As soon as I got out of my car, I knew I looked suspicious. Nosy neighbors would call me in immediately: A woman with dark sunglasses, a black biker jacket, tight black jeans, and black boots? The women who lived here wore 24K gold chains around their waists and stiletto slides with their bikinis, lounging poolside.
I walked fast, trying to stick to the shadows cast by the houses to the east. Soon, I was on the sidewalk in front of the house directly across from his. I scanned the front windows one last time before I crossed the street and cut toward the side of the house that held the garage. A massive wall and steel gate leading to the side and back yard awaited me. I stuck the toe of my boot on top of a hinge and heaved myself over the gate, hoping a bevy of guard dogs wasn’t waiting for me on the other side.
I landed in a crouch and stayed that way for a second as I took in my surroundings. I was right on the edge of a massive bank of windows that lined the south side of the house facing a lap pool squeezed in between the house and the fence. I scooted back toward the gate as I spotted movement within the house. I froze.
It was him.
He wore loose yoga pants and a tight black T-shirt.
I watched as he paced and then realized he was holding a cell phone to his ear on the side opposite of me. He held it between his chin and shoulder as he fiddled with a stainless-steel espresso machine. While his back was to me, I darted past the bank of windows and took cover behind what looked like a small pool house. I ducked into the palms and parted a large leafy branch to continue my surveillance.
He downed an espresso, made another one and then hung up the phone.
Sitting down at the bar facing the kitchen, he opened a laptop. I crept out from behind the pool shed, holding my gun in front of me. Soon I was directly behind him, the muzzle of my gun trained on the back of his head. I’d never shot through a sliding glass door before. I wasn’t even sure it would work. My heart pounded in my throat. From what I’d learned about this guy yesterday, he deserved a long, painful death.
As I undid the safety and pressed my index finger on the trigger, a thought struck me. Bulletproof glass? At the same time, his head swiveled, looking toward a part of the house I couldn’t see. I backed toward the pool house slowly and followed the direction of his gaze. A small girl with a head full of blonde curls came rushing into the room. She ran to the man, and he scooped her up onto his lap in a big hug. The girl wore a pink tutu over a summer dress and red sparkling ballet slippers. The man looked up again and a woman swooped into the room in wide-legged beige slacks, a white silky blouse, and beige three-inch-high sandals. Her sleek hair was brushed back from her face revealing giant gold earrings. She set a Birkin bag on the bar and leaned over to retrieve the girl from the man’s arms. She kissed the man on the forehead and then mother and daughter left the room. About thirty seconds later, I heard a garage door opening and the purr of a sports car.
The man lifted his phone again. Said something briefly and then put it back on the bar.
A few minutes later, the man stood, stretched, and shrugged out of his shirt. Then he dropped his pants in a pool on the floor at his feet.
He was naked. He disappeared into a room right off the kitchen and came carrying a large towel. Shit. He was going to swim. He leaned over and suddenly loud music blared from hidden speakers. Some weird modern rapper or something.
I pressed myself into the small space between the pool house and fence right before I heard the sliding glass doors open. Shortly after, when I heard a splash, I peeked out from the foliage. He was doing laps. Each time he swam to the far end of the pool, turned in a flip, and then swam under water back to my end where he would lift his head for air.
I tucked my gun back into my back waistband and reached down toward my ankle.
This time when his head popped out of the water gasping for breath, I grabbed ahold of his hair at the same time I pressed the flat edge of my dagger to his throat.
He began to laugh. I pressed the blade harder. With the flick of my wrist I could cut his jugular in two. I was crouched at the edge of the pool, one hand holding his head by the hair and the other holding my knife. It wasn’t the most advantageous position. If he yanked his head, he would toss me into the pool with him. Of course, I would slice his neck at the same time I was dunked, but I wondered if he was confident enough to try anyway.
Then I realized why he was laughing. A large bulk of a man appeared at the opposite end of the pool at the same time I felt a gun between my shoulder blades. The loud music had drowned out the sound of their approach. I stared at the man across the pool from me as I weighed my options—would the man behind me shoot me and risk me slicing a jugular? And why didn’t the man across the pool have a gun trained on me? He nodded toward the house and another man came out, pushing someone before him.
Rosalie.