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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.
Clearly, his mistress is coming. He wouldn’t be dressed like that otherwise. I trade out my binoculars for the camera and take a few shots to document the time and Webster’s appearance. A short thirty minutes later, a car pulls up.
Yep, it’s showtime.
A woman gets out, heads for the door, and while she waits for Webster to answer, she scans the woods around the cabin. I have zero concern that she’ll spot me. I’m a pro and have never been made on a stakeout, not once, so I keep on clicking, shot after shot. Besides, though she’s looking into the forest, she doesn’t seem to be truly focusing on anything. She’s just occupying her eyes while she waits.
She’s tall, slim, with blonde, choppy hair that flips out over her shoulders, and with the zoom, I can see that she has deep blue eyes. She reminds me vaguely of my twin sister, Kayla, except this woman is wearing combat boots, shredded wide-legged jeans, and a hot pink tank top that shows her midriff. Her overall vibe is a bit Y2K, whereas my sister would only dress like that for a costume party. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I saw Kayla in anything other than heels and business chic.
