Page 97 of Deeper

Rylan

Planned.

Plotted.

Schemed.

Laurence Rawlings has round-the-clock protection service. A squad car has been parked outside his house and follows when he leaves, which isn’t very often. There is always a glitch, though. Nothing is ever perfect, and the same can be said about his police security. Callen has been casing the situation, noting the routine, and searching for a weakness. There is a ten-minute window where Laurence is vulnerable. It’s a tiny opening in the early afternoon for Callen to work with.

Any minute, Laurence will be ours. During the officers’ shift change, there is a fault in their rotation. Consistently, there is a ten-minute gap between when the morning officer leaves and the night detail arrives. Evidence has been planted in a security box that frames Elena for all five murders. Once Laurence is dealt with, Callen will initiate the chain reaction that points the finger in her direction. All we’ll need to do is pull the trigger, and she’ll fall.

I’ll have an alibi, but Elena won’t.

Our plan has already been put into action and it takes effort for me to hide my excitement.

I’m in Vanessa’s office. I called her to meet with me for a follow-up, a one-on-one appointment, under the pretense that I’m simply continuing with my progress, but I can’t focus.

“Rylan, are you okay?” Vanessa questions.

“Huh? What?”

“You seem distracted. I asked how you’ve been since your sessions ended.”

“I’ve been doing well. Tatum and I are still friends, and I haven’t had any outbursts.”

“Well, that’s good. Are you still using the mediation techniques? Journaling?”

I smile as brightly as I can. “I am. They really do help. I had a question about whether you think adding a high-intensity workout to my program would help.”

We chat, and I pepper her with questions that will keep me in her office for as long as possible. She’s encouraging, and I fake pride about continuing to work on managing my anger triggers. It takes hours for me to exhaust all my talking points, but I’ll hand it to Vanessa; she never tries to kick me out.

When I leave, I get twenty bucks out of the ATM down the street, and the machine gets me on video. Then, I go to the grocery store, pick up food for the week, and keep my receipt. The shift change should have happened hours ago, but I still go about my day, cataloging my whereabouts. I go to a new gym I’ve been meaning to check out. They are offering free guest passes this week. I sign my name into the ledger at the front desk and sit in the locker room for an hour before signing out.

Almost as soon as my foot hits the sidewalk, police cars zoom by me. Their sirens are at full volume, and the blue and red lights shine brightly in the darkening sky. My bet is that they just figured out that Laurence is no longer safe in his house, and I picture their frantic search as I head to my car, which is in a parking garage that has video surveillance. Then, I head home.

A squad car is outside my house when I get there. I saw that one coming, and I invite the officers into my home, which has already been cleaned of any evidence that could incriminate me. The newspaper clippings have all been burned, and that spare room now looks like the perfect guest quarters. I even brought my notebook filled with letters to Aria over to Callen’s. I have nothing to hide. After offering the two officers something to drink, I take a seat in my living room, unaffected by their hostile auras.

“Ms. Pierce, can you account for your whereabouts today?” the slightly taller and rounder cop to my left asks.

“I had an appointment earlier, and then I ran some errands. Why?” My tone is smooth, and there isn’t an ounce of defensiveness in my voice. It seamlessly appears that I’m none the wiser to why these officers were waiting for me outside my home.

“What time was your appointment and where?”

The shorter, leaner officer keeps quiet while his friend runs things.

“Noon, with my counselor, Vanessa Sharpe, at the Canter Building, off-campus.”

“Will Vanessa corroborate that?”

“I’m going to go with yes. I was there, so I don’t see a reason she wouldn’t.”

The officer glares at me, obviously not amused by my nonchalance.

“And after, where did you go after?”

“To the bank, the grocery store, and then the gym.”

Both officers move closer, still standing instead of sitting, even though I offered them a seat.

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