Kathleen

Getting into my husband’s office and bypassing his cameras isn’t as trivial as just covering up the lenses. Nothing in my life is ever that simple. The first thing I did was research on the Internet. One of my options is to point an infrared laser directly at the lens of the camera. Supposedly, this will blind it, but the problem is that the camera would still see me before there was time to render it useless. My second option is to wear high-brightness, infrared, LED strips. Deciding to go with the latter, but not able to go shopping without a bodyguard, I had to get them shipped overnight. I even purchased the strips to place one over my left eye and one under my right eye, following the directions exactly to occlude my identity. I measure and cut both strips so they can hold four LED lights each. It is necessary for me to be precise. One mistake can mean getting caught, and it could cost Logan her life. Knowing my husband, if Logan poses a threat to our Bratva, he will think nothing of killing her. Ironically enough, my son, who is stalking her, may be her only redemption. What most people don’t understand is that the organization comes before anything, and that includes matters of the heart. Though Glazov will take into consideration Kodiak’s feelings for her, love won’t save her if she runs her mouth.

My plan is to use the strips to hide my face from the camera for long enough to clip on a device that will keep the camera blinded. I’ve also placed LED strips all over my clothing so he can’t identify me by body shape. No doubt, it would be easier to just go in and spray paint the lens black or smash it to bits, but that’s not an option for me. I can just imagine the results if this band of crazy Bratva boys thought an outsider had gotten into our mansion. We’d be on lockdown for months.

The house is quiet. Kodiak is off stalking Logan, I’m sure. Nikita and Natasha are out somewhere with Glazov. Honestly, I don’t even want to think about what they might be doing. It probably involves torturing someone and cleaning up the mess afterwards. The maids are busy down in the kitchen, and no bodyguards are lurking around. It’s now or never.

I bolster my courage and make my way to his office door with my lock picking kit and IR LED equipment in hand. I haven’t spent twenty years married to a gangster and not learned a thing or two. I can pick a lock with the best of them. We have every tool necessary for a successful break in. From electrical lock picking sets to pin tumbler lock jigglers, we have them all, and I know how to use them.

I bend down and start working my magic, moving the pins one by one into the right position. Adrenaline surges through my body; it feels so good.

I quietly sneak in and quickly go to work disabling Glazov’s all-seeing eye. Once the visual surveillance threat is taken care of, I breathe a sigh of relief.

I turn my head and eye Glazov’s huge mahogany wood desk, taking out the latex gloves from my pocket to put them on. The gloves are probably a tad overkill, but I can’t afford to take any chances. Nobody is allowed in that desk, and if he suspects anyone has been in here, his security team will dust for prints. My husband is anal retentive, even borderline OCD about his business, and he is most definitely that way about his office. The man knows if a fucking pen is out of place. I’ll need to be overly cautious to get away with this.

I pull at the large file drawer, knowing it’s probably locked, but still feeling a twinge of disappointment when it doesn’t give way. Pulling out the lock picking kit from my back pocket again, I immediately get to work on opening the file drawer. My husband likes to compartmentalize everything, so I know he’ll have a file on Logan containing everything I need to know.

I quickly flip through the files and find hers.

Logan Lorraine Ludwick. What the fuck were her parents thinking when they named her? No wonder the kid is shy.

I scan over the file, flipping through her employment application, various background checks my husband had done on her, and her college applications. Then, things start to get interesting. Inside the folder, there is personal information including her mother’s divorce documents and details about her father’s abandonment of the family. Fuck, there are even police records of her mother’s DUIs, and there are plenty of those.

Glazov’s even got the court documents on her mother. He’s confirming that she has no family who cares about her. If he can guarantee she is estranged from her mother and has no extended family, it gives him more control. It means if he kills her and buries her lifeless body on a riverbank, no one will come looking for her.

I quickly thumb through the rest of the paperwork, looking for anything that will tell me whether or not my husband knows about Logan’s exposé. When I find detailed information on all her professors, the sinking feeling in my gut intensifies. It doesn’t necessarily confirm that he knows, but it doesn’t negate it either.

I ensure all the paperwork in the file is back in order and replace it in its rightful position. Knowing my husband, he will know if even one document is out of place. I quietly shut the drawer and do a quick scan over his desk to make certain nothing has been moved. Satisfied, I quickly walk over to the camera and remove the IR LED device, confident that the strips over and under my eyes will keep the camera blinded to my identity. I quietly leave his office, leaving it locked up and looking as if no one had ever been there.

I scurry back down to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me. Breathing a sigh of relief, I lean against the wall, feeling like I just pulled off the impossible. Casually strolling into my walk-in closet, I finger the clothing, looking for a comfortable dress to put on for a nice evening dinner with my family.

I freeze when I hear the click of the bedroom door lock being opened by my husband. I know it’s him because he would beat the shit out of any of his employees for walking in on me.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, not now.

I begin tearing at my clothes like a mad woman, ripping off the LED strips and throwing them on a top shelf, only to have them fall back down at my feet. I’m in a full-blown panic now, knowing that my husband is just a few steps away. I toss the strips up again, and thankfully, they stay in place this time. I kick at the clothes I have shed, trying to hide them behind the neatly rowed shoes on the floor. Then, I push everything back a little further, counting on the height of my boots to hide everything. Knowing I’m being overly cautious and taking extra time I don’t have spurs me on. Glazov may still find the tape on my clothing that held the LED strips in place. No doubt, my husband will know exactly what it is if he finds it.

I run my hands over my face in relief, but it’s short-lived and quickly morphs back into panic when I feel the LED tape I’ve forgotten to remove around my eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing bent over butt ass naked?”

With my husband standing right behind me, in one swift move, I rip the LED strips off and toss them back behind a pair of boots. I am fully expecting to be busted and to see him bend over to pick them up, so when I turn around and see a blood soaked Glazov, I am caught completely off guard.