Sinful Longing

“You’re brilliant,” Colin said to Larsen, then flipped open his laptop, logged into Facebook, and started hunting. There were many ways to solve a problem. You could tackle it point by point, or you could go wide and surround the problem.

He’d had no success tracing the number, so rather than go from number to name, he’d have to amass a list of possible names and see what matched. He rolled up the cuffs on his white shirt—nothing ventured, nothing gained—and spent the next few hours digging into Facebook and Instagram for images of the Royal Sinners.

Don’t mess with the Royal Sinners.

That was what they said about themselves.

Those were the words used in Elle’s messages.

Don’t you be messing around…

Whoever WJ was, he had effectively identified himself as a gang member in the text. Gang members had nicknames—weirdly menacing ones. WJ wanted to own his intimidation, and Colin was determined to find him.

Colin had something these gang guys didn’t have.

Ingenuity. Resourcefulness. And one hell of a brain. He knew how to use his head to solve a problem. As he hunted, he unearthed a braggart’s den. He found a treasure trove of images, just as John had said he would. Young guys holding wads of cash. Guys aiming guns at the camera. Others pointing to the ink on their arms. Protect Our Own.

He captured screenshots. He saved images. He took notes. He checked geotags on Instagram. He studied the pins on the back of images.

He did it again the next day.

And the next.

And the next.

He didn’t have an answer, or a name, or a number. But he had a database now. Soon, WJ would tag something. That was what these guys did. Then he’d zero in on him.

*

Two Elles.

Over the next few days she returned to her split self. Only this time she was Happy-Go-Lucky Elle, and she was Sleeping-With-One-Eye-Open Elle.

Her schedule was packed with work, and school pick-ups, and the start of Alex’s first history project of the year, and cooking dinner for her son. It was stuffed with Colin playing a few rounds of State of Decay with him, and then basketball with Rex, Tyler, Marcus, and Alex at the center. Tomorrow was jam-packed, too—during the day she had a board meeting with the center’s directors over the remodeling progress, and at night Ryan was proposing to Sophie. He’d planned a surprise family celebration for Sophie afterward.

Life was almost too good to be true.

Almost.

Because there, in the background, slinking over her shoulder was her phone stalker. WJ.

She hadn’t said a word about it to her son. He didn’t need to know. It was his first week of school, and she wanted him to be able to focus on being a freshman. But she needed desperately to talk to someone.

“It’s been three days since the text message. Maybe it’s all over,” she said to her sister as she visited with her at the Skyway rink on Thursday evening.

“Let’s hope so. Did you get a new cell phone like I told you to?”

“What’s the point?” she asked as Camille straightened up napkins and straws at the snack counter. “My number is on the center’s website. Anyone can get it.”

Camille gave her a pointed look. “Maybe it shouldn’t be so easy to reach you.”

She drummed her nails against the counter. “I want the boys to be able to reach me. That’s the point of doing what I do. To be accessible. To be a resource for them. I can’t shut myself off from the world.”

“Just be careful. Because someone clearly doesn’t like your boyfriend if they’re sending you messages not to mess around with him.”

Elle sighed heavily and twisted her hair into a makeshift ponytail. “I know. It just makes no sense.”

“Maybe it’s an angry ex of his. Someone who’s pissed you have your claws in him?” Camille suggested, reminding Elle about Colin’s ex who lashed out when he broke up with her.

“I don’t think so. Why would she sign it WJ?”

Camille shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe WJ stands for Whack Job.”

Elle cracked up, the first good laugh she’d had in days.

Twenty minutes later, she picked up Alex from Janine’s house. He’d been working on a history project with Janine’s son. In the past she’d have let Alex take public transportation home, but there was no way she was letting him on the city bus with WJ hanging over her. No way, no how, not going to happen.

She chatted briefly with Janine on the porch then headed to the car, waving good-bye. “Good luck this weekend. I’ll be there cheering you on, though it’ll pain me not to skate,” Elle said.

“It’ll pain me more not to have my favorite blocker,” Janine said with a pout.

“Are you going to come with me to the final match this weekend?” Elle asked Alex once they were inside the car.

“Can I stay home and hang out by myself?”

She flinched at the idea, gripping the steering wheel. “No. I want you to come with me.”

“But why? You’re not even skating. I just want to hang at home. Play Xbox and stuff.”

“We’ll have fun. We’ll get pizza at the rink,” she said through pursed lips. She didn’t tell him the truth—that she could barely stomach letting him out of her sight.

He kicked his foot against the floor of the passenger seat.