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“Figures. People who live in neighborhoods like this think they’re safer than the commoners.”
Crouching, we made our way to the gap. I slid through it first, then Memphis. We stood still in the darkness, listening, watching. I couldn’t believe this man once had Lilith living here with lackluster security—little lighting surrounding the house, a cheap-ass alarm system, and the only visual surveillance was a damn ring camera on the front door.
Bitch ass.
Finally, we quickly moved toward the house, keeping to the shadows in the full-moonlit night. Once at the door, I pulled out a key and could see Memphis’s smile in my periphery. I could almost hear her thinking that she taught me well, and she did. Once inside, I quickly disabled the alarm—yes, I had the code. The house was quiet save for a television playing in the distance. From the camera feed, I knew it was in the bedroom where our target was located. I can’t lie; my adrenaline was through the roof. This was the shit I lived for. The hunt. Whether abbreviated or extensive, the pursuit, the journey to the kill, was the best part of my job, or in this case, my personal activities.
Caution made me do as I was trained to so long ago by B329–stand still and listen just as we’d done outside the house. It was dark, and although I had a visual on Felice Archer, anything could happen at any time. Finally, we moved forward, making our way to the bedroom. The door to the room was open, and I could see the woman lying under the covers, her form illuminated by the light from the active TV screen. Gun in hand, I moved to the bed, was right on the woman when I stopped cold. Something was off, way off.
My head snatched around the room, looking for…something, something that would explain the hairs standing erect on my arms.
My eyes dropped to my target, her back to me as she lay stone still.
Too still.
Fuck.
I stared down at her, at the bed beside her, at her outstretched arm and the bottle lying in the palm of her hand.
A pill bottle.
I shook my head as I placed my latex gloved hand to her neck, checking for a pulse.
There was none.
35
There was a handwritten note on the nightstand closest to the side of the bed where Felice Archer lay that read: I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I only wanted to be with my love again. I can no longer live with the guilt.
On autopilot, I left the bedroom, ushering Memphis to the back door, rearming the alarm before we retraced our steps through the yard and the trees beyond it to our waiting vehicle.
“How the fuck did I miss this?” I mused aloud as I drove us back to my home.
“I’m sure you don’t just sit and stare at that camera feed twenty-four seven, do you? Besides, unless you were looking closely, you could’ve seen her take the pills and easily missed how many she put in her mouth,” Memphis said.
“Nah, I’m losing my fucking edge. I should’ve known this. Fuck!” I slammed my hands against the steering wheel.
“Well, you have been preoccupied, and not in a bad way. You’ve got a family, now. It’s understandable.”
“Is it? This is about protecting said family, and I failed.”
“Damn, Ray! The woman is dead! Wasn’t that your desired goal? Take this as a win!” she shouted.
“How is this a win when I was supposed to do her?!” I yelled in response.
“Oh, that’s what this is about. How long has it been?”
I glanced at her and sighed. “More than a year. Months before I met Lilith,” I muttered. Well, that’s if I don’t count killing Penny. That was personal, though, not business, I thought. This Felice Archer shit is both.
“It really is addictive. You know I know.”
“Yeah. I thought I was past this shit. Thought I could quit. I still think I can. I’m just…”
“Disappointed.”
“Yeah, that.”
“Ray, I’m sorry I recruited you into this mess. I truly am.”
