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Chapter 1
Dev
Winter wasn’t veryconducive to stalking. My boot prints in the snow made it harder for me to cover my tracks, and my breath fogging in the cold air gave away my position. More layers obscured identifying features, making it difficult to track your mark when everyone in the city wore the same oversized coats in neutral colors.
I made sure to keep my eyes on my target, picking her out among the black-jacketed crowd. More specifically, the ever-present ponytail swaying over the back of her jacket, the red - or as one of my best friends, Wren, would call it, auburn - hair a contrast against her dark winter coat.
But her distinctive red hair wasn’t the only thing allowing me to keep up with her. After three months of this, I knew every distinctive feature of my target’s body. Or at least, the parts of her I could see despite the thick layers she piled on. The girl clearly hated cold weather, bundling herself in a giant jacket, a scarf, and gloves. Despite the layers, I knew her from head to toe.
I knew the exact shade of her hair, the freckles that sprayed over her nose, the gold ring she always wore on her right ring finger. I knew the slim cut of her waist, the small curves usually hidden by the bulky sweaters she preferred to wear. Hell, I knewher shoe size - eight - thanks to the creepy and useful cyber-surveillance my best friend and coworker, Alex, was such a pro at.
This was our job, after all. Sure, Alex, Bex, and I ran a successful cybersecurity business that many small - and large - businesses in the area used for simple security: alarm systems, cameras, motion sensors. But we spent the better part of our days operating in what Alex liked to call a gray (read: illegal) area. Selling our skills to local, shadowy figures who needed some (illegal) hacking, (illegal) surveillance, and (illegal) security.
That was how I’d ended up stalking the redhead over the last three months. I’d watched as her clothes transitioned from thin, shapeless sweaters to thick, bulky - also shapeless - sweaters. As her hair grew a couple inches, from her shoulder blades to the middle of her back. As her freckles paled along with her skin when the days shortened. I could barely see them now, and I wondered how close I’d have to get to find them again.
And I watched as she attempted to duck the men following her.
I eyed her tactics, familiar to me not only because I’d seen her do them before, but because they seemed professional. The types of maneuvers I’d employ to drop a tail. She’d gradually speed up her steps. Not enough to be noticeable, or to make it look like she was rushing, but enough to gain some additional distance between herself and the two men following her. She’d find a group of people and squeeze around them, putting an obstacle between her and the men. Then she’d run, turning down streets and alleys until she was out of sight.
I quickened my pace along with her, lengthening my strides until I was only a few feet away, sticking to the outer edge of the sidewalk so no one noticed how closely I followed behind her. I walked close enough that she could see me if she looked, but Iexcelled at blending in. She hadn’t noticed me in the months I’d spent following her, despite the fact that I was over six feet tall. Not to mention devastatingly handsome.
I knew her target before she did, spotting the large family gathering around a row of local restaurants, trying to decide where to stop for breakfast. Passing her, I inched around the family and slowed my steps until she almost caught up with me. I only had to wait a few moments before she sprinted past me. My feet weren’t far behind, my steps light enough that she wouldn’t hear me on her tail.
It helped that I always wore exercise gear - joggers, sweatshirts, running shoes - allowing me to look like an early morning jogger rather than a creep as I followed close on her heels. To any passersby, we might’ve been a couple running together, and I ignored the warmth that spread through my chest at the errant thought.
It also helped that she never looked behind her as she ran, knowing as soon as she started her sprint, she had won. The two men had no chance of catching up to her. Tous. Just as I’d watched her change with the seasons, I’d watched her bodyguards, tucking my chin over my shoulder to take them in. The one on the left was new, meaning he wasn’t well-versed in his charge’s escape attempts. He glanced around, bewildered, as she started running, as if looking for someone else to chase her down. I made a mental note to have Alex do a full background on the kid, just to be sure he wasn’t a threat to the redhead running away from him.
John - the other, older bodyguard - had been around since I started tailing her. He was a solid guy, with no red flags in any of the information Alex had pulled on him. John was also good at his job. Not as good as me, but impressive enough that I felt comfortable occasionally taking breaks from my surveillance.
But Christmas had made him sloppy, the way it made most people sloppy.
Around the holidays, people were busy thinking about which extended family member they hoped came down with the flu, what presents to buy for their kids, if they had enough eggnog at home to go with Santa’s cookies. And after the holiday season was over, they were all exhausted, worn out from spending late nights wrapping gifts and going caroling. Moving more slowly because of days of non-stop eating, weighed down by ham, cookies, and hot cocoa.
Hell,Iwas exhausted, and I had barely taken part in half of the holiday festivities my friends planned over the last month. This had been my first year truly experiencing everything the holiday had to offer. My Indian parents never found much interest in celebrating the holiday, even secularly. And in past years, when it was just Alex and me, both of us were unmotivated to do anything beyond throwing a couple of presents beneath an under-decorated tree.
But this year, our holiday itinerary had exploded. Finding presents for my circle of friends - which had quadrupled in the last six months as we brought in Ames, Bex, and Wren - was tough enough. Finding time for the cookie making, the movie marathons, the homemade hot chocolate, the tacky light tours, cutting down a giant Christmas tree, decorating said Christmas tree, and preparing the multi-course dinner was impossible.
I had to skip a few of the activities to monitor the track star still running a few yards in front of me, and I still dragged my feet every morning when I woke up. Holidays were exhausting.
So I couldn’t truly blame the older bodyguard. John had clearly had a rough couple of weeks. Just a quick glance told me everything I needed to know, all his weaknesses on display: the dark circles under his eyes, his sharp tone with the (inept) trainee, the fresh notch added to his belt to account for the post-holiday weight gain, the giant sigh he heaved as his charge made a run for it. Considering they were carrying her groceries, her escape felt like a cheap shot, but I was stalking the girl, so I couldn’t judge too much.
I gave her credit: she knew how to drop a tail. If the tails she kept dropping weren’t the bodyguards assigned to keep her safe, I might have been more impressed. And if it weren’t the fourth time this month that she’d evaded them, seemingly just for the hell of it.
The first time she’d lost her bodyguards, I’d gotten worried, thinking someone was forcing her to lose her security to meet them somewhere. But she hadn’t seemed concerned, just strolling down the side streets alone. Then I’d wondered if she was trying to buy drugs, meet a secret boyfriend, or sell some kind of secrets related to her family’s business - obviously, I’d spent too much time surveilling terrible people. But she’d just walked alone, head tipped back as she blew puffs of air out of her mouth, watching as they condensed into a visible cloud above her head.
She’d done that for a few minutes until her security caught back up with her. Then they’d all just continued on, John reprimanding her while she held a small smile on her face.
John’s constant exasperation clearly hadn’t slowed her down, her ponytail bobbing as I followed along behind her. She ducked down a familiar back alley, which I knew from experience cut over to the street near her apartment. It was one of the few shortcuts her bodyguards hadn’t been able to track, usually having to take the long way around on the surface streets to find her. With the grocery bags weighing them down, they wouldn’t be catching up for at least a few minutes, giving her plenty of time to engage in her short stint of rebellion.
I kept my distance as she made her way toward the end of the alleyway. Allowing her to jog the length of the long alleyalways made me itch with nerves, but I was aware of how conspicuous I’d be following her down the narrow, abandoned path. Her safety was my priority, but keeping her safe would be impossible if she recognized me, taking away the low profile that had allowed me such close monitoring over the past few months.
As she turned the corner at the end of the alley, I prepared to pick up my pace to close the distance between us, only to stop in my tracks as I saw her familiar red ponytail appear back around the corner. The rest of her followed shortly after as she backed into the alley.
It didn’t take long for me to realize what was happening. My short stint in the military - followed by my years working both legal and illegal security and surveillance jobs - allowed me to make split-second decisions, reading situations and responding to them instantly.
Which meant by the time I processed the situation in front of me, taking in the man forcing my target back into the alleyway, I was already running.
I’d been waiting three months for someone to make a move against the willowy redhead. All the details we’d been able to gather had been vague, which was why I’d been stalking the poor girl for months. We’d had a couple of minuscule breakthroughs, most recently receiving some intel around Thanksgiving that indicated a planned hit for just after Christmas. But Christmas had come and gone two weeks ago, and my confidence in our intel had been slowly waning.
