Page 54 of Dangerous Obsession

“My reasons are my own.” He extended the hand holding the fifty-dollar bill. “You want this or not?”

The night before his release, he’d spoken to his mom and convinced her to help him out. He told her exactly what he wanted her to bring, and they agreed to meet at a diner about five miles from Deborah’s house. He’d had to be careful with his word choice because all prisoner calls, in and out, were recorded.

As always, his mom came through for him. She brought him a bunch of cash from her savings account, a burner phone—though she didn’t know that’s what it was—the keys to an old truck she’d picked up for him at a used car lot, and a couple of other things he would need.

His dad would be pissed if he found out, but that wasn’t Cliff’s problem.

Greg groaned, and his head dropped back against the cushion.

“Fine.” He turned off the television, tossed the remote onto the table, and shoved up off the couch. “But I’m outta there when the place closes. No way I’m stayin’ there all night.”

“You’ve got my cell number.” Cliff would prefer to be there himself but needed to ensure the time was right. “I want to know who’s coming, who’s going, what kind of cars they drive, that kind of stuff.”

Other than Marigold, the person he was most interested in was the man Deborah talked about—Viking.

“Fine.” The kid reached out for the bill, and Cliff snatched it back.

“If you can manage to sit there without drawing attention to yourself, I’ll throw in another fifty.” He held the bill just out of his reach. “But I mean it, Greg. No one can know you’re there.”

“Chill, dude. Sheesh.” He rolled his eyes. “And texting is lame. I’ll just send you pictures.”

“That works.” Cliff relinquished the fifty to him, and the kid turned to leave. “Try not to screw it up, will ya?”

Greg flipped him off over his shoulder, walked out the front door, and slammed it behind him.

“Fuck.” Cliff scrubbed his hand down his face.

His entire plan currently hinged on a moronic nineteen-year-old doper with an attitude problem.

His burner phone chimed in his pocket. So far, there were only three numbers programmed into it—his mom’s, Deborah’s, and Greg’s. And he’d warned his mom not to share his number with anyone.

He tugged the thin device free and checked the screen. He was relieved to see it was Deborah—he didnotfeel like listening to any more of his mother’s whining and bitching about him staying withsome woman he barely knew.

“Hey, babe.” He strolled out of the media room and back toward the front door.

“Hi, Cliff. I’ve got you on speaker because I’m driving to my next showing.” They’d spoken earlier, and she’d seemed distracted and preoccupied with her new client. “I only have a minute, but I wanted to make sure you got settled in.”

“I did, thanks.” He moved through her house, opening doors, checking out rooms, getting the lay of the land. “I know you’re busy, so don’t worry about me. I’ve got a few things I need to take care of, and I’m going to spend some time with my mother.” He assumed her client was listening and measured his words accordingly. “When will I see you?”

Cliff ambled his way across the large formal living room and found his way to the kitchen. The damn room was easily four times the size of his cell, and the morning sun poured through a wall of windows. He tugged open the double-size fridge and found it was stocked with bottles of all kinds of natural juices, fruits, and vegetables. He grabbed an apple, tossed it up and caught it, then swung the big door shut with his foot.

“I’m not sure. A lot depends on how long we spend at each of the properties.”

Cliff listened carefully to the tone of her voice. Was she blowing him off, or was she truly that busy?

In the background, her GPS said, “Your destination is on the left.”

“Cliff, we’re pulling up to the next property.” He heard theclick click clickof the car’s blinker. “I’ll give you a call as soon as I can, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” He polished the apple on the front of his shirt. “Be safe.”

“Thanks.” She ended the call, and he stared down at the phone.

He couldn’t afford to have her lose interest in him, or worse, for her to find out he had no real interest in her besides providing him with a temporary place to lie low.

Right now, he planned to take a shower in her lush master bathroom, then he was going to crash in a real bed. He headed toward Deborah’s bedroom, dug his teeth into the apple, and crunched into the juicy fruit.

“Damn, that’s good.” For five years, he’d been deprived of the simple pleasure of biting into a crisp apple.

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