Page 27 of Better Day

Slowing my breathing is a technique I learned early in my career. When you have limited time to recharge, you need to fall asleep quickly, no time for counting sheep.

The last thing I remember is checking the time and calculating that if it’s one am, I only have four hours to sleep, and my alarm will wake me again at five am.

* * *

Four hours were gone before I knew it, and the obnoxious chiming on my phone has me sitting up instantly and waking my senses. My alarm is not very loud but one my brain is tuned into. Listening for any noises in the house or across in Cassie’s room, silence is all that greets me, which is a good way to start the day.

Light on my feet, I make my way to the bathroom so I can get cleaned up and ready for my morning ritual. I’m used to walking around in the dark, so I don’t need lights. I sleep with my curtains partly open, the glow of the moon still peeking through, and the first hint of light from the sunrise is enough for me to get my bearings. Plus, there is the glow of the computers that are always running in my room. They may be password locked, but they're always on and ready to go if I need them.

Opening my door as quietly as I can, there is a small squeak in the hinges. I hope it doesn’t wake Cassie, but I don’t want to fix that. Having my door with the slightest noise, it’s enough to alert me to someone entering during the night.

I step out into the hallway and hold my ear to her door. There's no sound, and I slowly open it just the slightest amount. This time I see her facing the door, curled up in a ball, clinging to the pillow. Her dark hair is sprawled out over the pillow, the green comforter pulled up and covering as far as her waist. I wish I could say she looks at peace while she’s sleeping, but her face is far from it. There's a frown on her forehead and tension in her hands that are gripping the pillow so tightly that I can see the whites of her knuckles.

What must it be like to know fear? Where it never leaves you, even in your sleep. I have thought about it over the years as I’ve worked with different clients, but I never got close enough to my clients for their fear to be felt in my body. Yet standing here, looking at the fear that is consuming Cassie, for the first time I feel it in my soul. It’s not fear that I feel but the pain of seeing it in Cassie.

When I closed my eyes last night, I was determined that today things would be all business, yet within ten minutes of being awake, I’m already battling with my inner thoughts.

I can hear Badger in my head telling me I’m already fucked.

I think he could be right, not that I’d admit that to him.

* * *

My morning walk around the property and house is complete, coffee drunk, and reports prepared. Now it’s time for me to do a bit more digging on our senator in places where WITSEC would tell me not to go. The dark web is the keeper of secrets. It’s not for the fainthearted and not somewhere you want to go poking around in unless you know what you're doing and have your anonymity set to the highest level.

I know from the files I was given access to that Cassie discovered a money trail of some sort that is helping the FBI compile evidence of his illegal activities. What those activities are, they won’t tell me, because it’s my job to protect her and not to investigate. My argument is, how are we supposed to do our job if we don’t have the full story of what—or more importantly,who—we are up against?

First place for me to start is to work out who is funding the senator's rise to the top. Usually, the financial backers have ulterior motives and are making sure they have a yes-man in the right place for when it comes to votes that will affect their life or business. Or worst case, they use it to bribe the good senator to keep his mouth shut about something, when push comes to shove.

I can guarantee not all his bank accounts will be in the US, either. There will be offshore accounts where he drops his dirty money or keeps the cash for a rainy day that may or may not come. Compiling a list of names of the depositors into his normal accounts doesn’t seem to be raising any immediate red flags, but it’s early days. Just as importantly, I start to scan the payments he makes to people he has on his books. There seems to be a regular large amount to a charity.

Just as I’m about to start my search into them, I hear the shuffle of Cassie’s feet as she gets out of bed. I quickly log out of where I am and store the data I’ve found; I don’t want her to know what I’m doing. She has enough to worry about. Knowing that I’m looking into her life will just make her feel worse than she already does. Although technically, I’m not checking on her, but I will need to search her accounts too, just to make sure she hasn’t been used as a pawn in whatever his activities are.

The bathroom door closing gives me the opportunity to get out to the kitchen and start breakfast. I didn’t want to just open the door and startle her when she is just waking for the morning. She has already told me she’s a coffee person, so I get that started as I pull out the frying pan, ready to make some pancakes and hoping that she'll be happy with that. If not, there is always cereal in the cupboard, and it just means more for me. Whipping up the batter, the noise of the shower going lets me know she is getting herself sorted for the day before she faces me. I don’t care if she takes ten showers a day. If that is what she needs to help her relax a little, then I’m all for it. I just don’t know how good the hot water is in this old house, so at least seven of those showers might be cold, I would say.

Pouring the third batch into the pan, I watch the batter bubble up and sizzle as it hits the hot melted butter. I can feel her presence at the same time I hear her footsteps.

“Morning.” Her morning voice is soft and timid yet still sets off that same sensation in my chest.

“Morning, Cassandra, how did you sleep?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at her taking a seat on one of the kitchen stools.

A small giggle comes from her when I wasn’t expecting it.

“Sleep, what is that word you speak of?” Her attempt at smiling even when she has no reason to makes me want to try my hardest to turn it into something she does more often, without so much effort.

“Sorry to hear that,” I tell her, flipping the pancake in the pan. “Hopefully it gets better. Now I’m sure you’re hungry. I’ll feed you and get the coffee.”

Her eyes widen at me, I’m not sure why.

Walking over with the plate full of pancakes, I push her cutlery and the maple syrup toward her, and her mouth drops open to say something but then closes, like she thinks better of it.

I’m not sure whether to ask or not but decide to leave it. I just get on with making the coffees.

Watching her play with her food frustrates me. “Eat, Cassandra.” I put another piece of pancake into my mouth and watch those eyes zero in on me again.

“Bossy much?” But she starts to cut the first piece on her plate. I might be annoying her, but without realizing it, she is doing as I said anyway.

“You have no idea,” I mumble under my breath.

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