Manic

It hurts me—physically hurts me—to think of what she went through as a teenager.

She was a child when that monster found her, desperate and needy. Homeless and hungry, alone on the streets.

And that pathetic excuse of a human is nothing more than a pedophile ra**st.

It takes hours for Rook to slide into her normal deep sleep, but I wait patiently until her breathing evens out, her clenched fist releases my shirt, and she turns a little to sink into the pillow. I slip out of bed, grab my phone and text Ford.

He's standing down in the studio near the far windows, like he never went home. He knows better than to speak about work unless the conditions are right, so he walks to the center of the room and flips on one of the fans we use for windy shoots.

"What'd ya got?" I ask, my voice barely audible over the vibrating hum.

"A nibble. Small withdrawal."

"He's testing?"

"Yes, that's my guess."

"So did you make a grab?"

He sneers at me. "If we just established he's testing, why the f**k would I grab him now?"

"I'm just asking, Ford."

"Be patient. It's a waiting game. He knows where she is now, the ball's in our court. I'll put the website up this week and set up the accounts. See if we can't tempt him to move fast."

"Do you think he will?'

Ford looks out the window as he thinks. "No, I think he's gonna wait. I think he's one paranoid motherfucker, but stratospherically ballsy at the same time."

"Why?"

"Because his first transaction was ninety-nine cents. He went inside and paid for a cup of coffee at Cookie's with a card from Rook's account with his name on it. I found it on the security footage we have access to for the show. I don't want to risk invading Rook's account because I'll muddy the tracks, so I can't be sure of how he got it without asking Rook to check things, but there's only one reason for him to be that ballsy. And that's because he ordered that extra card right from her online banking account. He's definitely had access to that for a while now."

"What a dumbass."

"Yeah, that's what we think because we know the food's free at Cookie's, so she'd never pay for a cup of coffee. It was a dead giveaway, we couldn't have asked for a better tip-off. But in his mind, that's about the safest transaction there is. A cup of coffee at her local haunt. If she did pay for food there, she'd never suspect it."

"How long do you think? Before he moves on her?"

"Hard to tell." Ford shrugs. "But he's quite good, it takes some skill to deal directly with banks."

"What about the other stuff?"

Ford smiles his nasty evil genius smile and nods his head. "Setting it up. He'll regret ever stepping into my little sphere of vengeance."

I get the shivers as the words come out because Ford is diabolical when it comes to these jobs. "What do you want me to do?"

"This is a non-personal con, Ronin. You're not really necessary until the very end. Just keep your eyes open, I don't trust this man. He's devious. And we all need to be carrying from now on. He was issued a concealed carry weapons permit out of the JeffCo Sheriff last week."

"Fuck. That means he's been here for a while."

"Probably as long as Rook has. That's the only way he could get that permit so quickly, and even then, he probably had someone pull strings."

I just nod, hoping we're not putting her in more danger as this plays out.

Ford turns and walks off and I flick the fan off and take the stairs three at a time back up to my apartment.

Rook is still sleeping peacefully, unaware of the deal Ford, Spence, and I are making. Unaware of who I really am, what I used to do, and what I'm capable of.

Unaware of what I'm gonna do for her now.

Chapter Thirty-Two - RONIN

And that's pretty much how our summer passes. We put the entire studio on lockdown, no public hours at all anymore, entrance by appointment only. Spence, Ford and I hold secret meetings under cover of bubbling rivers or oscillating fans. Rook is painted up to match the bike of the day and then photographed alone or sitting in my lap. We spend our weekends up at the Shrike Shop, filming fake deliveries and goofing off for the cameras. I visit Clare up in Steamboat a few times as a reward for good behavior. She finally begins to make progress towards a real recovery.

And we wait it out.

We wait for that sick f**k to make his move.

But he is so very, very patient.

And it's making me very nervous, because there's no way around it. Somehow, some way, this ass**le knows we're setting him up. Ford was supposed to move on to part two of the con more than a month ago, but Jon Walsh disappeared and we had to hold back, then start all over again when he finally resurfaced.

Ford says it's normal for a guy with his credentials to be wary, but I'm not buying it. There's no way this is normal.

So I worry, and pace, and most nights I sit up in bed, watching Rook sleep, my Ruger in hand. Like I am right f**king now. Maybe this started out with him paranoid, but I have a bad feeling that he's turned the tables on us, like somehow he knows. He knows who we are and what we do and he's taunting us.

And our road trip to Sturgis starts today, so that means we're gonna be out of state, on the highway, in a campground with five thousand other strangers—all badass, all mean as f**k, all drunk and horny—and this is not going to end well. I can feel it.