Page 65 of Three
They are the Moriarty to my Sherlock, the Joker to my Batman, the Sylvester to my Tweety. Every time I get close, they slip through my fingers, and my irritation is growing exponentially. Because nobody evades me and my cyber skills.
Nobody.
That’s why, instead of going back to my bear, I spent all night at the base looking for new information. And I realized that finding August Gene Baker was exactly what Phoenix wanted. They intentionally left a trail for me to follow. They contacted the hitman and stood him up on purpose. But why? To see if I’d follow? To study my level of expertise? Learn more about me?
At two a.m., I let Serena take over and fell asleep on the sofa near the lab—how Uri prefers that to a bed is inconceivable to me.
I dry my face and turn toward my queen bed. I took a shower at the base, but I need to change these wrinkled clothes. I open my closet and stare at the row of gloves in different colors, types, and fabrics. I wore a pair while I was with my bros. I didn’t feel like explaining to them what is going on. Not because I don’t trust them. I fucking do. With my life. I just want to be sure this is not temporary. I don’t want to jinx it. To create disappointment in case my condition comes back.
Unreasonable, I know, but I want to keep doing it for a few more days.
Still, I can’t believe I don’t need gloves anymore, unless of course it is cold outside. But that’s all, thanks to a certain grizzly.
I’ve been so busy, we’ve only exchanged a few texts. Some very bossy, and others uber hot. He’s amazing at filthy talking while giving my hole a pound, why not sexting as well? I clench my aching ass, smiling at the feeling.
Trust, though, seems a hard thing for him to give. Having to kill his own cousin might have caused the wariness and suspicion.
I can see how a part of him is always alert, ready to pounce. I want him to let his barriers down with me. I feel the urge to soothe him, to assuage the hardness in those deep eyes, dark as ink. Mesmerizing. They have me all twisted in fucking knots. I know it’s not gratitude or the out-of-the-world ecstasy his cock gives me every time he’s inside me. He is…more. My more.
Even with the frightening possibility of turning numb again, I’d still want to be with him. I’d feel everything when we have sex, his warm breath, passionate kisses, smooth skin, curvy, hard muscles, the scars that make him look fiercer—like the grizzly he is. We could just fuck all the time. And fight. That sounds like a good plan B to me.
I move toward the gloves with the intention of bagging them, maybe throwing some away, but stop just an inch from a red leather pair. My hand turns into a fist.It’s too soon.Don’t need to rush into things. It can wait.
I grab a shirt and a pair of jeans and place them on the bed. I open the second drawer and move my hand over the different pairs of panties. I choose pink satin this time as my lips curl up imagining Hunter’s heated eyes.
My home’s style is industrial since it used to be an old warehouse. I kept the gray concrete walls and slate floors and the exposed beams and pipes. I left one metal grid panel to separate my workstation from the rest of the open concept design. The only rooms are the toilet and Serena’s. Everything is…visible. Making up the rest of the space are the bed, wardrobe, shower stall, gym area, small stainless-steel kitchen, leather loveseat, mega TV on the wall framed by bookshelves filled with DVDs—mostly animal kingdom documentaries—and the tortoises’ fenced area with a green house in the corner near the tortoise door that leads to the covered back garden.
I move to the fridge and open the drawer, grabbing the plastic container filled with earthworms and sliced fruit.
“Kim, Kourtney, Khloe, breakfast!” I shake the container and see the first wrinkly head peeking out of the greenhouse. They get enough vegetables from the garden outside, and have an automatic feed dispenser, this is just an extra I give them from time to time. When I reach their corner, only Kourtney and Kim are out, slowly making their way to theeating zone,while Khloe, the capricious sister, comes through the tortoise door, munching on a chew toy.
It pissed me off when Linda dumped three, fifteen-inch leopard tortoises outside my home in retaliation for my lateness to her birthday dinner a few years back—she’s such a crazy, vindictive witch. But in time, I grew fond of them with their stubby legs, long stretchy necks, and bumpy bicolor shells. So much that I’m thinking of getting another one and calling it Kylie.
After feeding them, I make myself a ham sandwich with mayo, lettuce, a slice of tomato, and pickles and move to my computer with a bottle of iced tea. Food is so fucking amazing. All the different tastes and possible combinations. It’s damn mind-blowing.
I’m glad Hunter and the boys liked my cooking. I followed Serena’s instructions, but I was surprised by the outcome as well. I will get better, though. Partly because I want to hear again that sweet tone in Hunter’s voice when he thanked me. Okay, mostly because of that.
Work! I have a couple of ideas for a new game with three brothers as the PCs—the wicked trio might have inspired me—but my creativity is bouncing inside my skull, I can’t hold a thought still. When that happens, I usually need to distract myself and what better distraction than snooping around people’s lives?
Lately, Meg and Linda are getting my attention. In the last months, they’ve been acting odd. Meg keeps lying to me, but is it related to her health or something else? And Linda? She’s traveling again. She’d stopped for a while, probably to stay near Meg. It’s not unusual for her to go on trips since she works freelance from time to time, butthe places she’s going don’t make any sense, small towns in the middle of nowhere, desert islands, Detroit. Plus all the confabulating with Gabe. He’s a lawyer and gives all of us advice, has covered our asses more than once, but….something stinks, and it’s not Hunter’s dog.
And I’m thinking about Grizzly again.
I swear, I don’t know what’s going on with me. If I don’t obsess over his safety, I obsess over him. I’m hopeless and feeling…stuff. Emotionally. He has a hold of my body he’s well aware of because I told him what he does to me. But honesty was the best policy in this case, right?Right.Butallthe extra feelings weren’t expected.
“Serena, show me Hunter’s case file again. The one related to the murder.”
The wall in front of me fills with pics, newspaper articles, police files, medical examiners’ reports, and more.
His cousin, Father Cal—Cal Penn—was killed inside St. Joseph Church almost eight years ago. Pushed from the pulpit, he fell on his back on a row of pews and broke his neck. The pulpit looks like a traditional one, raised six and half feet above the sanctuary floor, so it checks out. The police report says that they received a call from Hunter’s phone at nine-fifteen p.m. in which he confessed to killing his cousin.
In his written confession, he added that he felt uncontrollable rage after he discovered that Cal abused and molested some of the churchgoers’ kids. So that evening, he backed him onto the pulpit, made him give his last confession, and pushed him off.
The Father had a too-swift death in my opinion.
I sent all this documentation to Uri and Michael, and they confirmed a suspicion I already had and added a couple more.
Thebody was found five feet from the pulpit. Hunter is as big as a tank, if he shoved someone from an elevated position while feeling furious, that person should land nine feet away certainly not five. Maybe Cal tripped, scared by Hunter’s advance…but why lie and say he shoved him then?
