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1
Torian
One week later
I drum my fingers along the steering wheel of the rental, deliberately keeping my hands busy.
One lapse in concentration and I’ll succumb. I’ll pull over and slide out of this car to approach my favorite special agent on her ritual five-mile jog instead of stalking her from afar.
The temptation of being face-to-face has taunted me for days. But this morning isn’t the right moment to have our reunion.
Not yet.
I need to bide my time and ignore the enticing sweat-slicked exercise gear hugging her body like a second skin.
I thought I’d be immune to her haughty sterility by now. Desensitized. Turns out, she’s had the opposite effect.
I’m itching to play with her. To mess with her head, just like she’s messed with mine.
Every morning, she runs circles around the city streets, each step like fuel to a fucking wet dream. Her cheeks are slicked with wisps of dark, shoulder-length hair, her skin flushed.
She pushes herself to the limit, always slaying the same path, never stopping, not even pausing for breath. She doesn’t smile at people as they pass. There’s no friendly hello or gentle finger wave.
Ms. Fox is the queen of hostility, keeping herself at a distance from any u
Turns out, she doesn’t have a lot of friends. Not that her solo status is a surprise, with her prickly personality. The woman doesn’t just have resting bitch face; it’s more an expression of overly enthusiastic aggression.
There’s minimal family, too.
Her mother is dead, and her ex-FBI father left the scene a while ago, with the suspicion of his crimes probably more familiar to me than they are to his own daughter.
She’s all alone, which makes these secret moments of ours all the more intimate.
It’s just the two of us.
Me and her.
Even though she’s not aware.
The best time to watch her is early morning. At sunrise. When her clothes are flattering and her motivation is high.
She’s far more alluring now than during office hours when she hides her figure behind masculine business suits.
Ninety percent of the time she insists upon dressing like a man. It’s clear she’s overcompensating for the lack of appendage between her thighs. The FBI is a men’s club. Always has been. Probably always will be.
A woman with her lack of physical flaws would struggle to gain respect since she’s a walking, talking turn-on. I think that’s why she never gentles her expression. She’s always harsh: either aggressive with her arrogance or spiteful with her intimidation.
There’s no softness to her. It’s all stiff shoulders and tight features.
But not for too much longer. I’ll weaken her. Soon.
She’s going to regret fucking with me.
I’ll make sure of it. Take pleasure in it.
I just need to ignore the building anticipation urging me to get this show underway, and enjoy the foreplay.
It’s not like I’m stupid enough to think she’s oblivious to the eyes she has on her.
She’s a smart woman. She’s aware her actions have consequences.
Right now is the perfect example. She slows to a walk as she approaches her favorite coffee shop, her gaze trekking the street as she pushes open the glass door.
She’s always searching.
She never finds what she’s looking for.
I use a different car each day. Sometimes I’m on foot. Today, though, I pull to the curb at the end of her block and focus inside the cafe, watching as she takes her headphones out to place them in her pocket.
She knows someone is close. How couldn’t she?
The list of criminals she’s fucked over is a mile long, and I’m at the top of her list. This pretty little thing would be well aware of my history of retaliation. My reputation speaks for itself.
But is she aware I haven’t outsourced the surveillance to my men?
Not entirely, anyway.
It isn’t Hunter who witnesses the dimming of her apartment light every night. Luca and Decker don’t trail her through her morning routine.
I do.
The last week of predatory stalking has become a favored pastime. A sport. I’ve grown to appreciate the shared parts of our lives.
It’s even got to the point where my pulse spikes whenever I lay eyes on her. The dose of anticipation increases every damn day.
It’s a fucking drug.
I live for it.
Crave it.
I’m impatient, waiting for the moment when I get to wipe her smug smile from my memory. The one she etched into my mind at my uncle’s funeral. I’ll replace the expression with something beautiful. Something full of fear and panic.
The shock of parted lips.
The horror of wide, shimmering eyes.
She needs to learn the dynamic here in Portland. I want to show her who holds the power. I plan to teach her that lesson over and over until her soul is crushed with the weight of her mistakes.
The Feds can’t threaten me.
They have no control here. Not over my family.
They may provide a temporary inconvenience. But that’s all it is. An a
“You’re mine, Ms. Fox.”
I continue with the tap, tap, tap of my fingers, the beat growing faster to match my pulse. My fun for the day is going to end soon. I can feel the seconds ticking down.
When my cell rings from the passenger seat, I glare through the a
I already know who’s responsible for the intrusion. Hunter. It always is at this time of morning.
I snatch the device and co
“Are you ready for me to take over?”
I withhold my instinctive response.
I could spend all day staring at this woman, daydreaming about the moment I get to speak to her again. The threats I’ll promise. The taunts I’ll make. But exposing my obsession is a weak move. I need to remain focused.
My father is still in custody. And Keira is a constant thorn in my side, her lack of faith in me growing every day.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Soon. Where are you?”
“In a rental on the other side of the street. A woman in red is just about to walk by me.”
I drag my focus from the café to the sidewalk, finding the lady in red, then Hunt behind the wheel of a beat-up blue minivan.
“Nice wheels.”
“Thanks,” he grates. “I’m switching it up to stay off the radar.”
“Where’s your babysitter?” I return my attention to the shopfront and ignore the way my chest tightens when my gaze locks onto my target.
Hunt knows I’m referring to his fiancée. What I hope he doesn’t realize is my attempt to waste time as I steal a few more precious moments with my prey.
“Sarah decided to bow out of the surveillance gig for a few days. There’s not enough action to keep her happy.”
“Interesting.” I watch as my mark smiles at the barista, grabs her coffee, and hustles from the cafe. There’s no bagel this morning. Or maybe she buys a croissant. I never know what she carries in her paper bag. “You better make sure you’ve got Sarah on a tight leash. If she starts whispering in Keira’s ear I’ll—”
“She’s not doing a damn thing to Keira. I’ve got her under control.”
“About time.”
“Speaking of time. Have you heard any news on your father’s court appearance? Do we have a date?”
Anissa approaches the street and looks both ways. Like always, I stiffen, wondering, waiting to see if she’ll find me sitting here.