Professional. Precise. Deceptively capable.
Boomerang weaves between my legs, tail flicking like he’s part of the mission.
“Not today, fluff monster,” I mutter, sidestepping the impending cat-hair sabotage.
This is it.
Today I infiltrate.
Today Ihunt.
“I’ve got this,” I mutter, and Boomerang meows like he’s already fed up with me. “Yeah, alright, drama king. Breakfast coming up.”
He’s more punctual than my phone alarm—if he didn’t yell at me every mealtime, I’d forget to eat entirely.
I start the walk like it’s any ordinary weekday; past the coffee shop, the local Tesco, the scaffolding that’s been up for six months with no sign of progress. But when I reach the usual right turn to work, I hesitate… and veer left.
Clipboard in one hand, fake lanyard strangling me like a bad decision, my heart thuds harder with every step toward Cameron’s house.
This is not safe.
Not even close.
I’m walking into a stalker’s territory with a made-up identity and a grin held together by sheer nerve.
Who does that?
Me, apparently.
Darcy would absolutely lose it if she knew what I was doing today. She’d either scream or cry, or both—and frankly, I wouldn’t blame her.
But I’m too far in now. And I don’t do halfway.
Then it hits me—he lives eerily close to work.
Coincidence? Doubt it.
My pulse pounds as I reach the edge of his driveway.
This is it. Showtime.
I scan my reflection in a nearby car window—blouse crisp, hair smooth, clipboard at the ready.
I look the part. Now I just have to act it. Because the second I hesitate, the second he sees through me…
It’s over.
Quick in, quick out.
That’s the plan.
My little spy camera—the one I dashed out to buy right before the shops shut—is prepped and primed, a discreet gadget no bigger than a thumbprint. All I need now is the perfect spot to tuck it away.
And nerves of steel.
Which, at the moment, Idonotpossess.
I’m shaking, lips cracked and dry, stomach pitching sideways as I press the doorbell.
