Page 11 of Wasted Lust

I’d like to know how she managed that, to be honest. I’d like to know who raised her, what secrets she’s keeping, how she got inducted into a makeshift family of con men and killers. I’d like to get inside her house. Turn over every mattress, pry up every floorboard, and peek into every crevice. But that place is locked up tight unless she’s entering or exiting.

What kind of grad student has security like that? What kind of person, period?

I’ve looked into her adopted father’s personal history, and it almost reads as true. He has parents, at least. Very rich family with a long history in Denver and the surrounding areas. He has children, a home, and a job. Two, actually. A semi-famous television producer of reality shows and one long-running science-fiction series on a major cable network. And he’s on a CIA watchlist for criminal hackers. That guy’s history is a case all its own.

But I don’t care about her adopted father’s indiscretions. I want more info on Sasha and the only way to get that info is through Sasha.

Max is right. We need to move this case forward and I need to do whatever it takes to make that happen. We can’t afford to wait until Nick makes a move. If we let this opportunity slip by we’ll lose any ground we’ve gained over the past four years.

But Sasha does not seem to be on the same timeline as us. I’ve followed her relentlessly. I’ve bugged her office phone. I’ve even gotten two students to spy on her. One asked her out on a date, which she declined. She does not party, she does not have friends, she does not do anything even remotely suspicious.

But I know who she is. So I’m not falling for any of it.

Sasha Cherlin might be the most dangerous woman in this entire country. She has no weapons registered to her, but if my sources are right—and I believe they are—she has guns. She possibly has explosives. And she knows how to use them. Furthermore, just the fact that she admitted to being Sasha Cherlin is enough to put her on every watchlist in the country. Probably every watchlist in the world.

But the fact that she is not on any of these lists—even though her adopted father is—tells me something I can’t ignore.

The Company is still taking care of her.

It all adds up to something and even though I can think of a few scenarios that might involve the Company reasserting their claim on this girl, none of them are good for her.

They want her skills for a job. They want information. Or they want to kill her. These are the only three possible reasons for Nick’s renewed interest in Sasha Cherlin.

I want her for all those things too. I don’t want to kill her, but if she’s working for them again—if that meeting I interrupted when I approached her at DIA has something to do with the Company—then I will.

They have a serious blood debt with me and I’ve waited a long time to get even. I’ve lost a lot trying to get to this moment in time. I’ve put things on the line. People on the line. And Sasha Cherlin will not yank the only opportunity I have for payback away from me because she’s careful.

She has to fuck up sometime. And I need that fuckup to happen soon or years of waiting and work will all go down the drain. Hell, I might lose my position at the FBI over this if anyone finds out. And that’s not all. I could be charged with treason just for looking at the information Max gave me.

And Madrid. She’s been professional and she was sent by Max. He’s one of the only people I can trust, so I accept her as a partner. But who is she? Why is she here? Why is she on this case that isn’t even a case? How did she manage to get assigned to a top-secret mission like this?

There’s only one answer for that.

She’s involved.

Like me. Like my brother. Like Sasha.

Madrid and I don’t work the same shift. She takes days, trailing Sasha discreetly at school using campus cameras from a remote location. And I take nights watching her house. No one comes. No one goes. At school, she’s an exemplary student, teacher, and citizen. No parties, no drugs, no drinking, no friends, no men, no nothing.

Sasha is a living, walking ghost.

I check my watch from the front room of the apartment across the street from her. She leaves every day at seven-fifty and walks to school. That’s in three minutes. So I grab my keys and walk out the door. Today, she will have company.

I paid the student who rented this place four months’ rent to get him to move out and let me have it, still under his name. And my four months are just about over. We need to change the course of things and I plan on doing that today.

When I get out onto the street it’s seven forty-nine. I wait in the front-door vestibule until she exits and pushes through into the rain, locks up that fortress she lives in, and crosses the street.

I take her in as I exit the building. She has a look to her. A style specifically for school. When she came home from Peru she was casual class. But she’s changed since last summer. At least on the outside. She started school wearing slacks and blouses. Kinda nerdy, if you ask me. But as the weeks went on her style morphed into jeans and grungy t-shirts. She wears a coat that one might find on a cowboy—those short jackets made out of tan canvas. Her hair started the semester in a tidy up-do, but now it hangs, covering her face. When she turns and sees me, I catch a moment of surprise. But it only lasts a moment, and her expression never changes. I’m just very good at reading people.

She walks down her front steps and turns left, towards the main street that leads to campus. I join her on the sidewalk as she opens her umbrella. “Miss Aston. May I walk with you?”

She smiles without turning her head. “I doubt I can stop you.” She gives me a one-second onceover. “I’ve been wondering when you’d show up again.”

“Oh, I never left.”

“I know.” She snorts. “I see you.”

Hmm. “How’s school going? Anything going on I should know about?”