Back in her apartment, she kept glancing out her window. It had become habit, but instead of seeing Mr. Black’s glowing cigarette or Victor’s silhouette, only a dark street glared back at her. Would this week never end?
***
An unplanned trip to Massachusetts halted Victor’s plans to plot out his course of action and stalk his favorite yet mouthy and unpredictable Chapter. The phone call had come immediately after her abrupt dismissal. Another body was discovered near Cambridge and everyone involved suspected it was the same perpetrator that had already taken the lives of three young women in the area.
During the plane ride, he had no time to go over the upsetting scene that played out between him and Eight. Instead of dwelling on the harsh words they threw at each other, he studied his case file yet again, willing his eyes to see something he might have missed.
In the spare moments during his endless meetings and forensic evidence recaps, he jotted notes down on Eight’s new rules. Of course, the old rules would still be in effect, but there were several new ones he was adding to the mix. If he guessed correctly, Elsa was coming undone at not having heard from him. At least he could hope she was.
Three days passed in the blink of an eye and he pushed Eight to the back of his mind, though her accusing statement and inquisitive eyes kept piercing through his thoughts. Everyone’s eyes were on him as he tried to establish a profile for the killer and they all hoped he could shed some kind of light on who they were looking for. It was exasperating. What did they expect from him? He wasn’t a miracle worker or a mind-reader. He was merely a man. A man who was not only failing the community, but who had failed Eight by letting Mr. Black out over an innocent question.
His mother thought he was a failure, too.
Who the hell did Elsa think she was to even speak to him in such a manner? Had he been too lenient or given her reason to believe he would put up with that sort of behavior and disrespect? Let there be blood? She had no idea what she was saying. If he weren’t afraid of the end consequences of letting his demons out, he would’ve taken her up on her offer and bloodied her mouth for being such a brash little bitch.
No, Eight was no bitch, she was just too fucking meddlesome for her own good. It was natural for her to want to know more about him considering the physical interaction they were engaging in. All the other Chapters were curious, too, though they already knew who he was and his reputation. Eight was clueless. And hotheaded. He had dealt with temperamental Chapters before, but Eight… she was something else. She truly didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.
Despite this annoying character trait, he was growing fond of her, but not more so than the others. At least that’s what he was trying to convince himself of – that she was just another Chapter. He wouldn’t allow her to be anything else. He couldn’t. Not after what happened before.
Yes, he had been too lenient with her. He knew that, but she was responding so well to gentleness, how could he deny her? She was blossoming under his tutelage, even if it wasn’t his usual modus operandi. If not for Mr. Black’s need to control every damned thing in his environment, he would be content to continue down this path. But Mr. Black had needs and compassion and sympathy weren’t encompassed in those requirements. Mr. Black just needed to learn to control his temper is all and remember that everyone is allowed a mistake or two.
What the hell was he thinking? He was Mr. Black. There was no personality split like Elsa was joking about, though it might seem that way to her with his explosive behavior.
He had no time to think about this nonsense. More pressing matters were calling.
***
Seated at the same small café where Victor had made his now infamous proposition, it was as if karma had finally shown Elsa favor when she saw his face on the television over the counter. She asked the cashier to turn up the volume and listened with shocked interest to find out he was in Cambridge, Massachusetts, working on a murder case – a case she remembered hearing about it when she lived in Boston.
Victor was standing behind several other men during a press conference, looking stoic and professional as ever in a black business suit. And damned handsome. Even on the small monitor it was hard to miss his spellbinding green eyes. And that mouth… it had been on her only days before and the delicious memory worked its way down her body and settled in her lower belly. So he was real and not just a figment of her imagination.
As the news story ended, she was hit with a nefarious idea, one that could possibly land her in jail if she were caught. Or worse – put on her Mr. Black’s permanent shit list. She reached into her backpack and pulled out Victor’s home address. She eyed it for several minutes before deciding to throw caution and common sense to the wind. She rushed to her car and dug into her hatchback to find an old, black hoodie that she kept there for cold nights and slipped it on. She was really doing this. She had to know where Victor called home. She had to know everything about him. Absolutely everything.
The drive took her nearly forty minutes to get to the edge of Richmond. She wasn’t familiar with the area and she drove around in circles for another twenty minutes before she finally located his house which was set back in a thickly wooded area. The home was larger than she had imagined considering he was single. It was a one-story architectural piece of beauty. For a man who is so secretive, she found it odd that he would live in a house where every room could be seen through its ceiling-to-floor windows. What was the saying about people who live in glass houses throwing stones?
Parking a quarter-mile up the street, she decided to walk the distance back to his house to stay out of view. She scanned her surroundings for any signs of security cameras and was astonished to see not one single camera. Then again, maybe they were hidden like they were at 2500 East Grace Street. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and slipped the hood over her head. Keeping her head down, she approached the darkened front entrance when motion sensor lights flicked on, nearly causing her to piss her pants. She rolled her eyes at herself. How apropos considering what he had put her through.
She peered into the glass front door. On the wall next to the door was a blinking security box. Now what? She stood there like a moron not knowing what to do next. What the hell did she expect for a man whose job it was to catch killers? An open door or a welcoming party? Feeling like a jackass, she turned to walk away when she noticed several large rocks and neatly hedged bushes lining the walkway. Could it be that Victor was a man of habit? She kicked several of the rocks over and replaced them when nothing was revealed, but then counted the third bush to her right and bent down. She couldn’t believe what she found – a spare key tucked neatly under a fake rock just like the one he had hidden for her at the Grace Street brownstone. With the heavy, electronic-looking key in her hand, she froze. Once she stepped foot inside, there was no going back.
Telling her inner voice of reason to fuck off, she pushed forward and shoved the key into the lock. She turned it and when she did, the security system chimed and deactivated, but the loud click startled her and her heart rate spiked. Every one of her senses became heightened as she turned the door knob. Her eyes darted around and she craned her neck to look behind her, positive that Mr. Black was going to assail her at any moment. Slowly and with the stealth of a cat, she tip-toed into the house and quietly shut the door behind her.
The entrance was pitch black and the silence was eerie, but the smell was overwhelming – Victor. His expensive cologne assaulted her senses and she gulped loudly. Damn, she missed his touch. The one scent missing: cigarette. She hadn’t smelled it outside either. Was this nasty yet sexy little habit strictly confined to the Grace Street residence?