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But for him to be targeting a civilian along with it? It just didn't make sense. And what the hell was Cole doing with him? Was Omar holding him hostage for all these years? The numbers refused to add up.
"I could see him planning to mess up someone like Montgomery," Thunder said, his eyes suddenly dreamy.
So could I. Hunter and his dad had the kind of connections that could get them in deep trouble if they got too nosy or cocky. But Harold was already a goner.
Did that mean something was going on with his son?
I rubbed my eyes and let out a frustrated groan. "Ugh, this is why whodunits suck times. Look where we began, and look where we are."
The room descended into silence, which was quickly crushed with my phone buzzing. I almost jumped, uncharacteristically spooked out.
It was Ramsay.
"Hey, Skipper." His voice rang out. "So, the guy you asked me to trace, he's—well, shady as fuck."
No shit, Sherlock.
28
Hunter
Months Ago
The girl sittingacross the table fascinated me. She had something distinct about her.
As someone who'd spent the better part of his life spotting targets, I knew vulnerabilities like the back of my hand.
Shesmelleda certain way. Like she was young, innocent, and entirely unaware of what life could do to her.
The mere prospect of it excited me. I hadn't played a good game in almost four months.
My last target had proved utterly boring—she'd done the whole works, tears and all. That shit was formulaic and boring. It didn't inspire genius.
No, I wanted someone who could actually challenge what I was about to do, who could stand in front of me and counter every move.
Of course, you could wonder why the hell I was looking for that kind of a target in a library. I'd do better in a bar or a shopping mall, or even a movie hall, perhaps?
You'd be mistaken.
Libraries were a haven for girls to swoon over fictional scumbags who masqueraded their wickedness with a veneer of eloquent words.
It fascinated me to see how easily they were charmed by literary depictions and how far they'd go to view these men as "ideal."
The last romance I'd read was all about a billionaire who got away with just about anything because his lady-love kept swooning over his "passionate eyes" and "glorious muscles".
The mere idea of it happening in real life made me chuckle.
Now, Juniper didn't strike me as the type who'd choose that kind of a man. For one, she had her nose buried inThe Silmarillion.
Even I couldn't get through that shit. And I prided myself on being a fan of the classics.
In fact, I wasn't even interested in her romantically.
Relationships were pretty burdensome, and I preferred preying on women with what I called the "best friend bait".
In other words, I'd make her believe there was no one else in this world who'dseeandloveher the way I did and that I'd always have her back, no matter what.
You'd be surprised at how easily women fall for that shit. Juniper wasn't an exception to this rule. The girl wore her heart on her sleeve, and if I had any feelings, I'd think twice about conning her.
