Darkest Sins (Perfectly Imperfect #9)

He grumbles something and looks away.

“I didn’t hear you, Kruger. What’s my fucking rate?”

“A hundred percent.”

“Exactly. So mind your own shit.” I nod toward the man on the floor. He seems to be stirring. “What do you want to do with him?”

“The client has changed her mind. She doesn’t need him anymore. You can take him back to wherever you found him.”

“The return trip wasn’t included in the contract. Will she be paying for the extra work?”

“No.”

“Well, if that’s the case . . .” I take out my gun and shoot the hostage.

Kruger looks at the corpse littering his floor and says, “Take care of the body.” Then, he gets back to his notes.

I ignore his order and head straight to the door. My cub is working a late shift today. If I floor it, I’ll get to Boston just in time to follow her home. And maybe, I can watch her a little bit longer.

It’s been more than a week since I checked up on her last. A small smile pulls at my lips. She liked the parsley. It’s planted in a matching set of three gray pots, sitting just by the balcony door where she likes to study, not by the window where the rest of her weeds are. My parsley’s living in the best spot.

“Mazur!” Captain snaps. “The body!”

“Suck my dick, Kruger,” I say over my shoulder and slam the office door.

Chapter 10

I cock my head and watch my girl as she climbs the steps of the fire escape to the roof of her building. She’s carrying what looks to be a blanket under her left arm and a bottle in the same hand, while gingerly holding on to the railing with the other. Her dark-blond hair is piled into a messy bun on top of her head and is tied with red fabric. The scarf I left for her.

The condo block I’ve been using as my watchtower is a story higher than her walk-up, so I can clearly see her cross the flat, snow-dusted asphalt to take a seat on a makeshift bench someone has set up there. Seems like she likes hanging out on rooftops, too. We have that in common. Getting comfy, she wraps the blanket around her shoulders and then just stares straight ahead into space.

Something has happened. Something that has shaken her.

During my random visits over the past eight months, I’ve gotten to know her rather well. She doesn’t drink coffee, but she likes lemonade. Compulsively neat, based on how spotless her apartment is. Unhealthy sleeping habits. She can go all night, working on her laptop, until she practically passes out at daybreak. Last week, she conked out on her couch with a power cord wrapped around her leg. Good thing I kept a key to the newdoor I had installed. I didn’t have to break in when I headed up to untangle the damn thing so it wouldn’t cut off her circulation.

Other than joining her girlfriends at a bar every Friday night, she doesn’t seem to go out very often. I adjusted my work schedule so that I’m free those nights and can watch over her. The establishments she frequents are fairly subdued—more like neighborhood pubs—and not very likely to attract major problems, but I won’t take any chances with her. I want to be sure she’s safe. No. It’s not just awant. Need. Ineedto know that she’s safe.

Sometimes, I drop by and check on her during the day. So far, though, I haven’t encountered anything that might be considered a potential threat during the sun-filled hours. Most of that time she’s studying at home, only once in a while venturing out to a library, or working at the vet’s. No boyfriend. And no pets. That’s really bugging me, for some reason. She’s learning a whole bunch of stuff about animals, so why isn’t her place overflowing with cats and dogs, or whatever other critters are usually kept as companions?

Cub opens the bottle and takes a big swig. She seems sad. I don’t like it.

I push away from the railing, intending to head over there and demand to know who has made her unhappy so I can kill the little shits, but stop after two steps. I promised myself that I’d keep my distance. I’m going to make sure she’s safe, but I’ll do it from afar. Lurking in the dark corners is what I am best at. I don’t “do” people unless it involves disposing of them.

Gritting my teeth, I turn around and look at my girl again. She’s clutching the blanket around her shoulders, looking down at her feet as she slowly swings the bottle in her hand.

The urge to find out what’s troubling her is eating me up inside, battling with my resolve to stay in place. But, I’m a stubborn motherfucker, so my resolve wins.

For a full five minutes.

Subtle prickles on the skin across the back of my neck and, a few moments later, the sound of approaching steps. Slow. Deliberate in their movement.

“I see you finally decided to show up again,” I say, keeping my eyes on the city skyline. “It’s been two months.”

The wood creaks beneath me as my stranger takes a seat on the other end of the bench. “I was never far away, cub.”

“Yeah, keeping tabs on me from a distance. I felt you, you know.” And each time I felt the tingling sensation that’s solely associated with him, I hoped he’d show up so we could continue talking. About nothing. And yet, everything.

“How so?”