Page 21 of Cat and Mouse

I spend the next few days going through every scrap of information I can find. Matteo sends me files, reports, even some personal emails he managed to hack. It's a goldmine.

Harrison was a bully, plain and simple. He harassed Elizabeth, undermined her at every turn. The complaint she filedwas detailed, painting a picture of a toxic work environment. Captain Roberts knew about it but did nothing. And then the raid happened.

I find a note in Roberts's files, a cryptic message about Harrison needing to be "dealt with" before he "caused more trouble." It's vague, but it fits. Harrison was a problem, and the raid was his solution. But it backfired.

Elizabeth survived, scarred but alive. And now she's in New York, trying to bury her past. But I'm not going to let her. I'm going to dig up every skeleton in her closet until I understand her completely.

I close my laptop, a satisfied grin on my face. I'm getting closer.

But before I hunt down a police captain, I think it's about time Elizabeth and I had a little heart to heart.

I guess I'm going back to New York now!

***

I park a few houses down from Elizabeth's place, engine off, sitting in the dark, watching. The street's quiet, just the occasional car passing by. I glance at the clock on the dash—she should be home any minute now.

I light a cigarette, the glow from the lighter briefly illuminating the inside of the car. She's got that strong, independent vibe, but I know there's more to her. The way she looks at me, like she's trying to figure out what makes me tick, just makes me more curious about her.

Headlights flash in the distance. That's her. I sit up straighter, watching as she pulls into her driveway. She's home later than I expected, but that doesn't matter. The game's on.

Elizabeth gets out, glances around—habit, I suppose. But she doesn't see me. I'm just another shadow on this dark street. She walks up to her door, keys in hand, and I watch her every move. She doesn't fumble, just smooth, precise actions. I like that about her.

She goes inside, and I wait. I need to see her in her element, where she thinks she's safe. I flick the cigarette butt out the window, roll up the window, and step out of the car.

I move silently up to the house, taking my time. No need to rush this. I peek through the front window, and the curtains are just slightly parted. She's in the living room, tossing her keys on the table, shrugging off her jacket.

Elizabeth heads to the kitchen, and that's when I make my move. The door's unlocked—careless but maybe she feels safe here. I push it open slowly, slipping inside, and close it just as quietly behind me.

She's at the counter, reaching for something in the cabinet. Her back's to me. I take a few steps closer, making sure my presence is known.

She turns, eyes widening in shock. "What the hell?" she screams, her hand flying to the cabinet again. She pulls out a gun, and I can't help but smile. Spirited. I like that.

"Put it down," I say calmly, stepping closer, showing her my own gun tucked under my jacket. "You're outgunned, sweetheart."

Her eyes narrow, the gun still in her hand but not pointed at me anymore. "What the hell are you doing in my house?"

"I just wanted to talk," I say, my voice smooth, like we're having a casual conversation over coffee. "That's all."

"Talk? You break into my house to talk?" She's not lowering the gun yet, but I can see the confusion in her eyes. She's trying to figure me out, but I'm not an easy puzzle.

"You're gonna arrest me?" I ask, almost amused. "You're welcome to try, but we both know how that'll end."

She tightens her grip on the gun, still not pointing it at me but ready. "Maybe I should," she says, her voice hard, but there's a flicker of something else. Fear? No, not fear. Something darker, more complicated.

"I like a woman with fight," I say, taking another step closer. I'm almost within arm's reach now. "But you're making this difficult, Elizabeth. We don't need to go down that road."

She tries to shove me back, but I'm faster. I grab her wrist, twist it just enough to make her drop the gun. It clatters to the floor, and she goes for a punch, but I block it, grabbing her and pinning her against the counter.

Her breathing's heavy, and she's struggling, but I hold her there, feeling the heat of her skin through her thin tank top.

"Relax," I whisper in her ear, my voice low. "I just want to talk about Milwaukee."

At that, she stiffens. The fight goes out of her for a moment, and I feel her tense beneath me.

"What is this about?" she asks, her voice strained.

"Because I bested you last time," I say, leaning in closer, my breath hot against her neck. "And left you all handcuffed and pissed off, I'll give you one answer. One question, your choice. Then it's my turn."

---