Page 14 of Broken Hearts

6

Alex

I satin my home office, behind the electronically-locked door, watching my little angel on the security monitor. She was curled up on the couch in the larger sitting room, reading a book and sipping at a cup of coffee.

I didn’t have cameras anywhere that could be construed as private, like her bedroom or any of the bathrooms. Even the fallout shelter outside was bug-free, aside from the tiny fly on the wall recording device I’d put there for two days while Dan was here. The only rooms with cameras in them were the kitchen, both sitting rooms, the dining room, and the foyer. The exterior of the house was also lined with cameras.

I wanted to trust Celeste, and I wanted her to trust me. Recording literally every single intimate movement was no way to do that. As such, I’d made her aware of the security cameras in the common rooms, and I’d made it clear they were there for her and my own safety. I liked to be able to keep an eye on things when I wasn’t on the property, and even when I was, I liked checking up on her every so often to make sure she wasn’t getting into anything that could hurt her.

I also liked knowing if anyone else ever got onto the property, because if they did, I could almost guarantee it was to find her and take her from me.

I looked back at the screen, watching Celeste yawn and stretch before flipping the page of her book. She’d done so well since the day she chose me over Dan and freedom, but something had shifted in the air around us in recent days. She was still acting like submissive sweetness and light, but I wasn’t blind or stupid. There was something in her eyes, something she was holding back from me.

For a while after Dan’s death, I made it clear the question and answer game was over, and I didn’t want to talk about my vendetta against the Circle anymore—not until she’d had more time to process it all and let it sink in. That was the healthy way to do things; simply let her be for a while after so many secrets were dragged into the light, forcing her to make a very difficult decision.

But now she’d stopped trying to talk to me entirely. Perhaps I shouldn’t have rejected her after our bath the other night when she practically begged me to stay and talk, but I had a very early consult the next morning, and I couldn’t stay behind and give her anything else. I had a hunch she wanted to ask me questions I wasn’t ready to answer yet, anyway.

Since then, she’d withdrawn completely, disappeared into a shell she thought she could hide from me. There were no more attempts to ask questions, no more attempts to say anything other than generic small talk. How was your day, sir? The greenhouse is going well, sir. Should we cook dinner together, sir?

Part of me had initially wanted this. After all, I wanted her to be willing to submit. But I also wanted her to be willing to be mine. Needed to know she’d never try to leave again. And right now, I couldn’t trust that. I knew she still didn’t entirely trust me, and it still hadn’t completely sunk in to her pretty head that she needed to be here. Even though she was always polite and demure and smiling around me, I had a feeling she was only pretending, just for now. Enjoying the comforts she’d been without for so long, but secretly seething underneath, missing her freedom and making plans to gain it back eventually. She didn’t seem to understand that it simply couldn’t and wouldn’t happen. She didn’t seem to understand how much her life and condition were improving by being here.

Sometimes in those first few weeks, I would go down to her cell in the middle of the night and watch her. She would toss and turn, clearly in the throes of awful nightmares that she rarely remembered when she woke up. But she didn’t get them now. I went and watched her for a while every night after she went to sleep now that she’d given up some of her control and handed me the reins. She slept peacefully, undisturbed by twitches and moans. Her nerve pain condition was improving dramatically as well.

But she was still stubborn. There were parts of her she refused to give up, certain aspects of control she wanted to keep.

I saw her trying to connect to the internet on the smart TV in her room the other day when I went in there to see what she was doing. I saw her sneakily trying all the doors in the house as she wandered around, seeing which ones were locked and which weren’t, then trying to pick the locks of the ones that weren’t accessible before realizing the locks were electronic. I saw her fiddling with the drawers in the kitchen, trying to see if she could disable the latches and get into the drawers which contained sharp cutlery.

She was still looking for some way out, even though she’d chosen to stay.

I squinted at the feed, curious as to what she was reading right now. I hadn’t thought to look before. It was a book about criminal psychology. For a moment, I felt a pang of guilt for taking her away from her studies and coveted internship—she obviously loved it despite all the hard work it entailed—but then I reminded myself that it was necessary.

For the greater good, as they say.

I stroked my jaw as I kept an eye on her. There was only one way to make her truly want to stay here, and that was to make her fall in love with me. I’d been obsessed with the idea for so long now, and I knew it was insane, but I couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t let her go. I needed her to love me. Needed her to want to be here.

That couldn’t happen if she retreated from me into her cozy little mental shell. I needed her to come out of there, but right now, I wasn’t sure what I could do to make it happen.

With a sigh, I checked my watch. Time for me to go. I locked my office door, then strode out into the sitting room. “I have to go out for a while,” I announced to Celeste.

She looked up at me with a faint smile. “Enjoy your day, sir,” she murmured.

I leaned down and left a bruising kiss on her lips; a promise for later. Then I said goodbye and headed outside. Today, I’d be driving my sedan and leaving the SUV behind. I needed the small, closed off trunk in the former, because this evening, I’d have a little delivery for Celeste. A gift which might make her remember some more details about the Circle. Might even get her talking again, get her back on my side.

Putting some music on, I settled myself in for the long drive ahead. Accounting for traffic, it would be over an hour’s drive to get from my property all the way through the city and up to Wexford, where George Baldwin and his wife lived.

Baldwin was one of seven Chief Justices of the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania, and he was the same man Celeste had recognized in a photo a couple of weeks ago. In my time around her and work, I’d staked out Baldwin’s life, and I knew his movements and general weekly routine by now, along with that of his wife. His house was in a hilly, tree-covered area, so it wouldn’t be too hard to get him. Still, he had quite a few neighbors, so I had to be careful.

Today was my lucky day, though. In my pursuit of him, I’d come across an ad he had placed online, looking to privately sell a Porsche convertible which was worth more than most people’s mortgages. I could only assume it was a vehicle he purchased in the throes of a midlife crisis, and his wife had finally convinced him to get rid of it.

That made my life so much fucking easier.

When I arrived in the area, I parked my car in a secluded spot just off a narrow hilly road about a mile and a half from Baldwin’s residence. The area was thick with trees, and it seemed unlikely many people drove up this way, even during the middle of the day.

I reached into the glove compartment and pulled out my kit. I attached the dark blond wig I used to disguise myself onto my real hair, and then I carefully stuck green contacts over my blue irises. The shade was realistic enough to seem normal and go with my skin tone, same as the wig, but it was enough to make me look like a fairly different person. It was amazing what a change in color could achieve.

I put a few more things in my pockets, then stepped off the shoulder of the road and headed down to the Baldwin’s road. I was right on time. Jill Baldwin was heading out for her weekly Saturday nail appointment before brunch with her friends, leaving George to his own devices for the next few hours.

I slipped my burner phone out of my pocket and dialed the number George had stupidly put online. He picked up almost immediately.

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