Ten minutes later, I was in my car, heading back into the city. My phone was propped on the dash, showing Aly sitting in the middle of her bed beside her half-eaten breakfast while she stared intently at her open laptop, tracking me. I grinned and palmed the quarter-sized device she’d hidden in my bag. It was good that I’d been watching her, or I would have stumbled into her trap.
See, this was why you had to keep your eye on women. They were always up to no good, invading your privacy, pushing right past the boundaries you set for them, with no care for things like societal norms or laws. What next? She broke into my house?
I chuckled at my own bad joke as I turned right and drove east for several blocks before turning left. I went north for two blocks, watching my map so I knew when to make a U-turn and drive back to the street I’d turned off. I got onto it again and headed east for two more blocks, writing out the letter L before making another carefully timed left, heading north again for two blocks, and then making more lefts until I spelled out the letter O.
“What the fuck is he doing?” Aly asked, leaning close to her screen.
I was grinning so hard it hurt now. This tracker brand came with a trace on it so you could watch everywhere it went, which meant that any second now, she would realize what I was up to.
Fred jumped onto the bed beside her as I made another left, but she intercepted him before he could reach her forgotten piece of bacon.
“Does he think I’m trailing him or something?” she asked. “Is he trying to lose me?”
I made yet another left, drove for two blocks, then made a U-turn and went back down the same street I’d just come up.
“No,” Aly said.
My shoulders shook as I tried to hold back my laughter.
She grabbed the edge of her laptop and shook it, startling Fred. “Don’t you dare take another left.”
I took another left and gunned it, cracking my window to drop her tracker onto the road, leaving her staring at what I’d spelled out for her.
“LOL?” she yelled. “LOL, you motherfucker?”
God bless the city planners who’d decided to lay these streets out in the grid pattern that made what I’d just done possible. This was, perhaps, the proudest moment of my life. If I died tomorrow, it would be with the knowledge of this one perfect prank.
Aly’s head whipped up, her gaze locking onto the camera. “Damn it. He watched me while making breakfast?” She slid off the bed and stalked toward the device. “Why? I was only a room away from him. Wait. Are you watching me right now? You must be.” She crouched down to look into the camera, which, in a happy coincidence, gave me a great view straight down her shirt.
Hello, boobs. I’ve missed you.
“I bet you’re real proud of yourself right now, Josh,” Aly said.
I jerked my gaze back up to hers. Uh-oh.
“You think I don’t know who you are, but I do,” she said, looking furious. “None of your bullshit threw me off. In fact, it did nothing but confirm my suspicions. I tried to do this the nice way, beat you at your own game, but fuck it. You’re not playing fair, so neither will I. Guess what? I plucked a few pieces of hair off your sweatshirt while rubbing your back yesterday, and if you think I’m not going to DNA test them against the bloody bandages I stashed in my freezer, you’re dead-ass wrong.” She winked. “Later, Boo.”
The screen went black as she ripped the camera from the socket.
Well, that just happened.
Unfortunately for Aly, I’d grabbed that sweatshirt from Tyler’s dirty laundry basket just in case she was as devious as I was and did something like this.
She was going to be so mad when the DNA didn’t match.
I spent the rest of the drive home laughing maniacally, picturing the range of emotions that would play over her face when she realized she was either wrong or, even worse, had been outsmarted again.
Chapter 13Aly
What do you mean it’s going to take a week?” I said.
I was three stories up from the ER in the hospital’s clinical forensic lab, calling in a favor.
Veronica, a whip-smart Latina lab tech with flaming pink hair, held up the two baggies I’d brought her. “You gave me three pieces of hair that may or may not have viable roots and some bloody rags. This isn’t like a fully automated paternity test that I can bang out in an hour, Aly. I have to follow a whole process of purification, quantitation, amplification, and capillary electrophoresis if you want the results to be accurate, and I’ll be squeezing you in between my other work.” She set the baggies on her counter and shot me a deadpan look. “You might have noticed; I have a lot of other work.”
I grimaced, knowing exactly how many thousands of hours our lab was overbooked. Vern and her coworkers had an entire backlog of evidence to process, including rape kits. I suddenly felt like an asshole for jumping the line, but I honestly didn’t realize how much work it would be for her. I thought she could pop my samples into a machine, and, beep-boop, I’d get my results.
I reached for the baggies. No way in hell could I put my desire to one-up Josh above identifying someone’s rapist. “I change my mind. Forget I asked.”
Vern slapped my hand away. Her pinup girl makeup was flawless tonight, and one perfectly arched brow climbed even higher as she eyed me. “Too late. I’m intrigued now. You want to tell me what this is all about?”
“Let’s just say it involves a boy I like,” I said.
Both brows went up. “You think he’s running around behind your back? I heard Greg down in the janitorial department has mob ties. Maybe he can disappear him for you.”
I forced a laugh, trying to act natural. Greg was a lanky Irish-Italian guy with black hair and freckles. He had a baby face but was also a relentless flirt, and he’d lured Vern in at the Holiday party. He was also, most definitely, in the mob.
Vern and I got along in a way that made me feel like we could be besties if we had any free time for things like friends. I’d only seen her a handful of times over the past month, but I knew she had it bad for Greg because she’d found a way to bring him up at least once in each conversation. Which meant I needed to figure out a way to ruin her crush. Immediately. Vern was a good person; she didn’t need to be associating with lowlifes.
“Greg?” I said. “Mallory told me he cheated on his last three girlfriends.”
Vern grimaced. “Seriously?”
“Yes. And bragged about it.”
“Ew. Never mind then,” she said, dragging the bag of bandages toward her.
“Vern, no. I can’t ask you to do this for me.” I tried to slide my hand under hers to get my samples, but she scooped them up and held them behind her back.
She gave me a stern look. “I said it’s too late. I’m invested now. And wipe that guilty look off your face. I’ll run the tests during my breaks, so you won’t feel like you’re line jumping.”
I scrunched my nose up. “But then I’ll be taking away your breaks.”
“Aly,” she said, gripping my arm with her free hand. “It’s okay to be selfish once in a while. You know that, right?”
“Yes?” I said, fighting the urge to squirm beneath her gaze.
She shook my arm. “Once more with conviction.”
“Yes,” I repeated. It still sounded more like a question than a statement.
Vern released me and huffed out a breath. “You trauma nurses and your bleeding hearts.” She turned away to hit a button on a machine, and I was contemplating snagging the baggies and running when she spun back around and caught me with my hand outstretched. The unimpressed look she gave me spoke volumes. “That’s it. Get out.”