Finn emails Tuija with a list of requests for the office: furniture, equipment, layout suggestions. Part of the space will need altering for workstations and a small lab, but it's nothing unreasonable. I'm almost disappointed; part of me wondered if she'd push for her own floor. I do have a floor for her, but that pun is way too predictable.
Finn visits the offices. Leo does not.
I release Tuija from her day-to-day duties to project manage SilentWitn3ss's relocation, partly because somebody with a brain needs to do it and partly because I think we could use some time apart. Let her yearn for me a bit so she's grateful for my eventual presence. I'm not an idiot—she's drinking because of me. Flattering as that is, I can't have my inner circle implode just because I've dared to show interest in a woman. The jealousy bus, sports fans: it has two stops only, Purgatory and jail. And Tuija already got off on the first one.
In the meantime, I'm interviewed by Forbes magazine, and a journalist accompanies me to one of Ash's little league games for a semi-biographical feature where I come out looking like a man you could take home to grandma. I want Leo to see these articles. I want her to pass a news stand on her way home and catch a glimpse of the creature who put a gun to her throat while he finger-fucked her sore, only to see what a wholesome role model the public thinks he is—and I want her world to snap shut.
Friday comes and there's been no contact from Leo. Each night, I've spent long minutes thinking back to our encounter in her apartment, touching myself to the memory of her scent. Her voice. The feel of her, deep inside. Surely, she knows that my shadow aches for hers; this is all part of a tease I promised to quit.
But a man has his vices, and mine won't shut up until it has been fed.
I leave the office an hour earlier on Friday and drive to a parking lot downtown, where Tuija reserved a space for me. The streets are crowded—people finishing early shifts, or on their way out to meet friends and lovers—and with my head down, it's easy enough to blend in. I pass restaurants and cocktail bars already filling up, art cinemas with irritating, makeshift signs outside, and delis selling off the last of their cupcakes. New York is a haze of old and new cigarette smoke, traffic and bodies; a warm, acrid sludge of air.
A few blocks later, I spot the car I'm looking for parked near the back of Leo's office block: a silver Honda with scratched paint. I glance about before getting into the passenger seat—have to check for prying eyes.
I may be infatuated, but I'm done with being careless along with it.
"Hola." Tommy Chavez presses his lips together and gives me a pat on the shoulder. A familiar greeting, as if he's relieved to see me, yet is the bearer of bad news. Neither is true. He wipes a bead of sweat from his tanned forehead and smoothes back his black hair. "Just in time, chief."
"Glad to hear it." With another glance into the wing mirror, I reach into my jacket pocket and retrieve his envelope. "For the next few weeks."
He takes it with a nod. "Gracias."
"Any hits on the girl I asked you about?"
"Miss Fordham, right?" He waits for my nod of acknowledgement. "Nah, chief. Nada. No email, no social media. I stayed away from her phone, like you asked."
Leo is a surveillance professional; only a retard would attempt to hack her phone. Not that I haven't been tempted.
"She had two phones," I say.
"Not unusual. One's probably for work."
"One was a pretty outdated model. An old Nokia. Seems weird for someone who works in tech."
He purses his lips. "True."
"Keep watching," I instruct in a low voice. "Sooner or later, she'll make contact with Fordham. Will meet her, probably."
"Of course. Although she don't meet many people, truth be told. Goes to work, goes to the gym, comes home. I think she met her grandpa once for dinner."
"No men?"
"Not that I saw. If she's got a man, he's creepin' in through her bedroom window at three in the morning and shimmyin' down a tree when he's blown his load."
I checked out Leo's Fordham story. Turns out, Rachel has been through several therapy stints at the same centre, and one stay overlapped with Leo's. That was six years ago. Leo claimed that I handed myself over on a silver platter; it's true that I was the one to make first contact. After reading about SilentWitn3ss online, I sent Tuija to see them at an expo, and made a bid soon after. But Leo's history means none of this amounts to coincidence. They way she's come after me...this has been building a long time, and I'd bet my own asshole that Rachel is somehow involved.
Revenge, perhaps. Hell hath no fury and all that shit. Something doesn't make sense yet, doesn't fit. Although, lying on that bed with me...Leo found herself curious in unprecedented ways. She sure as fuck hadn't planned that. The girl is a bag of snakes, a riot of contradictions; I can't walk away without sampling.
"You want to see her?" asks Tommy.
I clutch the door handle a little too tightly. Release it as my knuckles begin to ache. "I want to see her."
"Then follow me, and ye shall receive."