Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Sagan

Twenty minutes earlier

I sit alone in the tall trees, watching for signs of life.

In the no-man’s land between the range of one security camera and another, I’ve carved out my existence.

I’ve been doing this daily for so long that I’m no longer jumpy at every rustle of leaves or cracking branch. Animals and humans have different patterns in nature.

In another life, I was an Army Ranger. In this life, I wait for Esme.

According to flight records, she went to a spa in Switzerland shortly after her intern, Briar, returned to college. Esme’s return flight was supposed to be three days ago. But I’ve been camping out at the wall ever since, watching for her return, just for the chance to talk to her, but there’s been no activity. Not even smoke rising from the chimney where her bedroom is.

I left Taylor in charge of Fated Ink, telling her I had important meetings about buying a failing tattoo shop in Gold Hill. I don’t know if she bought it. Don’t know if I care.

I’ve not been to any meetings. I’ve been here, in the high branches of the 100-foot southern magnolia that towers over the fence surrounding Bryant Estate. This is my job now.

My job is to watch over Esme.

Technically, it’s not my job in any official capacity, but I’m not about technicalities.

I peer through the binoculars, aimed at her bedroom window. Through the branches, I have a straight shot. Nothing but darkness there. And no cars have come and gone, nor has she stepped foot outside.

My parole officer would frown on this new hobby of mine, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Then I see it. The curtain pulls aside and there she is, looking right at me.

On instinct, I shimmy up the tree into the shadows and blend in, making myself disappear.

And I wait.

When she disappears from the window again, I’m on the move.

From the top of the wall, I assess the best way to maneuver. My knees aren’t as stable as they used to be. I manage to land on mulched earth without breaking my ass. I may be muddy, wet from snow and dressed like a doomsday prepper in camo from head to toe, but I’ve got no time to make a proper introduction to whoever is her handler.

I have to follow my gut. If she’s in her room and hasn’t been in or out of that house in weeks, I know she’s not well.

I need to get to her.

I’m drawn to her, just like when we met, and she turned my world upside down.

Looking back, it still feels like she came to me in a dream.

I spotted her before she locked those blue eyes on me. Her long strides carried her taller than almost everyone except me as she pin-balled through the autumn festival. She behaved like a person who’d just been let out of prison, but instead of coming out broken, she was whole. Exuberant. Curious.

Esme was perfect.

She amused me at first.

And then her smile killed me and gave me life at the same time.

She talked fast and zipped from one topic to another, like the world was about to end, and she wanted to cover everything.

I had no idea who she was then.

And I didn’t care. I just knew I had to keep my eye on her.

The first thing out of her mouth when she walked up to me was to read the tattoo on my neck. “I fear no evil,” she said.

I turned to her in surprise.

“You read Latin.”

She shrugged. “And three other dead languages.”

“Cool.”

She put her hand out. “I’m Esme. And I’d love a neck tattoo just like that one.”

“I’m Sagan, and like hell you’re getting a neck tattoo.”