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Webster opens the door, and the woman smiles stiffly. As she steps inside, there are a solid six inches between the two of them. They’re not comfortable with each other the way lovers should be.
Mrs. Webster is positive her husband has been sleeping with another woman. Her entire concern is documenting that fact. But if time were to stop right now, I’d wager that he’s not sleeping with this woman. At least not yet.
Maybe she’s an escort?
I’ll have to do more research. Click, click, click.
“Oopsie,” a tiny voice hisses behind me.
In a singular swift move, I set the camera down, flip over, and prepare to fight. But all I find is . . . Janey.
She’s wearing black yoga pants, a slim-fitting black shirt, and a black ballcap. Her mass of red curls are gathered into a thick puff of a ponytail on the back of her head below the cap. She winces and waves her fingers.
“Sorry!” she whispers too loudly. “You blend in so well that I didn’t see you. And I was looking hard. You’re good at this hiding thing. Were you a hide-and-seek champion as a kid? I hated that game. I’d hide, and then everyone would stop playing without telling me. I once stayed in a refrigerator box in the garage for three hours thinking I was the best hider ever. But nope—”
“What the fuck are you doing?” I demand as I yank her to the ground beside me.
Her full lips open in surprise, at her sudden change from vertical to horizontal or my tone, I’m not sure which. Maybe both. “I was worried about you. There are bears, you know? Anderson’s ad said so, and that was my first thought when you came into the cabin last night—I thought you were a bear. So, knowing there are bears, I wondered if you had spray. Just in case you didn’t, I brought you some.” She digs in the thigh pocket of her yoga pants and produces a tiny aerosol bottle, which she holds out, presenting it to me like a golden ticket despite the uselessness of the one last night. “I brought several canisters and don’t mind sharing for safety. Though if I’d known you had moves like that, I wouldn’t have worried. You could probably tackle a bear with your bare hands.” She mimics some karate-esque moves that definitely answer the question of whether or not she’s truly a black belt.
She’s not.
But she has got to shut up and be still or my ‘hunting blind’ is going to be blown. And that’ll fuck up this entire job. I put my palm over her mouth and glare, our noses mere inches apart. “Be quiet,” I say through gritted teeth. “And still.”
Her eyes narrow sharply, and she does that dark look thing again that I bet she thinks is intimidating. It’s not, at all. It’s pouty. In fact, it’s bordering on cute, not that I’d tell her that. She’d probably take it as a compliment when I mean it as a warning.
Eventually, she nods behind my hand, so I risk letting her free. Still, I hold one finger up threateningly. Immediately, I turn back to my main priority, picking my camera back up to focus on my targets. I’d rather not do this with Janey here, but it can’t be helped at this point. I need the shots.
Janey’s smart and follows the sightline of my camera easily. “Who’s in the cabin?” she whispers. It sounds like she’s talking out of the side of her mouth, as though attempting to obey my order to be quiet.
Peeking at her for a moment, I find her squinting at the cabin. But she feels my attention, and when she looks at me, she presses her lips into a flat line and locks them with an invisible key, which she throws away into the forest. Straight-faced, I lift my chin to gesture at the binoculars. “Oh!” she exclaims happily, but thankfully, still quietly. She lifts them to her eyes, adjusts the focus, and peers through them.
Shaking my head, I go back to looking through my camera. Click, click, click.
“Are you watching him? Or her? And why?” Her vow of silence lasted less than ninety seconds. Might be a record for her, though. “You promised you weren’t here to kill anyone, but this is pretty sketchy, you gotta admit, and not exactly the photography you made it sound like. I bet there’s not a single shot of a flower or a cute squirrel doing his squirrely things.”
I feel the smile trying to lift my lips and am glad she can’t see how amusing I find her. If she truly thought I was a danger, she’d be running. But she came after me. She’s a good judge of character, at least.
Unless she blindly and stupidly trusts everyone, I think.
