense, no desire for approval or to garner sympathy or throw shade. And for having so many opinions on so many different subjects, most of her commentary was positive, or at least fun to listen to.
I sip my coffee, staring out the back windows of the cabin at the darkness that’ll start to turn gray sooner than later. Every once in a while, I see a green glow flash as some animal walks by, senses my presence, and looks into the dark cabin windows. I’ll give it fifteen more minutes, then I’ve got to get back to my hiding spot. I don’t expect Webster to be up this early, but experience tells me it’s better to get into position for the day before he’s moving around at all. Less chance of being spotted that way.
Up in the loft, Janey makes a snorting sound as she moves around in the bed, causing the mattress to creak slightly. I’m dragging out this cup of rocket fuel, I realize. I’m waiting for her to wake up, curious what Morning Janey is like. Is she as talkative, waking up with words falling off her tongue and a smile on her face? Or cranky and growly, in opposition to her later-hour self?
I won’t find out today because I’ve got to go, which is for the best since I’m a little irritated that I want to know more about the beautiful, mouthy, trusting woman upstairs. Seriously, she let me stay in the house? Has she not seen any of a half-million ‘true crime’ shows?
As a courtesy, I leave the coffee maker on, certain that any respectable nurse will want a caffeine fix first thing, and wash my own mug, leaving it in the dish drainer to dry. Grabbing a small bag of gear for today, mostly water and snacks, I leave out the front door, making sure it locks behind me.
I inhale deeply, expanding my lungs as I stretch my arms overhead, nearly touching the edge of the porch’s sloped roof in the process. I feel pretty good considering yesterday’s stakeout, but another day of being completely still on the hard ground is going to do a number on my back.
Maybe a soak in the hot tub with Janey would help?
I grit my teeth, not sure where that thought came from. Dinner last night was one thing, and being civil is expected, but that’s not what either of us is here for, and she’s got a boyfriend. I’m not the type to get in the middle of others’ relationships, at least not on a personal level. But professionally? Hell yes, which I need to get to.
I take off at a long, loping pace that eats up the ground while preserving my stamina, burning the energy out of my muscles in preparation. It only takes a few minutes for me to make it to my hiding spot, although I take a few extra in order to approach slowly, careful not to make any extra noise as I get into position. Just as the sun begins to turn the monochromatic gray morning woods into an explosion of green, I take out my gear and finish getting set up.
Peering through my binoculars, I can see that Mr. Webster’s cabin is quiet and pitch-black. As I planned, he’s still asleep.
Hours later, I wish he were still dead to the world because watching Mr. Webster is boring as fuck. First, he sat on the couch in his boxers and scratched his balls while he stared at his phone, then he drank a pre-made protein drink for breakfast, and now he’s disappeared into the bathroom for his morning constitutional. He reappears freshly shaven, his hair slicked, and wearing slacks and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
