Page 101 of Aftershock
21
ALARIC
Harold Tobin hadn’t ended up in my storage unit because of careful planning.
It was the result of a series of coincidences that worked to my advantage.
But as the saying goes, lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice.
Hence the obsessive research I’ve done throughout the day.
It started this morning. After dropping Lilith off at home, I headed out to scope the area around Fraser Robinson’s company—Steven’s dad—the one he founded and still runs as CEO.
With a black baseball cap pulled low and a plain sweatshirt and light jeans helping me pass unnoticed, I fell into step beside a pair of employees on their way into NewFra Cyber. When they tapped their badges and theturnstiles unlocked, I slipped through with them, since security was too busy on their phones to look twice.
Then I broke away from the pair, crossed the lobby unnoticed, and slipped toward the stairwell like I belonged there. From there, getting down to the parking garage was easy. Pressed into a corner, phone in hand, pretending to browse through it, I noted that Fraser showed up alone, without a driver. I also tracked the security cameras, mapping their angles and blind spots.
Naturally, I haven’t spent the entire day in the parking garage.
I’ve taken bathroom breaks, grabbed food every couple of hours, and slipped in and out of the building as easily as I did this morning. Each time I stepped outside, I slid my SIM card back into my phone.
Every time I’ve turned it on, it’s been the same. No texts or missed calls from Lilith.
And despite wanting to, despite obsessing over her, I haven’t reached out either.
Staying focused is critical to my task.
To saving Steven.
The kid who fell down the stairs. The one who could be dead before his thirteenth birthday unless I step in.
There’s no walking away from this.
Soon, I’ll be with Lilith. After I finish what I came here to do, which is kidnap him. The trials can wait until tomorrow.
Until then, I’m in the stairwell, SIM card out again, peeking through the glass in the door as I wait for Fraser.
He should be here any minute now.
Ah, there he is.
Hate rushes through my body as I watch him head to his car in a tailored charcoal overcoat, dark slacks, and polished leather shoes.
The bastard’s gait is confident. Chin held high. Shoulders pulled back. His brown hair is short and styled.
A smile plays on his lips, as if he didn’t send his kid to the hospital yesterday.
That can only mean one thing. He thinks he’s untouchable. Safe.
Men like him often are. Their wealth and status build walls upon walls around them. They do whatever they want, whenever they want, because that’s how the game is played.
Unfortunately for them, I don’t give a fuck about their walls or their games.
I care about human fucking decency.
Fraser’s about to learn that the hard way.
Still comfortable as hell, he climbs into his Mercedes and starts it. As soon as he does, I step into the parking garage, edge along the concrete wall, and make sure to stay inside the cameras’ blind spot.
