Page 53 of Prey

He remained quiet, thinking it over.

“Am I reading into this, Gunner? She’s lying about not going out when she did, or she told Danny that she went out when she didn’t.”

“I can’t honestly remember her going out.”

“It was only an hour to buy food, dinner, or something.”

“Oh,” as if something dawned on him. “Maybe she did. We did have takeout that night because I remember her asking for orders, but I assumed she’d get it delivered.”

“Where were you the entire time?” as if I didn’t already know.

“I was in my room listening to music and playing Xbox, and Annika was there too, well…she came and went like she normally did. I heard a loud bang and screaming and went downstairs to see what was happening.” He gazed up at the ceiling, piecing it together. “I don’t know. It seemed like a normal evening, Mikky, until that happened. I didn’t notice anything strange, but you know what he was like…a workaholic like you and Ronan. He didn’t stay home long.”

“He was a man of routine, your father. I expected him to arrive at the club at 7.15 PM like always. He’d work in his office from 8 AM until 5 PM and go home to see you kids; then he’d return at 7.15 PM until midnight. Every day. Guaranteed. So when he didn’t show up at 7.15 PM, I instinctively knew something went down.”

“So…” Gunner exhaled as his shoulders relaxed and something lit up behind his eyes. “They knew his tight schedule. He spent only a few hours at home before returning to the club. And the men who killed him knew this.”

“Exactly,” I replied. “And that’s what’s been pestering me for the last three years in that prison cell. They knew there was a window of two hours, maybe less, to kill him in.”

“Then they somehow lured him outside,” Gunner added, which was another mystery yet to be solved. “He wouldn’t go out unarmed to a random stranger, would he?”

“No. Never.”

“Maybe I could talk to Mom about it,” he offered, exactly what I wanted him to say.

I downplayed it to make it seem like it was his idea when the purpose of the entire conversation was to reach this point: for Gunner to talk to his mom about that night to see if her story changed again.

26

The warmth from the sun-soaked rock radiated up my soles as I gazed at the water falling into the mineral spring. Light captured the splashes, turning them into little sparks firing in random directions as the therapeutic trickling sound allowed my body to shed the stress of the last few days.

The stuff with that weirdo Rourke was one layer of stress; my new job was another, and of course, there was so much work to do this year, not to mention the relentless burden of wearing a disguise and being aware every moment of every day that I had to stick to my stories.

But as soon as I grew close to someone and their trust in me deepened, it became increasingly difficult to keep up the pretense, so I broke off the relationship. Rourke was unique because I felt he was playing me as I played him, which created a curious dynamic.

Even though it might be true that he had terrible burns on his face, it still didn’t make sense to keep his ski mask on even when it was dark, and when I examined the art inked on his skin, I failed to find a single scar. It was odd to me that only his face was struck by the fire, not his neck or shoulders, just his face. This raised alarm bells, so I came here to gather my thoughts, find peace for an hour, and perhaps reach a resolution.

I was tempted to call Judith because I needed someone mature and calm to talk to who knew my history, but I couldn’t get reception here. Even though she was on maternity leave, I wasn’t comfortable calling her replacement, Sergeant George Tindale, so I guess I’ll have to dissect my strange life alone.

Using a fake ID to get a job that I was starting to love to cover my other fake ID to cover my real identity—two layers of fakeness—was causing me a constant headache of guilt. I felt bad for my employers and staff, and I felt bad for Rourke.

Speaking of Rourke.

The cool breeze brought the distant sound of a rumbling Mustang engine, and I knew Rourke had found his way here. Incredible. He managed to follow the route of all my bus transfers to arrive at my destination. I smiled at his persistence, but having space away from his prying stare would've been nice—just one place where I could be alone.

I dipped my toe into the cool, crystal water, waiting for the crushing footsteps of Rourke’s heavy boots stomping on dead leaves. I bet he spied on me through the trees last time I was here, stalking quietly through the thicket - stalking me before I realized I had a stalker.

My ears pricked when I heard footsteps nearing. I suppressed a smile and lowered my head, peering over my glasses to spot the incoming figure. The footsteps froze, and in my peripheral vision, I spotted a shadowy figure step out from behind one tree to another, disappearing from my view.

Rourke had arrived.

I bent down and tested the water temperature with my hand before slowly, tauntingly removing my glasses and placing them down in my bag. Under the weight of my stalker’s stare, I climbed up to a taller rock and pulled my sweater off, revealing my plain, white bra.

Still, at a painfully slow pace to tease, I slid my jeans down my legs and tried to pull my feet out of the leg holes gracefully but lost my balance a little and wobbled for a few seconds before managing to stop myself from falling altogether.

Taking a deep breath to suppress my bashful laughter, I discreetly glanced at the bushes where I last saw Rourke and spotted the outline of a man crouching down out of view. Standing in my underwear, I tossed my sweater and jeans onto my bag lying on the dry ground and was pleased when they landed in the right spot.

“Now, for my next trick, Mr. Freaky Mask Freak,” I whispered, trying desperately to suppress my smirk while imagining him getting hard in the expectation that I would remove my underwear.

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