Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8), Kaylie Hunter [best motivational books txt] 📗

ramp across the street. My everyday car was a drab cop-like dark sedan, bland on the outside but with all the electronic bells and whistles inside, including a souped-up engine under the hood. Then there was my baby: a metallic silver Mustang convertible I kept stored in the club’s private parking ramp.

I glanced longingly at the keys to the Mustang before turning away with the short-bed’s keys in hand. Exiting my office, I used my keycard to enter Baker’s office.

“You look ridiculous,” Baker said, barely glancing up from his stack of paperwork.

“Where did our guy from the Parlor park tonight?” I asked as I walked past the wall of security monitors toward Baker’s mini-bar.

“He comes and goes from the city’s parking ramp. That’s all I know. The security team wasn’t able to identify his car or plate.” He looked up, setting his pen down. “Are you really going to do this?”

I shrugged, pouring a shot of whiskey into a glass. “He’s obviously up to something. For Evie’s sake, we need to figure out what he’s doing.”

“Evie is safe. I have a security guard watching her when she’s here, and I can hire someone to watch her when she’s not.”

“Or I can do my thing and make the problem go away.”

“You sound like a hitman.”

I smirked at him as I sipped my drink.

He reached up and massaged his neck, likely trying to loosen the tension knots, as he leaned back in his executive chair. “Fine. Handle it your way. Are you coming back tonight?”

What he was really asking me was if I wanted to have sex tonight. Somehow knowing Evie had a crush on him made the invitation seem less appealing. “No. I better go home and water the plants. Maybe you should ask Evie to join you tonight.” I smirked at him before turning away to look at the monitors. “For some crazy reason, she seems to like you. You should explore that avenue.”

“You know I don’t sleep with employees. Besides, Evie isn’t the type of woman who’d agree to a no-strings relationship.”

“Maybe it’s time you try something new,” I said, downing the rest of my drink. “Must get lonely up here in your tower.”

“I have plenty of company.” Baker lifted his phone. “Besides, Magenta texted me earlier to tell me she was bored.”

I snorted. “Magenta? Do you even know her real name?”

“That is her real name,” Baker said, not bothering to try to hide his smile. “She has a brother named Maroon.”

“You’re hopeless,” I said, shaking my head and setting my empty glass on the mini-bar. “I’m out of here. Text me when our creepy guy leaves.”

Before taking a single step, his phone vibrated from his blazer pocket. He pulled it out and read the display. “Your creeper is asking for his bill.”

I started for the corner door which led to a private staircase and exit. “You should reconsider taking Evie for a spin. She might surprise you.”

“Goodnight, Kid,” Baker said dismissively.

I laughed as I entered the private staircase and started running down the five flights of stairs. By the last step, I was winded but happy to be wearing my tennis shoes and not the heels I’d worn earlier. I exited the door and stepped into the strangling humidity. I joined the small crowd at the street corner, crossing the street with them when the light changed.

One of the women glanced over her shoulder at me before tugging her man’s arm to hurry into the parking ramp. I snorted as I took the stairs to the third level. Making quick work of getting to my truck and moving it to the first level, closer to the exit, I waited for my mark. Ten minutes later, the guy from the bar drove past me in a white truck. I let another car pass before I followed him from the parking ramp. When the car between us turned two streets later, I took a picture with my cellphone of his license plate.

If I was more like Kelsey, I’d go home now and run the plate, preparing for a confrontation in the future. But I wasn’t my cousin. I was the impulsive one, thus why I continued to follow him, though I backed off enough for another car to change lanes and drive between us.

I continued to follow him for a dozen or more city blocks and then onto Highway 41 before changing lanes and following him onto North Highway 9 toward Brownsville. I kept my distance, keeping him several cars ahead of me at one point, but after we exited we drove into a residential area that left me nowhere to hide.

Not wanting to be spotted, I pulled into a random driveway, hoping the homeowner wouldn’t wake at hearing a vehicle. I shut the truck off, including the lights, as I watched my target drive two more blocks before turning left. I restarted the truck at the same time the porch light came on for the house in front of me. I waved at the homeowner, a man in his late sixties wearing nothing more than a pair of boxers, as I reversed from his driveway.

Hurrying down the road, I made the left turn then drove slowly, looking at the vehicles parked in the narrow driveways. At the seventh house I spotted his white truck. I observed the house as I drove past. The lights were off and there was no blue glow from a television. All signs pointed to him calling it a night and going to bed. I turned at the next intersection and parked around the corner along the street.

Some of the residential blocks in Brownsville were decorated with accent lights, featured a plethora of white iron fences, and had yards decked out with rich landscaping. Some even sported the occasional two-story house. This guy’s neighborhood wasn’t one of those.