Page 8 of Mike

She just couldn’t. And that kinda sucked eggs because Joe really, really, really wanted to see what Mike looked like fully naked.

She sighed. Too bad, so sad.

Resolutely placing her eye-enhancers back into her pack, she shouldered it and scampered down the ladder. Another minute, and she found herself at the tree she’d pinpointed across the yard as the best place to anchor her second camera. Removing her binoculars, as well as tucking the device she needed to mount into the waistband of her pants, Joe once more put the glasses to her eyes and carefully examined the windows on this side of the house.

There was a large living room in the front with a stone fireplace, and next to it, a cozy den that looked like it had floor to ceiling shelves full of…

Huh. Mike was a collector? Holy spit! It looked like he had war artifacts out the wazoo; medals, knives, guns. How cool was that? Kindred spirits, kinda. Joe had a few antique weapons of her own at home. But hers were more in the line of incendiary devices; fire arrows, fire bombs, one-man flame throwers, and ancient hand grenades. Those who knew of her collection thought she was out of her mind amassing such an odd cache, but Joe had an inkling that Mike wouldn’t find it odd, at all. And didn’t that thrill her almost as much as his near-pants-drop.

Quickly putting all appropriate and inappropriate thoughts aside to examine at another, more convenient time, Joe turned her lenses up and checked the windows of the second floor, finding no activity at all. The bedrooms on this side of the house clearly belonged to Mike’s children, and were currently unoccupied. Which meant they probably weren’t home.

That was good. She could finish her task and be on her way while Mike let water cascade over every inch of his lickable…

Okay. That was enough.

Joe focused. Looked up at the tree. Gave a running leap and caught a bottom branch, using it to hoist herself up into the foliage.

This was a mission, she reminded herself, not a dating expedition.

CHAPTER FOUR

Call him crazy, but Mike had a feeling he was being watched. For days now, the back of his neck had prickled at odd moments, but search as he might, he hadn’t been able to find any reason for his uneasiness. And now it was happening again. At the grocery store, of all places. He’d just ended his last BPD shift before the big SWAT outing, and had needed to make some food purchases, so here he was.

He opened a glass freezer door, ostensibly to get ice cream, but took a hot second to study the reflection in the unopened glass next to him. Several women stood behind him with carts. A guy with his arms full of snack food, and a clerk stocking frozen fruit were also within his line of sight.

Mike grunted. There was nothing suspicious about any of them. Nothing that should have him rattled, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he was under surveillance.

Picking up the first container to hit his fingers, Mike threw his choice in the cart, then glanced down and barked a laugh. Yeah…no. He’d picked up a goat cheese iced confection with red cherry swirls. That wasn’t going to hit it. His kids would make all kinds of retching noises if he brought that into the house, and he wouldn’t blame them. Mike reached into his cart to lift it out, and swore he heard a snorting sound somewhere in the aisle.

He lifted his eyes, and…the few people still milling around looked to be minding their own business.

Okay. This was ridiculous. He wasn’t dreaming this up. Someone was having fun with him, and he needed to find out who, and why. He put the goat-shit back on its shelf, grabbed some real mint chocolate chip, then whipped around, and…

Nothing.

Except for the store employee, the area around him was now empty.

Goddammit. Mike knew he wasn’t bonkers. He definitely had a stalker. He just needed to be sly in order to catch them in the act. In the meantime, he’d be vigilant in case they posed a threat.

He had a number of enemies, starting with a slew of criminals he’d helped apprehend and incarcerate when he lived near Boston, and ending with a number of perps in Bangor and the surrounding area whom he’d had a hand in arresting while on duty with both his BPD job, and his SWAT team.

Mike shook off his trepidation, attempting to bring his mind back to his task at hand, which was filling his cupboards and fridge with food that the kids would like while he was away for the upcoming weekend, and purchasing everything he’d want to eat while he bivouacked.

Taking stock, he put a mental checkmark next to the items he’d already picked up for lunch and breakfast; peanut butter, bread, power bars, cereal, and eggs. He didn’t have to go beyond supplying himself for those meals because Everlee, Mason’s wife was planning to lay in a spread for their one dinner as a group on Saturday night. She was an awesome cook, even using camp stoves, and firepits. Mike anticipated she’d be feeding them something amazing.

The command bus would be packed with beverages, milk, and water, so he didn’t have to worry about what to drink, either, or what he’d put on his cereal. But his sweet tooth and his salty tooth were both calling out to him, so…

Reaching the snacks aisle, he picked up two large bags of potato chips and one container of his favorite cheese curls. When he turned to peruse the shelves opposite, he sensed movement to his left. Was it his follower? Using his cap brim as camouflage, he looked up from underneath. It appeared that one of the women who’d been in the freezer section was now poking through the snacks. She was of indeterminate age, and was…unremarkable. At least from what he could see without giving himself away.

Wearing big-ass sneakers that looked floppy on her feet, and overly large sweat pants that had seen better days, there was nothing about the woman that stood out as dangerous. His eyes traveled higher—while still pretending to look at junk food—and he noted an extra-large Red Riots’ T-shirt. He grunted. That meant she was most likely a local because the Riots were what Orono High’s teams were called.

Just as his gaze wandered upward to her chest, the woman abruptly turned and tromped away in her clown shoes. Mike narrowed his eyes. A large brimmed hat covered all her hair, so he couldn’t determine color, but there was something about the way she carried herself…

No. He had to be mistaken. He didn’t know her. He wasn’t familiar with anyone who looked remotely like this lady. But if she were the person who’d been following him, he’d now taken note of her particulars. Which meant from this point on, no matter how she dressed, if she showed up in his periphery, he’d know it.

Grabbing an additional bag, this time pretzels, Mike headed for the candy display. His choice was a no-brainer. He dropped a couple bags of dum-dums into his cache, all the while knowing he’d get shit from his team. He had a thing for the suckers—especially the root beer flavor—and all the guys knew it. Which meant he’d have to protect his stash, because the troops loved to mess with him. They’d been known to completely decimate his stockpile while his back was turned.

Mike pondered, then grinned. He’d pick out his favorites, then hide them in his cereal box. Yeah. That would do it. None of his squad would go near the plain-ass shredded wheat he preferred. They teased him that it tasted like cardboard.

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