Laura pushed Rebecca’s hair out of her face. She stroked her forehead a few times, smudging a little dirt. “Sweetie? Rebecca?”
“Mommy. I’m so scared.”
“Let’s get you both home,” Jack said.
Jack held out his hands for Laura to pass Rebecca to him. She did — reluctantly. She could carry her no further.
The three of them made their way back towards the road. Not another word was spoken.
Jack, you asshole…
CHAPTER 39
The young woman crossed her legs, pulling her thin yellow sundress up above her knee, exposing it to the air — and to prying eyes. Her skin was soft, her hair light blonde, tied behind her head in a ponytail. Ripe fruit.
He guessed she was about 23. Pretty — not a stunner, but she’ll do. He checked the left hand. No ring.
She thrust her tongue in and out the hole of her straw, an iced coffee, Hazelnut. He’d stood behind her in line, overheard her order. He hadn’t followed the girl into the coffee shop. He was there to get one himself, a tea actually. Black tea with milk and sugar. Lots of sugar. He despised coffee. Too bitter. He liked sweet things.
He made sure to seat himself where he could observe her, so happy she decided to stay. Then a friend joined her, followed by another, and soon they were three beautiful strangers sitting together, unwittingly blurting out intimate details about their private lives.
The blonde’s name was Teresa Mason, like the British actor. Thinking that helped him commit it to memory. He didn’t overhear them say her name — how often does someone use a person’s name during a conversation, especially a close friend. Unless it’s someone you haven’t seen in years and you need to reassure them you still remember who they are.
He gleaned her name from the ID badge dangling around her neck — a pass code key that allowed employees re-entry to secured buildings. She wore it like a piece of jewelry for all to see. Nothing wrong with that, except that it helped add a piece to a heinous puzzle for preying eyes. Teresa Mason, works at — he squinted to read — …UIC? UIC Industries was a software firm located in Midland Park Square, a group of buildings situated on a large campus, all corporate offices. Most had very nice places to eat right in their buildings, but not good coffee.
He tried to tune out the rest of the background noise to listen in on their back and forth. He overheard one of her friends mention she’d run into Randall yesterday. You remember Randall, that geeky dork who used to follow you around with his tongue hanging out? 11th grade? Teresa shrugged and made a face like she hadn’t remembered until now. She laughed and asked what he was doing. He’s a successful broker now, the friend said. He’s definitely got money — he was driving a BMW. Teresa’s head tilted, her tongue poked at her straw again.
She slurped down another gulp of Hazelnut iced coffee and turned to look at the strange, ugly man staring at her from across the cafe. His annoying gaze had started to wear a hole in her blouse. He turned away, nonchalant, and pretended to be looking at something important on his phone. She didn’t notice he was covertly snapping pictures of her and her friends.
Teresa turned up her nose in disgust, disregarding him. Her friends were too busy yapping to even notice. She re-joined the conversation and asked what Randall looked like now. The friend described him, said he’d asked about her. Teresa lit up with a grin full of perfect white teeth. The other friend, a heavyset one wearing a leather jacket two sizes too small for her, told Teresa you should meet up with him, might finally snap you out of your funk over Paul.
He had all the information he needed. He took one more look before he left; starting at her ankle, drinking in her bare skin, past the knee, over the thin dress that hugged her curves, to her face, committing it to memory. He felt sympathy for the repressed men who had to work alongside her, confident they must be straining in their seats whenever her tight frame passed their cubicles by. He licked his lips — a new project awaited! In this life, you need to take what you want, boys.
He pushed out his chair, tossed his half full tea into the trash, and exited the shop.
He climbed into a large white van. On its side read: Baxter Mills Inc. Bonded Cleaning Services.
He could still see her through the coffee shop window. He reached under his seat and dragged out a laptop, he wanted to jump onto the networking sites before he forgot all the details. Was he close enough to pull from the shop’s wifi? He saw two bars, good enough. He agreed to the pointless terms of service page and started typing.
He searched the name Teresa Mason first. Quite a few hits came up. He scrolled until he found one for Lansing. There were three actually, but only one with blonde hair. He clicked and her picture enlarged. There she was.
Check.
She had an open page, allowing anyone to see her history. Too easy. He did a quick search and discovered that she went to Clearview High in Windsor Township, graduated seven years ago. Hmm a little older than he thought. His judgment must be off. He liked them younger. As they aged, they often grew wiser to their own mortal vulnerabilities. The young ones walked the earth in ignorant bliss. Still — ripe fruit.
He clicked off the page and did a search for Clearview High, then ran a search of alumni. There she was, wasn’t she cute? He typed up the name Randall, hoping to only find one. Lucky me. Randall Peterson. He was a dorky looking boy. Wonder what he’s doing now?
He searched and discovered Randall works for Martin Mitchell Investments. Lives in Annandale. Nice address. And sure enough, on the corporate website for Martin Mitchell, there was a contact page for him, with a nice-sized photo. He right-clicked and downloaded it.
He went back to the social networking site and expertly created a new page, using a fake email address for confirmation. He wasn’t worried about them tracing him, since the computer was stolen from a plumbing job he did weeks ago in Bridgetown, plus the public wifi camouflaged his IP address. One step ahead. Some idiots don’t even put a pass code on their devices. This one did, but he was able to crack it. Five minutes on Google.
He created the fake page for Randall Peterson. He even found his actual page, and was able to download current pictures of him for authenticity. Too easy. Oh look, he does drive a BMW.
About 4 minutes later, he’d put together a fake page that even Randall couldn’t decipher was phony without scrutinizing every detail. And the only thing he got wrong was the date of birth — it wasn’t listed, so he guessed.
He then sent out friend requests to hundreds of people he never met, knowing most just clicked yes because the more connections you had, the cooler you were. He knew before long he would be loaded.
He brought up Teresa’s page and sent a friend request. He also sent a message, telling her about how he had just run into…shit, what was the other girl’s name? He scanned Teresa’s posts until he found a picture of the fat one with the tiny leather jacket. There she was, squeezing her fat face into the picture, blowing a kiss. A simple mouse over and: Natalie Krycia.
Check.
He updated his message to let Teresa know how he had just run into Natalie, you remember, our friend from high school? She said she still spoke to you, and that you were still local! He then let her know how anxious he was to meet her and re-connect over coffee. Maybe they could go share a Hazelnut iced coffee, which was his favorite.