Page 7 of Like a Hurricane

Chapter Three

They were right there.

Sitting on top of a perfectly folded set of clothes. Light purple, like the color of wisteria and lacy, so soft under the rough tips of my fingers that I couldn’t help but tuck them into the pocket of my jacket.

And then I watched her shoot, her tight delectable body wrapped in gold like a present under the Christmas tree. Arryn Lauder was earth shatteringly stunning.

Dressed. Undressed. Sassy or sweet.

A ruin waiting to happen.

Now I wasn’t usually one to take notice of my client’s family unless it called for it, but Arryn was an exception. There was no way I wasn’t taking notice.

She was like the first storm of the season after endless days of scorching heat. She was the rain and the lightning, the thunder that rattles your windows and the wind that strips your trees.

Just like a damn hurricane, sweeping in to wreak complete chaos.

There was no way to ignore her, no way to pretend she didn’t exist. My attention had been so thoroughly snagged I worried I would never be able to focus on another thing.

I followed her to her next shoot, watching her as she posed and smiled for the camera in a pretty blue dress that made her olive complexion pop. Her eyes are an alluring shade of grey, a match to the stormy skies that often plagued the small town I’d just come from, and the only place I could really call home. Even if I hadn’t been a permanent resident there for some time.

I’d spent time there these past few months, first visiting my brother who I’d thought was wallowing in grief but wasn’t at all, and then I was recovering after being shot. I had a cabin on that small island, one I loved and had built from the ground up, but it was covered in dust and smelled like age and neglect now.

It was home though. Even if I avoided it.

But now Arryn was calling to something deep inside of me, and her panties were burning a hole through my jacket. I stand in a pocket of darkness, the snow coming down gently, like feathers floating in a breeze as it settles onto the already snow packed earth.

She comes to the door to accept the food she had ordered, pausing in the doorway to look left and right down the street, eyes scanning right over me where I remain hidden in the shadows.

She had stolen my attention more than any job ever had, more than any promise of cash. It was the first time it had happened to me, and I never thought I’d find something more tempting than that of a kill.

I didn’t know the woman, other than what I’d dug up on her from the web, although that would change after the program I designed and created finished doing its work on pulling every ounce of data on the girl. By the time it was finished I’d have everything on her, down to her favorite color and childhood pet name.

Was it legal? Not even a little bit but the program comes in handy. I just needed a few details about the person for it to work and I could pull text messages and call logs, access medical records, see their GPS tracker from the past three years and access every account ever created under their name, from socials to government accounts. So, no, it wasn’t legal, but it was fun. And it always helped that it gave me an edge to a job not many in my line of profession had access to.

The door to her little bungalow clicks closed after some time of her watching for movement and then I see her curtains shift, being pulled tighter to stop any peeping into her house. But she didn’t realize that if I wanted in, I would get in. Closed curtains and locked doors were hardly a barrier for me.

And getting behind Arryn’s doors was something I wanted desperately to do.

I bunker down, sheltering from the snow while I wait for all the lights to go off some time later and then wait just a little bit longer until I’m sure she is asleep. Following women wasn’t usually my go to, I didn’t have to most of the time, but there was something about this one that required a little more attention. A more thorough approach, like those storm hunters who chase a tornado rather than run away from it, just to understand it better. Risk and reward and all that.

I open the app connected to my program on my cell, seeing the list of files already collected on Arryn and head straight for the folder labeled ‘Security’. Her pin is right there on top and access to the security feed. I first disable the cameras but not the alarm since it would alert her and pick the lock, slipping into the warm house silently. The security panel beeps quietly, and I quickly input the code, disabling it which plummets the house into complete silence, so much so that I can hear the clock ticking on the wall in the kitchen.

Not even my feet make a sound as I move through the place, running my fingers over the furnishings, noting the candles on the shelves and the fresh flowers in a vase on the counter. It smells like cinnamon and spice in here, like she had just finished burning a candle and the scent was lingering in the air.

There’s an empty pot of ice cream on the side and a wine glass with a drop of red wine left in the bottom alongside the empty containers of takeout food. The blanket was slightly skewed on the couch, the remotes for the TV left on the cushions.

Coming out of the living space, I head down the hall. Every door was closed except the very last one at the end, and there was a very soft light spilling out between the gap. Moving so I can stay in the shadows and out of view, I head towards that light and peer through the small gap.

The bed is the first thing I see, thanks to the light plugged into the wall – a nightlight I realize – her shape is clearly visible beneath the heavy blankets, her raven black hair spilling out across the pale pink pillows behind her head which is buried into the sheets.

She doesn’t stir as I continue to watch her through the small opening but deem it not enough and push the door a little, testing the hinges for any squeaks. When none occur, I push a little harder, opening it up completely and step into her bedroom.

I already had a plan for her father and the job he wanted me to do, this right here, with his daughter was something I had never found myself doing.

It was bad business tangling up with a client’s family, but I just simply did not care.

I step up to the side of the bed, opting for the position that gave me her back rather than front. It was best in case she woke up, even if I wanted to see how pretty she looked when she slept. Do her lashes flutter? Are her lips parted as she breathes evenly and dreams soundly?

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