Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(81)

“Chase already did that.”

“Look, I’m sure you paid him a lot of money to set you up here, but to be honest, I don’t know much about him or his company. Please let me put my concerns to rest. I want to test the security cameras, too, so go to your computer and see if you can spot me on the video feeds. If I make it to your window, I’ll tap.”

Chase had installed three discreet cameras to cover the back of the building and side. She’d gone over everything with Burns when he’d expressed his concerns. She suspected it had more to do with his dislike of Chase butting in on police territory.

“And turn off your lights,” Burns went on. “If someone is skulking around, I don’t want him to see you or me.”

Now her heart was beating for a different reason. “I’ll do that now.” After thrusting her apartment into the dark, she sat at her computer and pulled up the security software. Three views filled the screen. She searched among the shadows, trying to discern whether they were shifting because of the wind or not. The view of the ledge was wide open, as she’d removed the potted plants per Chase’s instructions.

Suddenly, it flickered off. She reached for the phone to call Burns but halted. What if Eye was out there? If Burns’s phone went off, it would alert him.

No, he can’t have found me. He’s supposed to be at Griff’s property.

So she waited in the silent darkness and listened. A few seconds later, she heard a tapping. Thank God.

Except, not really. It meant that Burns had been able to climb up on the deck. Maybe Eye couldn’t break in, with the additional security measures, but he could crouch there and watch her. The thought shuddered through her.

She made her way through the bedroom, glad for Burns’s directive to turn off the lights. She could see him, though she made absolutely sure it was him before disarming the window alarm, opening the bars, and then the window.

He climbed inside and closed the window. “Sorry, but you see that it was entirely possible for someone my size and strength to get up here.”

She nodded. “I’m glad you checked.”

“Maybe I should look the rest of the place over.” He headed toward the living area. “Could you see me on the video?”

“No, but the one on the deck stopped working.”

“That’s odd. Let me take a look.” He sat down at her computer and studied the images. “It shut off right about the time I was up there. I wonder if I accidently broke a wire.” He clicked on some of the software settings, then stood. “I’ll go back out and take a look. Got a flashlight?”

She went to the kitchen. When she turned, flashlight in hand, he was standing right behind her with an odd expression.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked. “You really don’t.”

There was a tiny line of anger at his mouth and in his dark blue eyes. She studied him, thinking that he was older by a couple of years. “No, I’m sorry. We’ve met?”

His laugh held no humor. “We went to Jonas Middle School together. I was in your seventh-grade homeroom. Mrs. Skull, as we used to call her.”

“Oh.” She studied his face but still couldn’t place him. He looked so very ordinary, with brown hair, brown eyes, medium build. “Well, that was a long time ago. I’m sure you’ve changed a lot since then.”

“I had a crush on you. All it took was one smile, when we were standing in the lunch line together. My parents, they thought I was gay, and my father was always harassing me about being more athletic and getting a girlfriend. The thought must have terrified him, homophobic bastard that he is. So I told him you were my girl and that you were going to the dance with me. They were thrilled. Relieved more than anything, I imagine. I worked on the yearbook committee and took some pictures of you to show my parents. They bought me a suit for the dance and a corsage to give you. And I did ask you, but you turned me down.”

Why was he telling her this? She awkwardly held the flashlight, rubbing her thumb across the ridges of the handle. “I wasn’t really into boys much then.” She’d been insecure, too tall and gawky. “It was nothing personal.”

“My father beat the living daylights out of me when he found out I lied. Maybe you remember the kid who winced for a week every time he sat down.”

She grimaced at the thought of such a beating but held back another apology. That wasn’t her fault. Then a vague memory surfaced, a boy who was shorter than her telling her that she was going to the dance with him. He’d been angry when she turned him down, and he’d given her creepy stares for the next several weeks. Then the school session had ended, and she couldn’t remember seeing him the next year.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to make you feel awkward,” he said, waving it away. “Give me the flashlight, and I’ll check the camera.”

When she reached out, he grabbed her arm instead. In a flash, he’d spun her against his chest and slapped his hand over her mouth. When she tried to scream, he pressed a finger to the front of her throat, nearly making her choke.

“I didn’t ask another girl out for years,” he went on, as though he wasn’t holding her against her will. He walked them to the counter where he pulled a knife from the butcher block. He fiddled with something in his pocket and produced a cloth that smelled like ether.