Alace
Eric stirred behind her, stretching as he reached across her body towards where the remote sat on the coffee table. “What’s next in the queue, baby?”
Alace smiled, turning her face into the pillow bunched underneath her head. She’d never done this before, a lazy day spent watching movies with someone. When Eric found out, he’d loudly declared it was a criminal oversight that needed to be rectified immediately, and proceeded to arrange his day so he could stay home with her. So many firsts with him. She felt languid, relaxed to a level that was unique in her experience.
They’d begun the day with soft, slow lovemaking followed by whispered conversation while he held her against his body. Every movement, every touch had been tender, just the memory making her throat tight with emotion. Then had come the closeness on the couch. No urgency, no agenda—nothing but Eric and her and a day full of comfortable exploration taking the form of shared observations about movies and shows, how the world had changed since the days of Clark Gable, and what it meant when reality shows held people’s attention as if they really were reality.
She rolled against his chest and looked up into his face, memorizing the gentle smile he was directing her way. I love him.
That thought ripped through her like lightning, setting every alarm blaring as her heart clenched in her chest, stomach twisting painfully. His brows angled together slightly as he asked, “What?”
Alace held the mouthful of bitter saliva and forced her lips into the curve of a small smile. Only when he was again focused on the TV as his thumb worked the buttons on the remote did she allow herself the reactive swallow. “Probably should eat something.”
His hand dropped to her belly, fingertips tracing a circle just above her panties. “My baby need me to feed her?”
“You’re too sweet,” she teased him, seeing one corner of his mouth pull sideways as he tried to hide a smile. “Put the weather on or something. Let’s go see what we can throw on a tray and bring back.” She shifted, preparing to slide off the couch and to her feet, barely getting a leg off the furniture before his hand at her belly turned into an arm at her waist, yanking her back against his chest.
“Gimme a kiss first.” His demand was a mutter, mouth muffled against the skin of her neck as he worked his slow way up and across her jaw. She opened under the demands of his lips, meeting every thrust and glide of his tongue, swallowing down his groan when his arms tightened around her. Wiggling her hips backwards, she felt the hot hardness of his arousal against her ass as he crowded forwards, molding himself to her.
His arm loosened, hand sliding under her shirt to find and cup her breast, flicking her hardening nipple with the edge of his thumb. She found herself gripping his wrist tightly in both hands, holding on as she arched against his touch. Flick and a glide across her nipple, then his fingers were grasping hard as his teeth grazed her bottom lip.
Every inch of her lips burned fiercely, his stubble rasping them until they were swollen and sensitive. “Eric.” Nothing else, just his name, her voice breaking on a gasp when the kiss turned slow and lazy, his mouth traveling leisurely from one side to the other. Tracing along the side of her nose with his, he pressed their foreheads together tight, breaking the caress.
A final brush of his lips against hers, then a whispered, “Food.” She nodded, not moving, eyes fluttering open to find his gaze fixed on hers. “Alace, you gotta get up, honey.” She nodded again, and he grinned, the predatory curve of his lips telegraphing a masculine satisfaction that made her toes curl, knowing she gave that to him. “Come on.” He lifted, hovering over her for a moment as he found his footing. Arm locked around her waist, he raised her off the couch and set her on her feet, bending to press a final, final kiss on her mouth. “Lemme feed my woman.”
***
Two weeks later, she was again seated with Eric on a couch, this time in Malibu, California. They shared the piece of furniture with a distinguished-looking older woman and an equally distinguished-looking man, Eric’s mother and her husband, all four of them staring at the TV as Eric’s father gave his resignation speech.
On Alace’s part, she watched with a great deal of satisfaction, seeing the plans laid with Regg come to fruition so quickly and thoroughly. Every step of the way had been orchestrated by her, revelation after revelation delivered to the media so they couldn’t mistake a single clue, and they had leapt on it all, creating their brand of circus out of a mix of facts and conjecture—facts from her, conjecture from the networks’ talking heads—until Ward had no choice but to leave public office.
Eric was tense, every muscle primed for action, impotent as he watched this final appearance. When the writing was on the wall, his mother had called and demanded he come away from Colorado, bringing him to her in a move that left no question where he, or she, stood on the things his father had been accused of doing. With the media already knowing she’d abandoned Ward years before when the first allegations had aired, by placing himself at her side, Eric’s innocence of everything was assured.
At their first meeting, Phoebe Mayer, Ward’s ex-wife and Eric’s mother, had shocked Alace by greeting her with both open affection and excitement. Proclaiming her to be “exactly like Eric described,” a statement which had Alace whipping her head sideways to see Eric’s grin grow impossibly wide. In the days following their arrival, Bebe, as she preferred to be called, had effortlessly won Alace’s heart.
Even so—seated on a plush, leather couch in a sprawling multi-million-dollar home overlooking a beach near Malibu, nestled close to a man who continually introduced himself as her “boyfriend” and whose mother had given her tacit approval of their fledgling relationship in the form of a shared bedroom with a California king bed, and having gone for more days in a row as herself than she’d done in years—Alace still felt separated from everything. Only slightly at times, and then in some moments, it was as if she were watching a colorized newsreel from decades past, any resemblance to reality only passing. Surreal didn’t come close to covering it.
On the TV screen, Ward stepped back from the microphones and lifted both hands to shoulder height, palms facing the camera signaling an end to not only the interview and press conference but also an era of terror for young, naïve interns and assistants. Never again. He turned and walked through the open door behind him, alone, as he had been since the second day of the barrage of accusations. Various gossip rags had published pictures of Ward’s young wife abandoning him as she boarded a private plane and departed, her destination no doubt a sunny beach somewhere where she wouldn’t have to watch her life implode. That meant Ward was alone, something that had fleetingly led Alace to consider making his retirement permanent.
But then her words to Regg had come back to her, dousing those thoughts with the realization Ward would pay far more this way. Even if no criminal charges were ever brought against him, it was very likely there would be multiple civil cases. Either way, he was done. Toast.
Alace leaned against Eric’s shoulder, reached for his hand and threaded her fingers between his. They hadn’t talked about it, but he had to know she was behind his father’s humiliation. Had to know, but clearly didn’t care. He held on tightly, and she turned her head, pressing against his chest, lifting her other hand to his cheek and angling his mouth down to hers. Softly, she kissed him, keeping the closed-mouth caress tender. “Let’s turn this off, go for a walk.” He nodded, pushed to his feet and pulled her up behind him.
Bebe smiled up at her, the expression on her face so clearly approving, Alace felt a sense of wonder sweep over her again at how her life had changed.
Surreal.
***
Regg sighed, the sound loud through the phone. “Look, Alace, I get that you’re enjoying playing house with Ward.” Alace flinched, glad he couldn’t see how he’d scored. It had been just that morning she’d thought nearly the same, wondering for a moment what it would be like if she could just settle down with Eric. They were still in California, planning on staying for another couple of days before heading home. She let her lids drift closed. Home. Eric probably didn’t realize it, but every time he said the word and she was near, his hands went to her, palms gliding up her arms, or he’d give her a quick nuzzle against her cheek. Without words, he communicated she was his home, and even just thinking about it now Alace’s belly dipped. “You should have told me sooner, in case I had to run interference for you while we took his old man down. But you need to know about Charlotte.”
Alace lifted her head and stared out at the ocean. Charlotte meant Regg was talking about a mark on the east coast they’d been hunting for years.
Following a cycle it had taken far too long to become clear, a killer stalked the streets of Charlotte, North Carolina. With rigid precision, she—Alace believed the killer was female, unlike the police who were clearly unwilling to look at the fucking evidence—mechanically strangled her victims at intervals that halved the previous break in activity. At the end, as her kills became much more closely staggered, she would enter a frenzied period of activity. When this window closed, it would be another four years before she surfaced again.
“Cadence? Where are we in the cycle?” Alace tried to remember the last time she’d reviewed the case notes for Charlotte. It had to be at least a couple of years ago, when the gap was enough to make it impossible to do much more than she already had with digging through the pilfered police information and documentation, scant as it was.
“Two months. He’s beginning to devolve.” Alace winced again, this for a very different reason. That would mean there was less than a month to unravel a puzzle that had remained unsolved for two decades. Two months meant the next kill would be in a month, then two weeks, then a week, and so on.
She focused on her reflection, familiar lines falling into place on her face as she realized that this time with Eric was coming to an end. Doesn’t have to be forever.
“You want me to send the files? Let’s tackle this guy, together. Me and you, just like always.” Alace realized she hadn’t responded, and Regg was trying to sell her on the mark. Not their style, and his pushy tactics felt strange. She held her tongue, letting him continue. “I’ve already been digging. Got things laid out. You didn’t tell me everything that went down last time, but I guessed using your little trail name wasn’t a real request, so I put together Tonia Sage. Figured if you couldn’t be a Thistle, you wouldn’t mind being a Sage.” His tone was cajoling, and that also was new, so she focused on it. Cajoling, and threaded with false humor. “I’ve got everything ready to go, just say the word.”
Regg had never pushed her towards a gig before. Not once. He facilitated her choices, didn’t direct them.
“Let me think about it.”
Regg huffed, the sound loud in her ear. “He’s going to hit again soon.” Alace’s neck twisted and her eyes closed as Regg’s aim struck true. “I remember last time, you were a mess when you missed the chance to catch him.”
Eyes flying open, Alace looked at her reflection again, seeing a clear look of puzzlement on her face. “No, I wasn’t.” She’d been absorbed by a gig in Texas, working a human trafficker who preyed on the kids who flocked to the Gulf beaches every summer. It was never a choice once she was on track. Too much went into the process for her to consider pulling just in case a different gig heated up.
“You were upset.” Regg asserted, and she watched her reflection squint. Why is he pushing so dang hard?
“Upload what you’ve got. That way if I decide to look at the gig, I can.” He made a sound of agreement, and Alace cut him off. “I’ll call you.” Clear lines, known expectations—that made a good partnership.
She disconnected the call, disassembling the phone by rote, shoving the battery into one pocket, the reassembled phone into another.
I need to look at Regg and this gig. Alace made a face. Something’s off. Off didn’t work for her. Off meant mistakes, or bad decisions, either of which would put everything in jeopardy. She heard Eric’s voice calling her name and felt her expression grow soft. She couldn’t afford to make mistakes, not now.
Twisting on her heel, she strode from the room to find him.
Far too much to lose.
***
Alace stared at the screen of her battered laptop. Purchased used at a local pawn shop, the device didn’t look like much, but it had all the processor speed she needed. The laptop sent by Regg to the drop box established for the New Mexico gig sat inside an RFID blocking bag tucked into the trunk of her junker, and that was parked in a long-term lot far from Eric’s house.
Alace had found a tiny bug in her backpack.
She hadn’t been looking for it. Hadn’t expected to find anything like that on or in any of her garments or possessions. The strap on the bag had come loose, and she’d been threading it back through the clasp when she felt it. Tiny and so ultra-thin she didn’t credit it at first, but after poking and prodding for fifteen minutes, defining the boundaries of the oddity, tracing the outline through the padding and fabric, she’d taken the tip of her knife to the strap and within a few seconds had extracted it.
A high-quality bug in a nondescript bag meant to be discarded after a gig? That didn’t compute. She’d sat and stared at it for a long time, lying innocently on the edge of a table in case it had a temperature sensor. Then, gut twisting and heart sinking, she’d methodically detected and removed another half a dozen tracers from articles of clothing and shoes. Affixed into seams, hidden underneath liners, each of them would be worth hundreds of dollars on the black market, and they’d been placed in items she normally would pitch when she started a new gig.
So engrossed was she in her discoveries, she hadn’t heard Eric come home and he had surprised her. One look at her face and he’d come to her, arms tight around her shoulders as he’d asked, “Can I do anything?”
She’d shaken her head, which was the truth, and then gave him something that was also the truth. “You already are. Just hold me for a minute.”
“I can do that.” He’d twisted and sat on the edge of the couch, stretching out, folding Alace into the space between his body and the back of the couch. “That I can do.”
That night, she’d put the trackers into a bag, tossing it and every stitch of clothing she had with her into a big box, wedging that box into the back of the closet in Eric’s guest bedroom. She’d already been working off a locally purchased burner phone, so she put her other phone into the same box. It had taken a few days, but when she talked to Regg next, he’d asked how things were, asked if she were ill, asked enough questions that she understood he’d noted they hadn’t moved. That had solidified her fears.
Regg was tracking her without her knowledge.
Before New Mexico, she would have given her permission without pause, trusting Regg would have her best interests at heart, that he would use the info to help extricate her from a tough spot if needed. But she’d been in a tough spot in New Mexico, and he hadn’t put anything into play. If he were tracking her then, it was clear he would have hung her out to dry.
Since New Mexico, she had a different set of rules. With Eric, things were different.
If Regg is keeping tabs on me without a word, what other secrets is he holding?
After a few moments spent cataloging Regg’s behavior, she dialed in on the serial killer he had pushed hard to get her to consider taking as a gig.
Alace went to work. She’d been doing this long enough, had enough connections independent of Regg, she’d been able to cast a series of queries into the darknet, and wait. Through the years, she’d cultivated personas online, creating pockets of influence that she didn’t often leverage, given Regg had been doing the same thing for far longer. That meant his ability to gain whatever intel they needed far outstripped her own. Still, she’d found it advantageous enough to warrant maintenance of these identities. Now, they were paying off, and in a big way.
Alace worked quickly, saving a report she’d been given to a folder on a secure server hidden as a virtual machine on another very secure VM. The one linked from a message had a timer on it, and in about fifteen minutes, it would be as if it never existed. Except for the single copy she had in her possession now.
Hunched in front of the computer, she read enough of the report to know what additional tags to look for and then patched several queries together. She paired what she knew with what she expected to find, hoping it wouldn’t be a self-fulfilling prophesy. Even as she cast the final query wide, more fruits of the first were looping back around to her. Virtual money exchanged hands—she’d kept pods of reserves for this purpose—and once payment hit accounts, the flow of data became a flood. Four more reports were saved to similar servers, and so certain was she of what they contained, she didn’t even review them first.
She stayed online long enough to see the ripples from her activity die down, nothing bouncing against them to agitate the online community with counter-queries, waiting around to verify everything in her little node became calm and quiet. Then she logged off the darknet and crafted a connection to her secure virtual server, slamming her way through the security questions and passphrases until she had downloaded all five reports to her old, used, but very un-bugged computer.
On her feet, she stalked away from the computer, leaving it sitting open on the coffee table as she made her way to the kitchen. Downing one tall glass of cold water, she refilled the glass and drank this one slower, trying to control her racing heart.
If I delete the reports now, nothing has to change.
But she knew the fabric of what she had with Regg was altered the moment she found the trackers in items provided by a source assumed dependable. She could never go back to the same level of trust, never believe without questioning, never feel safe. Regg did that. Alace shook her head, drained the glass and tipped it upside down in the dish strainer sitting alongside the sink. A single drop of water trailed along the inside surface of the glass, making its slow way to the rim where it trembled on the edge, all animation suspended. If she’d asked Regg about the devices, he may have come clean, or he could have lied. Either way, the trust was lost, and she didn’t really want to know if he’d lie. That would take things to a whole new level. The droplet lost its grip and gravity took over, it fell, vanishing into the shadows.
Seated in front of the computer again, she clicked, and clicked again, opening the first report, using the password she’d assigned the file when she stored it. It would be saved with a different password when she closed it, the progression sequence known only to her. Two failed attempts to open the file would delete it.
Staring at the wall for a moment, she thought again, Regg did this to us. Glancing at the clock, she saw she had at least two hours before Eric came home. With an intent breath, she enlarged the report on the screen and began reading.
An hour and forty-five minutes later, she closed the laptop with a slap that echoed around the room, flinching as the latch slammed into place. Her stomach had started out rolling with nervousness, but had settled during the time spent reading the reports she’d purchased. Now instead of feeling shaky and afraid, she had only one emotion. Rage.
The killer in the Carolinas would have been one she would do because it needed to be done. Too many people had already lost their lives when law enforcement couldn’t put the clues together. She would do it for no reward, but there would have been one. A huge one. The payoff on that one gig was enough to keep her living comfortably for probably a decade or more. Not that I need much. She shook her head, folding her arms across her chest.
Regg apparently did. The other marks she’d examined, retroactive though her investigation was, and cold though the trails had become, all told the same tale. The higher risk the marks, the higher the payoff. Payoffs in some cases, plural. None of which she’d seen. He had never alluded to them, not even mentioned in passing. Not that she’d have wanted the money. Often she took the payment only when the retaliation client felt the desperate need to feel they had contributed to the retribution in some fashion. Even that was typically split not just with Regg, but with a charity that matched the victim’s personality.
Over the past four years alone, from only the handful of marks she’d looked at, Regg had cleared more than fifteen million dollars. Add what the Carolinas’ killer would bring in, and he’d be sitting at twenty.
Twenty million dollars.
She snarled silently. Hell, I paid for the destruction of Ward out of my own account. She hadn’t wanted to make Regg suffer for her change of direction on the gig.
Alace felt the rage burn cold through her veins as her brain worked at lightning speed.
By the time Eric walked through the door, she had the beginnings of a plan. She just had to make it work.
***
Eric
Alace sat beside him on the couch, cuddled warm against his side, but Eric knew she was miles away in her head.
The past several days Alace had seemed distant. Not cruelly so, just a casual preoccupation that he found could be interrupted, so he did, as often as he could. It wasn’t as if she were angry or upset with him, more that her mind was entirely taken up by something…not him.
He knew this was a change for her. They’d talked about how she’d never had a set base. Normally if taking time off between gigs—as she called them—she’d insert herself into a medium-sized resort somewhere. Not to rest and recover, just to blend. Staying somewhere with hundreds of other people meant she wasn’t an anomaly, and a rent-by-the-week place lacked the inconveniences of an actual lease where you’d have deposits, and neighbors. Eric figured it was easier mentally, too. Since she spent her life fitting into places where people were already established, all while pretending to be someone she wasn’t, it was probably a relief to be herself around people who were out of their element and somewhat pretending, too.
She hadn’t done that this time. Instead, she’d gotten involved with him, which meant she was in his house. Unless he organized something specific, she seemed content to stay home most of the time. Their time in Malibu with his mother was a different thing, and he’d spent hours going over those days in his head. From the time they got into the car to drive out, she had subtly changed, becoming a more public version of herself. Behind closed doors, she’d been just the same as always, but it made him wonder which was her playing a part.
He suppressed a grin. She’d actually taken the announcement that they were going to visit his mother in stride. Only after they were back here did she admit to the normal nerves a woman might have when meeting her future mother-in-law for the first time. Not that Alace knew those were his intentions. Not yet. He’d decided to keep that question—and the ring—under wraps until she was more comfortable with him.
More comfortable. He stared at the TV. Instead, she seemed less.
He needed to at least address the possibility that she was getting bored with this. His life, his home…him. She was here on her terms, not his. That had been clear from the beginning, but she’d exposed so much of her life to him it had felt like she was making room for them.
If she leaves, what then? He’d gone from having no one, to this. Eric tightened his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned more heavily, giving him her weight as she rested a hand on his chest, fingertips drawing tiny circles on the fabric of his shirt. He liked the way she snuggled into him, fitting herself there like she’d been made for him. If she has to leave, she’ll come back.
When they’d started things, he’d wondered if he could handle that kind relationship with her. One where she might be here for a few days or a week or two, then gone, and then eventually return after who knew how long. At the time, he’d been convinced part of her was better than nothing. Then she’d gone back to New Mexico, leaving Eric afraid things could go wrong and he might never know. As if she were going off to war, leaving him behind to tend the home front.
He bent his neck and touched his lips to the crown of her head, breathing in her scent. Can I do that again? And again?
She tipped her head back, offering her mouth, and he took it in a gentle kiss.
When he next looked at the TV, it was without a clear answer.