Page 6 of White Wings of Desire

"Why are you following me?" I yell, my voice trembling.

"Holy–I-I’m not following you," the man stammers as he tries to find the words. Startled, he raises his trembling hands in a defensive gesture. The man's eyes dart around in confusion and panic, as if searching for a way out, his eyebrows furrowed, forming deep lines of worry.

When I look at him, I know he’s not the man I saw while in the restaurant, but there is a chance that he is an accomplice of the killer.

"You’re going the same way as me! You are following me!" I raise my voice even higher with the goal of attracting attention, and it works. Passers-by have stopped and are watching the exchange between the man and me with great interest.

"I promise I didn’t follow you!" the man pleads. His face is wrinkled with deep lines of shame and confusion. No killer would be able to pull off such an embarrassing act. Their pride is far too important to them. "I was listening to music and wasn't looking where I was going! I must have done it subconsciously!" He continues, his voice betraying him as it quivers, his eyes glossy and filled with genuine fear.

My whole body is shaking. I don't want to believe him. I want him to be the asshole. But he's not, no matter how much I wish he was the bastard, just to put an end to all of it. He is just a poor, pitiful guy who got caught up in it. I shove him back with force and cause him to trip. "Never do that again," I warn him. "Next time, someone might call the cops!" I take a deep breath and place my hand on my chest in a reassuring gesture to calm my raging heartbeat.

"I'm really sorry!" the man pleads.

"Just go and never follow me or any other woman again!" I yell at him, and he does as I say. He jogs off with quick steps. I huff a frustrated breath and push my bangs out of my face. I have to go home and relax; I'm done with today.

Sitting on the edge of my bathtub, wrapped in nothing but my cozy bathrobe, I turn on the faucet and let the warm water fill the white tub. I'm at my breaking point. What happened today has most definitely proven that to me. I attacked an innocent man who was simply distracted and subconsciously ran after me. He didn't mean to hurt me. It was a simple and foolish mistake he made. I am really going insane. It's been two long weeks since the first attempt, and all he's done is watch me from a distance, with no signs, no hints of his next attempt. He must be getting a kick out of watching me slowly crack under the pressure. I wonder if it turns him on, if he gets off playing these sick games with me. Is this the reason he is taking his time?

All I need is a good night's sleep. I've been scraping by, and even though I keep a pistol within arm’s reach and have one of the best security systems in place, I can’t seem to sleep. Every little sound wakes me up. Living in a city like New York, there is a lot of noise, even at night, because this is a city always alive and buzzing with activity.

I thought about packing a bag and just running away; it would buy me some time. But I've worked the same job, no matter where I go, or how far I try to run from him. He will find me one day and finish the job, whatever it takes. That's the way the business works; there's no escape. You can only try to delay it.

I grab the purple bath bomb I bought earlier and drop the small ball into the steaming water. It doesn't take long for the water to bubble and turn a soft shade of purple. The soothing scent of lavender fills the room, creating a pleasant atmosphere. My bathroom is the only place I don't feel like someone is watching me. With no windows, he has no way of catching a glimpse of me when I'm at my most vulnerable.

I turn on some gentle pop music and place my phone on the laundry basket to keep it safe from the water. Then I place my glass of wine on the small bath tray. Making sure I have everything I need, I smile to myself. All I want is to relax for a little while and forget about the mess I'm in.

Turning off the water, I let my bathrobe drop to the floor and climb into the tub. Lying down, I make myself comfortable and the warm water embraces my aching body. My muscles begin to relax and the stress of the past few weeks fades into the background. I close my eyes, rest my head on the soft cushion of the tub, and let out a heavy sigh. Just for one hour, it's okay to let go.

Chapter 6

Noah

If she is reasonable and follows the instructions on the bath bomb's packaging, as she should, I have about twenty to thirty minutes. But after what just happened in the park, I imagine she needs more than that to unwind. Even I, the one who is actually stalking her, questioned the intentions of the guy running after her. What if he was going to assault her? I was on the verge of revealing myself and stepping in to stop him when he followed her to that sketchy part of the park. But she really took me by surprise when she stopped him herself and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. Just the memory of the way she held him and glared at him makes my heart stutter with excitement.

I crouch in front of her apartment door, tools in hand, and pick her lock as quietly as possible, not wanting to attract her or any of her neighbors' attention. I steal a glance at the small security camera outside her door. Hacking into her system and freezing the camera's image was far too easy. She doesn't seem to know much about technical stuff, which comes in handy for me, but given her past she should know better. On the other hand, she was working with an organized crime group; they have separate people in charge of anything involving technology, like security for example.

With a soft click, the door latch finally springs open. I gather my tools and push myself to my feet. Twisting the handle slowly to avoid any unnecessary noise, I push the heavy door open. I pause for a brief second, waiting for a possible reaction from inside: a scream, a threat, or even a gunshot. But there is no response; she hasn't noticed me.

I push the door open and slip into the apartment. The lights in the entryway and hallway are turned off. From down the hall, I can hear the faint sound of pop music coming from the closed door leading to her bathroom. Good, with that extra sound, her chances of noticing me are slim.

Having observed the apartment from several angles over the past two weeks, I know exactly where each room is located. With steady steps, I walk down the hallway toward her bedroom. When I reach the bathroom door, I pause for a moment. I listen to the music and the soft humming of her voice as she sings along to a song I don't know. Besides the music and her singing, I can clearly hear the sound of the water as she, I assume, adjusts her position. It would be too easy to burst into the bathroom when she is that vulnerable and shoot her on the spot. But I don't trust myself right now. I'm not sure what I would do if I actually saw her naked. I would probably be more than willing to do anything but kill her.

I bite the inside of my cheek; the thought of her naked body creates a warm sensation in my core, and a rush of blood pools between my legs. My suit pants are starting to feel tight. Shaking my head, I try to clear the images that flood my mind. That's not why I'm here. I wanted to inspect her apartment and see if I could find any more valuable information that I could use.

I make my way to her bedroom, where I know she keeps everything important. Stepping into the room, I am greeted by a familiar view, one that I didn't know I would ever see up close. I take a quick look around. The room is a bit messy, with clothes scattered all over the queen-sized bed that stands against the wall opposite the windows. There are a few cups on the nightstand and even a few bags of candy and potato chips on the floor. But despite the mess, the room smells nice, like lavender with a hint of vanilla.

My eyes land on her gun case, on the opposite side of the room, tucked away in a corner, hidden by her curtains from the outside world's curious eyes. Circling the bed, I make my way to the case and her purse sitting next to it. I squat down, and with gloved fingers, I pick up one of the pistols, inspecting its state. Frowning at the dust on the firearm, I think she really should clean it. I put it back in the matching foam mold. Then I take a look at her knives. Some of them could use a little sharpening. But one other little thing inside the case catches my attention. Something that doesn't normally belong in a gun case: small flasks securely placed in their own shapes within the foam. That must be the poison she had been using in the past. I grab one of the small bottles and wrap it in a tissue before tucking it into a pocket of my holster. It can't hurt to get some information on the ingredients in case she tries to use them on me in the future.

Then I move on to her purse. Rummaging through it, I can't believe what a mess this little bag contains. Why does someone need so many different things when they go out? And why would she collect so many receipts? At the bottom of the bag, I find her wallet. I pick it up and drop the bag. Unzipping the small black leather clutch, I take a look inside. Some cash, debit, and credit cards, membership cards, and the thing I'm most interested in: her driver's license. I take my phone out of my back pocket and take a few pictures of the front and back of the card anyway before putting it back where I found it.

I then open the small, empty back pocket of her wallet. From the breast pocket of my suit jacket, I pull out a small GPS tracker and place it in the small compartment. It can't hurt to keep an eye on her, to see where she goes when I can't be around for a while. That way, I can make sure she doesn't slip through my fingers and try to escape, even though she hasn't shown any signs of wanting to run away yet. You can never be too careful. I put the wallet back, burying it under all the other junk in her purse.

Moving on to her bedside table, I pull open the drawer. A grin spreads across my face as my eyes land on a bright pink silicone vibrator hidden in the drawer. I really have to fight the urge to pick it up. It's clean, and she expects it to be clean for the next time she uses it. I'm not going to mess it up, no matter how much I want to touch it. Aside from the toy, there is nothing more in the drawer than tissues and a few packets of a variety of painkillers, nothing interesting as far as I am concerned. Closing the drawer, I stand back up.

My next goal is her closet. I pull open the doors and go through the clean clothes, picking up each individual item in case she is hiding something between them. But there is nothing. Shutting the doors again, I move to the small table in one of the corners. I find a large folder filled with an assortment of paperwork: bills from her utility companies, her rental agreement, and a stack of bank statements from several different banks. But again, nothing new; nothing I don't know about already.

I close the file and walk over to her bed. Looking down at the mess of clothes scattered across the sheets, I try to find her phone among the mess without touching anything. She must have taken it to the bathroom. With a sigh, I sit down on the edge of the bed, and the soft mattress gives in under my body weight. I don't have much time left, but I don't think I'll find anything more valuable in here.

Pushing myself up from the soft bed, I take one last look around her bedroom before making my way to the living room. I stroll through the room, searching for something useful. This is the room I'm most familiar with. I know where everything is without ever having set foot in it, considering that my go to place to watch her is right across the street. Walking up to the floor-to-ceiling windows, I take a look at the apartment building across the street. It's strange to see it from her point of view when I'm used to only seeing it from over there.

---