Page 43 of Tempest’s Torment

"What if he already knows the new code?"

Sniper meets my eyes. "Then he'll have to find another way in."

"And if he does?"

He doesn't hesitate. "Then he'll find us waiting."

I look at the new fire escape latch in his hand. "Okay," I say.

Sniper gets back to work, the sound of the drill filling the apartment for a few seconds before it falls quiet again. Every now and then he asks Tempest to hand him a tool or take a look at something. They talk in low voices while they work, mostly about the camera placement and the lighting in the hallway, making small adjustments before Sniper tightens another screw.

It's easy between them, it’s comfortable. Like they've done this a hundred times before. I sit on the couch with my coffee and watch them without either of them paying me much attention. They don't expect me to help; they just get on with it.

Louise calls me at half nine. I let it ring twice before I answer because I haven't figured out what I'm going to say.

"Morning," she says. "Just checking to see if you're coming in."

"I'm not," I say. "I'm sorry, I should have called, I didn’t think. Something came up."

There's a moment of silence and my heart starts to race. Crap, I messed up, I completely forgot about work and calling out.

"Take tomorrow too," she says.

"I don't need⁠—"

"Cara and I have it, so take tomorrow." She’s quiet for a moment. "Do you need me?"

I press my lips together and try not to cry. I don’t know how I lucked out to find her and Cara; both ladies are beyond amazing and so very caring. They’re a godsend, and I don’t know what I’d do without them, even though I’ve kept them at arm's length.

"No," I say. "I'm okay."

"Mmm." She doesn't believe me and we both know it. "Call me if that changes."

"I will."

She hangs up, and I sit for a second with the phone in my hand. Do you need me? Those four words almost undid me completely. I put the phone down and go back to my coffee before I do something embarrassing and start bawling my eyes out.

I’m making everyone lunch when Tempest’s cell rings; he looks at the screen and answers it on speaker without moving away from the table. I'm close enough that I can hear every word that’s being said.

"Rogue," he answers.

"Got something." Rogue's voice is deep and gravelly. "Evan Calloway is real and he has a record. There's a prior assault investigation in Drayton Creek, Connecticut, dropped charges, the complainant withdrew. Three years ago, he became a person of interest in a double incident and is wanted on a homicide." I can hear him typing, it’s as though he’s reading from a computer. "He dropped off the face of the earth completely after that. No tax filings, no registered address, no vehicles in his name."

"False identities," Tempest says as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"At least one confirmed. I found a Matthew Cole with a Connecticut background that tracks back to nothing before four years ago. The financials match Calloway's spending patterns." More typing. "Here's the significant part, there's ATM activity on a Matthew Cole account six weeks ago in Boston."

The room goes quiet. Six weeks, he's been here for six weeks.

"You said six weeks?" Tempest says.

"Six weeks ago. Which means the SUV, the flowers, the envelope, that's all the tail end. He's been here long enough to learn her routine completely before he made his first move."

I'm looking at my hands. For six weeks, I've been walking to work and eating lunch in the park and telling myself I was overreacting. I've been doing the grocery run and the morning checks and all the things that feel like control but aren't, and the whole time he's been here. He's been learning my routes and my timings and which window I check the street from.

"Do we have a location?" Tempest asks.

"Not yet. The ATM activity is spread across three different neighborhoods, no single pattern, he's moving around deliberately." Rogue pauses. "I'll keep pulling information; I just wanted you to have the timeline first."