Page 15 of Closer Than You Think
“Target down,” I say into my comms. Jet and Blake are downstairs, taking out the rest of Drago’s crew, leaving me timeto look for intel. We might be here on a job, but we’d be stupid to leave without collecting information on one of the biggest criminal enterprises in the city.
Blood still warm on my blade, I turn to Drago's desk—a chaos of papers and digital screens flickering with the pulse of illicit deals. But it's not the numbers that catch my eye; it's the faces. One in particular freezes the blood in my veins.
Hallie.
My Hallie.
Her image, innocent and smiling and so fucking beautiful, framed by the glow of a computer monitor.
“What the fuck,” I mutter under my breath. The cursor blinks back at me, taunting.
“You good, Si?” I hear Cain ask.
“Yeah, I just saw something. Give me a minute.”
How the hell is Hallie’s life entwined with the fucking vipers I hunt? She’s all innocence and sunshine. She’s a goddamn school teacher who talks to her houseplants.
Her photo on Drago's screen is a puzzle piece out of place, but there’s no way I’m leaving any of this to chance.
Without hesitation, I explore his files, each click revealing more than I care to know but not enough to satisfy the hunger for answers. Sifting through the digital maze, I find nothing but dead ends and questions. Protecting Hallie has become my new mission—a self-appointed oath that cuts deeper than any knife I wield.
“Si, we got company soon.”
I hear the distant howl of a siren.
“Copy.”
I pull the hard drive out of the computer and get the fuck out of there.
Back in the sanctuary of my penthouse, the city sprawls below me, oblivious to the predators that walk among them. I handed the hard drive off to Cain to do what he does best.
I've got work of my own to do. My fingers dance over the keyboard as I scour social media, public records, anything that can tell me where she goes, who she sees, what risks she unknowingly takes. Hallie St. James: teacher, daughter, a soul unblemished by the darkness I know too well.
I’d already done a lot of this back when my obsession with her first took hold of me. But that was for personal reasons. This is for her safety.
My mind drifts back to the other night. I’ve barely let myself think of it because now that I’ve been inside her, not being inside her is enough to drive me fucking crazy. But I had to focus on the Drago operation, so I spent two days trying to push thoughts of Hallie to the back of my mind. I barely survived it.
If a fucking predator like Drago had her in his sights, there’s something I missed back when I first looked into her. I mentally kick myself for it, but all I can do now is move forward and make sure I don’t miss anything else.
I note her routines: the school, the coffee shop where she starts her day, the gym where she unwinds. All pieces of a life soon to intersect with mine in a very real way. I watch, analyze, predict. Stealth is my ally, and I will use it to slip into her world unnoticed.
As I delve deeper into Hallie's life, a soft knock at the door breaks my concentration. I tense, hand instinctively reaching for the gun holstered at my side, but relax when a familiar voice calls out, “Silas, I brought you some dinner.”
Irma. The only person who can enter my space without triggering every defensive instinct ingrained in me.
I rise from my chair, joints cracking from hours of immobility, and open the door. Irma stands there, a warm smile on her weathered face, holding a tray laden with a steaming plate of her famous arroz con pollo and a side of crisp green beans.
“Thought you might be hungry after your . . . work,” she says, her eyes flickering to the screens behind me, a knowing glint in their depths.
I step aside, allowing her to enter.
The aroma of the home-cooked meal wafts through the air, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of blood that still lingers in my nostrils. Irma sets the tray down on the coffee table, her movements precise and efficient, honed by years of tending to my needs.
“Thank you, Irma,” I say, my voice gruff with gratitude. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”
She chuckles softly, a sound that fills the cold, empty spaces of my penthouse with a fleeting warmth. “Probably starve or live off those awful protein bars you insist on keeping around.”
I can't help but smile at that. Irma has been more than just a housekeeper to me; she's the closest thing I have to family. She's seen me at my worst, cleaned up the blood and the broken glass, and never once flinched. Her unwavering loyalty is a lifeline in a world where trust is a rare commodity.
