Page 12 of Cipher's Baby Girl
Apologize.
I work methodically, drilling into the wall above Rose’s door frame.
Yes, asshole, you need to apologize.
As I connect the final wire of the small camera and begin to secure the housing, I cringe, remembering how I slammed the door right in her face. She caught me off guard. Caught me observing, obsessing, and I acted before I could stop myself.
This new camera will have optimal coverage of both her entrance and the surrounding hallway. This model offers high-def resolution with exceptional low-light performance and 360-degree rotation. I've modified it further with thermal imaging. Overkill for hallway surveillance. Perfect for protecting what's mine.
Mine.The word surfaces again, and I grit my teeth against it, focusing on the technical aspects of the installation.
"Adding to your collection?"
I don't startle at Ghost's voice behind me. I sensed his approach twelve seconds ago—the specific cadence of his footsteps, the particular scent of his leather cut and the specificbrand of deodorant he uses. My brain catalogs these details automatically.
"Standard security upgrade," I reply without turning. "Blind spot in our coverage.”
Ghost leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His steel-gray eyes miss nothing. “Just happens to be outside Rose's room."
I don't deny it. Lying to Ghost is pointless—the man reads people better than I read code. "She's vulnerable. A target."
"To whom, exactly?"
I finish securing the camera housing with a final twist. "Her stepfather's still out there."
"And you think he's coming here? To a compound protected by thirty armed men?"
My jaw tightens. "I think she deserves every possible protection."
He cocks a brow. “You know, most men would just talk to the woman they're interested in. Maybe bring her flowers, not install surveillance equipment."
Heat crawls up my neck. "This isn't about interest. It's about security."
His laugh is short and humorless. "Right. And I'm running for public office next year." Ghost studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "What do we know about the stepfather?"
"Richard Hartley. Small-time con man, gambler, all-around piece of shit. Sold her to settle a debt." I’ve already pulled up info from the police database using an access key I shouldn't possess. The fact that there were no reports of Rose's disappearance told me everything I needed to know about the fuckhead—he’s not about to report merchandise he sold.
"He's on the move. Left town three days ago, heading north. I've got facial recognition running through traffic cams."
Ghost's jaw tightens, the muscle pulsing beneath his skin. "Find him."
I nod once. "Already on it. Got security footage showing him filling up a rusted blue pickup truck, looking nervously over his shoulder every few seconds. He knows he's being hunted."
What I don’t say is I know exactly where he is. I’ve been tracking his every move, and I’m already mentally cataloging disposal methods, isolated locations, and techniques that leave no trace. I’m well-skilled in the art of cleanup operations.
Ghost continues to watch me for a long moment. "You planning to talk to her at some point, or just analyze her on your screens?"
The question feels like a thousand pinpricks all over my flesh. "I'm not good with trauma victims," I say flatly. Not a lie. “I cause trauma, I don't heal it.”
Ghost's laugh is short and humorless. "Right." He pushes off from the wall. "Just remember—there's a line between protection and stalking. Make sure you know which side of that line you're on."
I don't respond.
Back in my surveillance sanctuary, I test the camera, confirming optimal transmission. Perfect coverage of her doorway and the adjacent hall. No blind spots. Another layer of security between Rose and a world that's already hurt her too much.
I scan the latest results from my search algorithm. Richard Hartley's credit card was used at a gas station sixty miles north two nights ago. I’ve got his cell phone signal bouncing off towers in rural areas. He’s avoiding major highways.
We are playing a game, he and I. A game he’s unaware of. I want to know where he goes, who he contacts, what holes he crawls into. When the time comes, I'll extract him so cleanlyeven he won’t know he’s missing—not until he’s introduced to some of my more creative torture techniques.
