Page 17 of Affliction
Fuck me, she’s adorable.
“Maverick Cain; do you work with Cole?” She mutters, glancing back to me with Cheshire's curiosity.
“His boss, actually. If you ever need anything, or if he’s not doing a satisfactory job, please let me know.” I watch as she glances over to Cole and back to me, a manicured brow raised.
“He’s fine, stays to himself and watches everything around him. I think he’ll do well.”
“Good.” I knock my tattooed knuckles on the bar top. “Have a good night Parker. Be safe.” Half of a smirk pulls at my lips then I’m walking away from her–the burn of her gaze searing up my back.
Walking to my truck my watch snags my attention for a moment; it’s one in the morning. I was planning to drop by my house and wait for Parker to get home before I go check on her–you know, to make sure she gets there safely, but I’ve changed my mind. Our brief interaction has me fucking feral. Her background check has nagged at me since I received it. I have precisely an hour and a half before she returns home, enough time to devour its contents.
Hopping into the driver's seat of my Ram 2500 Rebel, she comes alive with a low rumble before I throw her in reverse. I’m usually on the R1 but the fall temperatures are settling in–working against my incessant need to be on two wheels. It rains a lot through the fall and winter months, making the driving conditions absolutely atrocious for riding.
I’m going to utilize this window to get to know Parker a little more–I better get a move on.
Chapter ten
I park the truckjust a little way past Parker’s house in a small turn off on the side of the road, tucked safely between some trees. If she comes home and I’m still here, she won't reach me in this location. Turning off the engine, I slide out and begin walking through the treeline around her house–my entire body vibrating with excitement.
The bipolar weather has made the forest floor soft and muddy tonight.Note to self, take off my boots before walking in the house.Last time I was here I got the impression my girl is a little bit of a neat freak, maybe even a little OCD with how she locks the doors repeatedly. The last thing I want to do is upset her by tracking the woods inside.
Once I see the dim porch light from the trees, I wirelessly hack her security system and loop her camera feed. After what happened this morning, losing her visuals, I have no doubt she’s going to call her security company to have them looked at. Unfortunately for her, I know who owns the company. I’ve already made a call and asked him to make sure the tech tells her that her system is working properly.
Crossing the drive, I climb the stairs of the deck and head for the front door. I toe off my boots and tuck them in a corner, my socks now damp from the “Live Laugh Leave” welcome mat that’s soaked from rain. I letout a chuckle upon seeing the mat and shake my head–I like it. She doesn’t like people,me either.Peeling off my socks next, I tuck them in the boots and pull out my kit; sliding the stainless steel tools into the lock. Giving them a delicate twist, the soft click is all I hear before the door swings open.
Stepping inside, I lock the door behind me while I take in the interior of Parker’s home. Last time I was here I didn’t have the time to take a proper look around, tonight I’m going to inspect everything. It’s cozy here and empty at the same time. There’s a subtle lavender and vanilla scent–welcoming and clean.
Walking further into the living room, I take note of the fact there’s not a single picture on her walls. Only some very generic wall decor, pulling together the rustic farmhouse vibe she has going on, but not one family photo.
Her TV stand is white with a dark-stained wood surface on top, housing the television and some basic candles framing both sides. Matching end tables nestled on both ends of the couch host a single lamp; a single throw blanket draped across the back. Adjacent to the living room looms the dining area, a small round table bare and lacking any clues to its use. Not only is her home spotless, but there is no clutter anywhere.
The kitchen is where I decide to start my…investigating. Most people have a junk drawer and you never know what you'll find in them. The one closest to the refrigerator is where I find what I’m looking for–fuck, there isn't much in it. Consisting mostly of batteries, screwdrivers of all different sizes, and take out menus. Pulling them out, I spread them across the counter and start looking for anything of substance. To my surprise, she has certain items on each menu circled. Taking out my phone, I begin typing a note with each restaurant and their circled counterparts–they must be her favorites.
Once I’ve recorded everything in my phone I place the items back in the drawer and head toward her bedroom. Noticing a second one I take a quick detour, I push the door open and pause; it’s barren. I step inside when my eyebrows pull together. Usually, a second bedroom is set up as a guest room, home office or even a library. With her parents living in Florida, wouldn’t she have a bedroom set up for them to come and visit? Do they visit? After a quick search I find the damn closet empty too. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, I just find it odd–very odd.
Exiting the room, I return the door to the way it was and ease to her bedroom. Her scent wraps around me the second I step in and I close my eyes, inhaling her deeply. The warm aroma of bourbon and light vanilla together?Intoxicating. I can't wait to run my nose along her flesh and smell it on her, not just in the air.Soon.
Her bed is neatly made, a small pile of laundry on the end of it. I step over and sit on her side, opening the nightstand drawer–a man on a mission. A smirk creeps across my face when I spot the 9mm rounds and magazine neatly placed inside. I like that she’s prepared for anything, even if she came out of those doors this morning ready to shoot whoever it was lurking on her property–me. I can think of worse things than taking a bullet fororfrom this beautiful woman. If it made her feel safe, I’d let her fill me full of holes.
Closing the drawer, I stand and make my way over to the one on the other side, holding my breath. I don't think there is a man in her life; I’ve been watching closely the last few days and I haven’t seen one. The other day she visited that older woman, but no one else comes around other than her friend; the idea thatmaybeshe has a boyfriend pisses me off. Not that it matters, I’ll make him disappear so that my girl and I can be together. Now that she’s unknowingly caught herself in my crosshairs, there’s no way I’llbe letting her go. Pulling the drawer, my shoulders sag in relief when I see it’s as empty as the spare room.
Moving cautiously through the room, I open each of her dresser drawers, then shuffle through the contents in her bathroom, pulling my phone back out and adding the shower items she uses and brand of her perfume to my notes. Inspecting her closet again doesn’t turn up anything unusual.
Not at first.
A shelf sits above her handful of hanging clothes, where I notice a safe tucked in the back corner between stacks of neatly folded blankets. Once I have it down, I’m back in the bedroom placing it on top of the comforter. It’s one of those smaller fire-safe types, about the size of a shoe box and requires a key to open. Producing my tools once again, it takes me little to no time to unlock it.
I flip the lid open and take a mental image of how everything is placed before I begin rummaging through it–gotta put everything back in order, of course. I pull out a birth certificate, social security card, car title, deed to the house. There is more cash in here than I expected–neatly wrapped in the money bands the banks use,interesting.At the bottom of the safe I spot a smaller light blue, card sized envelope, not sealed, and the nameNickis scrawled across the front.
Who the hell is Nick?I didn’t see that name listed on her background check, not a family member nor associate. Jealousy floods my system as I stare at the envelope. Is he an ex? He must be important seeing as this is stuffed in her safe. Carefully I pull the contents out and open it gently, surprising considering how I want to tear whatever’s in here to shreds–make Parker forget all about whoever this is. It’s a letter, written in perfect half-print, half-cursive. My heart slams against my ribs as I start to read.
Nick,
I know I’m not supposed to get in touch with you, and I won’t send this letter. I just feel so lost right now and wish so badly that I could talk to you, so…figured I’ll write.
Hazel has been wonderful and I have come to think of her as family, in a way she’s the only family I have left. How do you know her? I asked her once and she just smiled and said “Some stories are better left a secret.”
James, the owner of the bar I started working at last week, is very nice. I can tell he treats the staff at Doc’s well. I think I‘m going to like working there. There’s also a girl who works with me that I like. Her name is Ashlynn, and she’s sweet. She keeps asking me to go out with her to have dinner, or go shopping, but I’m not sure if I should. I wouldn’t know what to tell her if she starts asking too much about me. This whole thing is still strange, and I think it’s going to take a lot of time to get used to. But I think I’d like a friend. A true friend.
