I zoomed the lens in on the bay windows of the brownstone to find her chatting on the phone, a freshly brewed cup of tea on the table.
“Probably him,” I grunted, making a note to check her cell records to confirm who she was talking to.
She twirled her dark hair between her fingers as she spoke, then took slow sips from her mug when she listened. She was adorable in all the typical girl-next-door ways with dark hair, expressive eyes, and unmarred creamy skin.
I had a thing for the sweet ones. All too many times they found themselves in the crosshairs.
Funny how a girl can get snowed in love so easily. There she was chatting away, thinking herself perfectly safe in his arms, and here he was the devil incarnate, putting her in harm’s way without her cute little upturned cheeks even knowing it. She was just one in a line of his victims.
She hung up the phone a moment later and sat at the table, a soft frown on her face. Apparently love wasn’t all roses in paradise this morning. Erin climbed all three stories of the red-bricked building where I knew she’d be headed for her morning shower in the en suite master, followed by another cup of tea before she’d settle into the small corner office and sit behind her computer, working diligently all afternoon.
This was her daily routine. I’d already had it established from the first day I’d set to surveil the million-dollar home at 733 Colfax. I sighed and turned away, slipping the key into the ignition until I saw her dart back up the stairs. I frowned as she rummaged through her walk-in and then watched the beautiful Erin Warner walk down the front steps ten minutes later.
Apparently she was forgoing routine today.
With a leather brief on one shoulder and too-high heels that looked hellaciously uncomfortable, she slid into her BMW and pulled out of the driveway, hitting the curb before she went speeding down the street.
Just what in the hell was she up to now?
I found myself more intrigued with her than I’d been with any other target. I hadn’t specifically been tasked with following her, but she was so knee-deep in shit and she didn’t even know it, she needed someone to watch her.
I sped off after her, following a few car-lengths behind as she whipped her way through crowded streets towards the financial district. She pulled into a tight space and gathered her way-too-fucking-big bag, stumbling out onto the sidewalk.
My grin lifted when a dangerous thought flitted through my mind. She was off limits, but where was the fun in setting limits?
