Just like Dad would want.
When I’m standing directly next to my car, I look around but don’t see anyone at all.
The breath I didn’t realize I’ve been holding comes out in a burst from my mouth the moment the door is closed and I’m turning the ignition on and locking the doors.
It’s like I know what I’m about to do isn’t right, so I’m becoming paranoid.
Pulling the car out of the spot, I head toward the FDR Drive, and before long, I’m on my way to Reddington.
My overactive imagination is still playing tricks on me because I swear I see a car in my rearview mirror following me.
But that’s ridiculous. It’s probably not following me.
Just because it’s been two cars back since the city . . .
Trust your gut. You are rarely wrong.
Before I can think better of it, I switch lanes and then switch again. I’m not usually a reckless driver, but I need to make sure they aren’t following me.
Glancing back into the mirror, I notice they are no longer behind me.
I let out the breath.
Paranoia is a bitch.
An hour later, I’m pulling up to the small house I grew up in. It’s only been one week since I’ve been here, but today, it appears more run-down than normal in the afternoon light.
It’s never looked this bad before. The shingles are falling off now, and the paint is chipping on the house’s siding. It used to be white, but now it almost looks yellow.
The last time I was here, I didn’t notice how bad it was. But today, with the sun shining in the right locations, I can see that Dad isn’t keeping up with any of the house’s maintenance.
I wish he would let me help him. It’s not just in need of a paint job. It also needs a landscaper to come and clean up the weeds growing through the broken concrete leading up to the front door.
I’ll talk with him about it the next time I come to visit him, but seeing as I’m not here right now . . . It will have to wait.
I fish out my keys from my bag, looking around my shoulder to make sure no one is out watching me, and then I’m walking up the two steps to open the door.
He doesn’t have an alarm. That’s not smart for a retired detective, but this is a small town. I bet he thinks no one would dare break in.
Wrong bet, Dad.
The moment I step inside the foyer, I’m relieved. He’s not here and won’t be for some time. I don’t have time to dally, so I head straight for the office.
When I’m inside, it’s just as messy as it was the last time, so I won’t be able to lift the file. I’ll just scan with my phone and print them out later. I’ll take pictures of the sticky notes, too. Once I’m home, I can sort it out, but for now, I need to be as quick as possible.
Biting my lip, I begin the process of copying. I start with the first piece of paper I see and take a picture. Then, once it loads, I move to the second paper in the file. My stomach churns with anxiety as I glance around. There are a lot of files filled with papers.
God, I hope he doesn’t come home early and catch me in the act.
My heart pounds in my chest. No. He won’t. It will be okay. He has lunch and then a doctor’s appointment. A checkup, he said. He says it’s nothing, but something is off. It was his voice.
Stop.
Jeez, Skye. You don’t have time to micromanage your dad’s voice right now.
Pushing all thoughts but copy out of my mind, I go back to the task at hand. Scouring over all his belongings.
The sounds in the house have me on edge.
The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room ominously reminds me time is of the essence.
Ticktock.
Ticktock.
My pulse thuds harder with each passing second. There are too many papers.
It’s only when my fingers curl around the last document and place it back where it belongs do I let out a deep exhale.
Done.
But that’s when I notice something . . .
The trash bin.
It’s also filled with paper. Grabbing the bin, I take all the contents out. Most are just junk, but one has me stopping.
A bill? Lifting it up, I take a closer look. It looks like it’s from an insurance company.
What type of insurance? Car? Or is it from a doctor? And if it’s from a doctor, why is he going again for a checkup? And a better question is why would he have a bill from the doctor already?
He said it was his yearly.
I grab the bill, scan it, and then put everything back in the bin.
Once everything is put in place, I move to leave, heading down the foyer and then stepping out of the door. As I do, I notice a car drive by the house. It looks like the one from the highway.
But that’s ridiculous . . . right?
5
Tobias
“Where are you, Tobias?” Gideon’s voice rings through the Bluetooth. No doubt pissed that I haven’t answered his last three calls.
“That’s not your concern.” I scoff.
I don’t answer to him. If I want to take a joyride around the city, then I’ll do so without my designated fucking nanny.
Pulling my car from its parking space, I hit the accelerator, following the intel a member of my security team just sent me. She’s on the move. If I head up Third Avenue, I should be able to follow.
“Tobias—” He groans, and I know a security lecture is about to ensue.
“Don’t Tobias me. I’m the fucking boss, Gideon. Don’t forget that,” I cut him off.
Swerving in and out of traffic, I keep my eyes peeled for her car. When the black beat-up Jeep wrangler comes into focus, I know I have her in my sights.
“That may be the case, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t have a meeting fifteen minutes ago that you didn’t show up for.”
“Fuck!”
“Ah, your favorite word and activity. Not so smug now, are you?”
“Yeah, fuck is right.”
I had a meeting with Cyrus Reed, my banker. He might be my friend, but when it comes to business, he doesn’t care who you are. He’s notoriously allergic to shit.
“Was Cyrus pissed?” Of course, he was. The man has no sense of humor. Not that I’m one to talk.
“Dude, it’s Cyrus. The man is furious. He nearly tore your office to shreds.”
“I had a personal matter to attend to.” Personal being I’m officially a stalker, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“And that would be?”
I’m not surprised by his question. If the roles were reversed, I’d ask the same one, but still . . . “None of your fucking business.”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Felix’s attorney, would it?” No one knows me like Gideon.
“Fuck off,” I respond, and I know I stepped into it this time. Gideon will call me out in three . . . two . . . one . . .
“Ah, yes. She was a fine one.” He chuckles.
“I said fuck off. I’ll apologize to Cyrus later. Send him a bottle of Luis Tres . . . that should hold him over.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
I hang up the phone, done talking about Cyrus and his hotheaded bullshit. I don’t want anything to distract me as I continue my pursuit. I hardly notice my surroundings, an effect of having traveled this area too many times. Out of the city. Over the bridge. Onto the highway. Same shit, different day.