My daughter—Alace paused there for a long moment, the racing beat of her heart loud in her ears, drowning out the musical white noise she’d been listening to—loves the bath.
His cursor moved down faster this time, skipping past her two new lines and planting itself solidly on the next.
I didn’t know you had a daughter. What’s her name? How old is she?
I did this to myself, she thought, wondering at the tiny pulse of excitement that came with talking about the newest love in her life.
Lila, she’s almost six weeks old. Lila Sue.
A bloom of warmth in her chest coincided with typing out her daughter’s name, a reaction Alace catalogued for later consideration.
Congratulations, Alace. Babies are the biggest blessing in our lives. I hope you both are doing well. Lila Sue is a great name, very lyrical.
His response was immediate and validating in a way she didn’t know she needed. Lyrical? Was August into reading, or maybe writing—like her alter ego?
Thank you. I think she’s pretty special. I’m sure you feel the same about your daughter.
Alace searched her mind for his daughter’s name. She knew it was in his portfolio, but not having it on the tip of her tongue felt like a failure somehow.
For sure, Addison is my heart. Congratulations again, Alace. Addison, right. His typing stopped, but the cursor advanced a space, then withdrew, as if he’d begun typing something else and then backspaced before continuing. It advanced again. I’d be honored if I could give my best wishes in person while in Colo.
She understood his hesitancy. They’d met once, as she’d done with all her recruits, in a place and time of her choosing. She’d trusted him immediately, something about his personality matching his physical form, solid and sturdy.
I’d like that. We’ll set a time. Keep me updated on your location. I should have more info soon about when we move on Ashworth. Might be worth a run by tonight, just to scope the neighborhood.
Just like that, they were back on the information about the gig, and Alace breathed deep, pushing out tension on her exhale. I can do this. She’d never be able to tell Owen he was right, though. He’d never let her hear the end of it.
Sounds good. I can do that. See you soon.
Alace exited the document without responding, disconnecting from that server and returning to the other remote session.
She opened the second piece of information the researcher had sent to Owen and skimmed through, freezing about halfway down the document.
The man’s face was familiar, immediately recognizable as the mark Owen had eliminated on the East Coast. He was shown in four entries, all kids. Three of them were boys, no older than Kelly, their faces wrecked with maltreatment they’d suffered layered on top of emotional and physical overload. The fourth was a little girl she’d already come to love.
I guess I know what tweaked Owen now.
Chapter Ten
Owen
Hands steady, Owen teased at the tumblers with his pick, the steel rod passing tiny vibrations through to his fingers until he knew he could feel all the pins lined up correctly. With a quick twist, he opened the now-unlocked door and stepped soundlessly inside.
His prep had been hurried and rudimentary, not something he would ever have allowed another operative to settle for, but it was only his ass on the line, and he was covered. Enough. Barely.
The layout of the structure had been easily memorized. Accounting for the smaller blueprint footprint, as with the house Owen shared with Doc, the entire living space was on the main floor, with a medium-sized basement as a sub-floor. Kitchen and dining room butted up against the living room, with the bedrooms branching off a short hallway that led to and from the door through which Owen had come. The bathroom and laundry area were spaced out along the hallway too, along with a small closet.
There had been no construction permits issued indicating changes to the house since Kuellen had purchased it, and the few things Owen had taken the time to check didn’t lead him to any different conclusions. Other than the excessive electricity load and the business-worthy size of the Internet connection, it was just another small house in a tidy subdivision, perched on a corner of intersecting streets. Nothing that stood out against his neighbors.
It could be anyone who lived there.
Evil didn’t usually have a calling card.
Owen closed the door behind him, still pausing at the entryway. He listened, but other than a noisy fan on the refrigerator, there were no sounds in the house. If he didn’t know the man was home, he’d be questioning his own intelligence gathering skills.
Carefully treading close to the walls, he made his way up the hallway, pausing only for a moment in front of the open bedroom door. Light seeped in around the blinds, not much, but enough to show the empty bed, covers tidily straightened. With the entire house darkened, he knew if Kuellen wasn’t in bed, the man had to be downstairs. In his porn pen. He scowled as he checked the rest of the house, finding it as empty as he’d expected.
If Kuellen was downstairs, Owen was effectively blind. He’d strapped on the subvocal microphone setup he and Alace had used in the past, more out of habit than any wild expectation that she’d dial in. He cursed at himself. If he wasn’t running a cowboy operation, he’d have ample resources at his beck and call.
Suck it up, buttercup.
He crouched in front of the basement door, studying the surface. Knee to the floor, he focused on the hardware, hinges, the space between the door and the floor, the frame—everything he could see, he cataloged. What he found was startling.
The interior door didn’t have an evident lock, the paint was chipped along the edge near the doorknob, and it fit badly in the space.
Cheek to the freshly waxed floor, he looked underneath.
“Bingo.” His whisper scarcely stirred the air.
Behind the shoddy door was a metal surface, fitting flush against the floor.
Clearly the lack of permits for construction were a red-herring void, because no way was this security door part of the original construction.
Owen gripped the doorknob as he stood, unsurprised when it turned easily in his hand. The door revealed behind was steel and fit into the opening firmly. The edges overlapped the casing and would thwart any attempts to pry it open. The lock was electronic, a digital keypad set flush into the door, making it harder to review the wiring before accessing. He pulled an electronic sensor from the front pocket of his backpack strap, using a smooth movement to run it along the frame and edges of the door. He got a hit near where he’d expect the hinges to be, and the load wasn’t excessive enough to be anything other than the connection for the keyboard.
Walking through the house, he’d looked for and failed to find any cameras. Sensor in hand, he walked back through the house and verified what he already knew. Apart from a rudimentary system tied to the outside doors, there was no surveillance inside the house.
How weird would it be if a guy who made his money from pornography was afraid of security cameras?
I’ve seen weirder.
***
Alace
The green bar on her screen was both infuriating and a relief at once.
It indicated the mic setup she and Owen used so often was currently active.
The red dot to the side, however, was the bastard’s phone. Powered down.
The mic needed a connection to work, such as a locally available Wi-Fi or a pairing with a phone to utilize data. The mic and headset alone were useless and had no location tracking available. The system could be on standby in his go-bag for all she knew, the long-lived batteries keeping that ghost signal alive. If that was the case, she could scream into the system from her side, and he’d never hear a thing.