Page 15 of Wretched Soul
I straighten up and stare at the doorman for the longest time. Then I blink. “Have you ever had one of those nights when you think you’ve stepped into the twilight zone?”
He raises an eyebrow. “I’ll pass on your complements to Mr. Moncrief. That’s the kind of feedback he’d enjoy.”
I hold up my hands in defeat. If I’m ever going to make sense of what’s just happened, it’s not going to be with the help of anyone who works here. “You can also tell your boss, and whoever else is giving the orders,” I say with a wave of my arm in the direction of the club, “that you’re damn good at your job.”
“Thank you,” Simon replies with an amused grin. “I’ll definitely pass that on.”
As I settle into the back of the limo, I’m still slightly dazed. The driver isn’t chatty and doesn’t speak beyond checking that I want to go home. It’s only later when I’m lying in bed, unable to get to sleep, that I realize I never told him where I lived. Nor did I give Simon my name.
Chapter 6
Mace
There are four computer screens fanned out across my corner of the office. One is devoted to streaming whatever security cameras I need to monitor, and another two display the results of spyware that, amongst other things, scans our targets’ messages and filters out any suspicious activity. The final screen isn’t dissimilar to any other VDU with all the usual office applications. It’s only if you look closer that you’d notice that not everything in my email inbox is addressed to me.
The wealth and complexity of the information at my fingertips can keep me absorbed for hours, but not today. I’ve managed to get through most of the week without following Lily’s every move, but the level of self-control it’s taking has been draining. Obviously, I still track her car and check the CCTV in and around her apartment block, but that’s just a safety precaution.
I refuse to invade her privacy any further. I’m still proud of myself for not slipping my hand into her purse in the club and installing spyware onto her phone. Despite how I may have acted, she isn’t mine. And I’m not a stalker. I could be. And damn it, when it comes to Lily, I want to be. But no, that’s a particular rabbit hole I don’t want to send myself down.
“Do you still have eyes on Barrett in Poulton Springs?” Ash asks.
My gaze shifts to the grid of security cameras I’m monitoring, and I immediately spot Lily picking up mail on the ground floor of her apartment block. She works from home some days, and is currently parading around in shorts and a t-shirt despite the cool weather. I zoom in for a closer look. Her hair is tied in a messy top-knot that makes her look like she’s just rolled out of bed. It’s four o’clock in the afternoon, but maybe she’s having a mental health day. It’s a look I wouldn’t mind seeing – if I wasn’t such a fuck-up. There’s a saying Reid coined just to piss me off. ‘Those who can, do. Those who can’t, spy.”
I zoom the camera in on Lily’s upper body. The t-shirt she’s wearing is dark, possibly navy blue, and too fucking big for her. Is that another man’s clothes she’s wearing? I know she hasn’t had any visitors, but maybe there’s an ex she’s pining after. The thought has me rethinking my stance on her privacy. I could slip into her apartment and have that t-shirt shredded in a matter of minutes. Possibly while she was sleeping in it. Then I’d be able to see what’s underneath…
“Mace? Are you even listening?’ asks Ash, louder this time.
I puff out air from my cheeks. What had he asked? “Sorry, problem with the feed.” I glance at the grid of cameras streaming from Poulton Springs, then scan a list of alerts. “Barrett was in town for breakfast, then drove out to the building site. He hasn’t shown up yet in either the rental where he’s staying, or the airfield. And the Emerson jet is back in New York.”
“And he hasn’t had any unusual visitors?”
I pull a face at my brother from behind my wall of screens – the added benefit of having so many is that I can close myself off when the others start irritating me, which is most of the time. Ash doesn’t need to check up on me. I’d tell him if there was anything suspicious going on.
“No, he’s just been hiring staff for the house,” I say, skim reading today’s alerts.
My gaze snags on a booking at the town’s only guesthouse late last night. It’s for a lone woman called Quinn Jamieson. An automated background check has come up blank beyond basic government and education records. That’s an immediate red flag in my book.
I run a quick face recognition search, cross-referencing her driving license with private CCTV footage I’ve accessed in and around Poulton Springs. “Shit,” I mutter.
“What?” It’s Reid this time. His desk is the only one close enough for him to overhear me.
I sometimes wonder why the hell we don’t have our own individual offices. It’s not like we don’t have the space.
The headquarters of Griffin Corps claim the top two floors of a thirty-story office block, and while the majority of our staff work on the floor below us, this floor is predominantly ours. We have it arranged so there are four desks in a large open space – correction, five now Maddie’s joined us. We’re spread out enough to leave room for a conference table in the center, but we’re not far enough away from each other to get some fucking peace.
I know why we do it, and it’s the reason I complain but never act. My brothers and I are cogs in the same machine. Separate us and we’ll just spin aimlessly. Me especially. And today is a good example of that.
“Barrett had breakfast with someone called Quinn Jamieson. She could be another new hire. According to her business profile, she’s been working as a project manager for the last eighteen months.”
“But?” asks Hunter. He knows just from my tone that I don’t buy it.
I shrug. “Her records are squeaky clean. Too clean. But if she’s using a false identity, it’s a pretty good one.”
“Can you unravel it?” Maddie asks, strolling over to my desk so I can’t use my screens as a shield. Hunter follows. Now I have an audience.
“Possibly. If I had her fingerprints, or DNA,” I say, noticing the casual way my brother slips his arm around his wife’s waist.
I don’t think Hunter’s even aware he’s done it. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing what Maddie’s reaction might be, no fear of rejection. I can’t imagine being that comfortable with someone. I stop the frown forming, and force my thoughts back to the conversation. We were talking about Quinn.
