Behind Your Back (7 page)

The further I drive, the more deserted the road becomes. I turn off the highway and start heading down country roads. Long and winding and perfect for stretching this car’s muscles.

I roll down the window and the air blasts over me, making my eyes water.

Saige Beaumont is proving to be somewhat of a challenge, but she’s no match for me.

I’ll get her.

Seven

I
track her phone for the next week and a half and smile to myself when I see her on campus of the college she’s attending. She also goes to the library, probably to study.

I never went to college, but I envy those who do. All of my knowledge is self-taught and gained from real world experience. Still, maybe one day when all this is over I’ll be able to go back. If I’m alive.

Finally, I see her at a coffee shop and decide to check out what I’m dealing with.

I do surveillance outside and I’m shocked to see that she’s wearing a disguise. A brown wig and even brown contacts to mask her green eyes. I have no idea why she’s trying to blend in, but I’m interested. I watch her for a while before I go in and order a drink and sit down, giving her another glance. She’s pretending to be occupied with her phone, but something tells me she’s wearing this disguise for a reason, and not just for a bit of fun. This girl is something else.

Scrapping my plans to just walk up to her table and talk to her, I take a less-direct approach. The barista calls my name and I fetch my coffee before I leave, making sure to walk by her table and give her just one glance.

I see you, Saige Beaumont and you’re not going to get away from me now.

I
haven’t gotten any more text messages from the stalker, so I relax our security a little bit. I’ve finally seen Saige and now I can put everything into action. This is the part I like. The game. The chase. The conquest. It’s a primal thing. It’s my belief that humans can’t hide their basic instincts to hunt and kill. We may do it in different ways now, but the urge is still there. It’s inside us.

I let Cash know I’ve seen her, but I don’t tell him about her disguise. Something in my head makes me hold back that particular piece of information.

“So what’s your next move?” he asks as I finish my burger and push the plate away. I’ve managed to get away from the office for lunch, which doesn’t happen often. Most of the time, I eat at my desk.

“Meet up with her again. Strike up a conversation. The usual.” Hopefully next time she’ll be her natural self. But I can’t really blame her for having another persona. A bit like the pot calling the kettle black.

“You’ll get her. You always do,” he says. That’s Cash. Ever the positive one. “And if you don’t, I’ll come in and do it instead.”

“Thanks, Cash,” I say, my tone dry. There is one thing to be said for Cash and his attitude. He does make me laugh, at least when he’s not driving me crazy. If I had a brother, I imagine he’d be like Cash.

“I’m just saying, I have more game than you do.” I sputter and remind him of a few of his failures until I have to go back to work.

I go back to the office and hand out portfolios and talk numbers until I feel like I’m going to forget how to speak in words.

Afterward I go home to Leo, but spent the rest of the night on my laptop, stalking Saige.

I’ve barely slept in days and it’s only going to get worse before this is over. I’m starting to get obsessed. This happens sometimes when a project is particularly difficult. It consumes me until I’ve completed it.

T
he next afternoon I’m working on some paperwork when Cash texts me that Saige is at the coffee shop.

I stop what I’m doing and hit the intercom for Grace.

“Yes, Mr. Brand?”

“Something has come up and I need to run out for a little while. Please cancel my meeting with Mrs. Dayton and reschedule for next week.” Mrs. Dayton is one of my legitimate clients. Very nice woman who gives a lot of money to charity. A absolute pleasure to work with.

“Yes, Mr. Brand,” Grace says. I grab my coat and emergency bag. I don’t want Saige seeing me in the suit. Hopefully, I can ingratiate myself into her life before her father finds out.

Ducking into a shop down the street, I do a quick change, making sure to fold my suit carefully so it won’t be too wrinkled when I put it back on. I hail a cab and give the driver the address of the coffee shop. I don’t have time to stash the bag, but it’s inconspicuous enough to look like it’s just carrying a laptop.

I get out of the car and see that she’s here, and with her natural hair color.

The light catches it and the glow of red is almost blinding. I pay the cabbie and stroll toward the door, as if I’m just out for a walk. In no hurry. Just here for an afternoon pick-me-up.

I go right for the counter and order before securing a table close to hers. She’s here with a laptop and a quick glance tells me she’s probably doing homework. A picture of an impressionist painting fills the screen and she has a notebook out that’s half-filled with curly writing.

My (fake) name is called and I grab my coffee and sit back down. I get out my burner phone to message Cash.

Casting my eyes about the shop, I meet hers just as she looks up from her computer.

I may believe in luck, but I don’t believe in fate. None of this “meant to be” shit.

But something happens when I lock eyes with Saige. Something that feels like a rushing wave, or a gust of wind. It rips through me, even though I don’t move.

Green eyes.

She blinks and the moment ends. I blink too and suck in a breath. Did that just happen? The noise of the coffee shop seems extremely loud all of a sudden and I remember what I’m supposed to be doing. Saige is watching me over the rim of her laptop as I shake myself mentally and sip my coffee. Good. Now I have to wait to see if she’ll come up to me, or if I have to go to her.

She gets up to order another drink and then veers straight toward my table.

“Staring at strangers is considered rude in some cultures you know,” she says, leaning one hand on the table. I look up at her and she gives me a little bit of a smile. Her eyes are a color that I’ve never even seen before. So vivid that they don’t look real.

Her red hair waves down her back today and her lips are bold with red lipstick.

“Well, let’s not be strangers then,” I say, holding out my hand. “Quinn Brand.” She starts to say something, but they call out her drink at the counter and she goes to get it. I jump to my feet.

“Allow me.” A little chivalry can go a long way.

I fetch the drink and some napkins and bring them back to the table. She’s taken the seat across from me, which is a good sign.

“Thanks, Quinn Brand.”

“You’re welcome, Saige…” I drift off, as if I don’t know her last name.

“Beaumont,” she supplies, sipping her drink and leaving a red mark on the cup from her lipstick. Soon, those marks will be all over me. I want that more than I should.

“Saige Beaumont,” I say. I like the way her name tastes in my mouth. Sweet and spicy at the same time.

“So, Quinn Brand, why
are
you staring at me?” She puts her elbow on the table and leans her chin on it.

“Why wouldn’t I stare at you?” These words aren’t a lie. She’s beautiful.

She arches one auburn eyebrow and presses her lips together into a smile.

“Do you use that line on all the girls?”

I smile as well.

“No. Just on you.” Now this is a lie. I’ve used that line many times before, but none of those times matter. This matters. Right here. Right now.

“Nice. You almost sounded like you weren’t lying when you said that,” she says, her smile widening. I lean back in my chair. It’s true. She’s definitely different than I thought she’d be. Good.

“Would you believe me if I said I’ve never told a natural redhead that?”

She sips her drink and doesn’t answer.

“What brings you here, Saige Beaumont?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Her foot bumps mine under the table and I’m sure it’s not an accident. She’s flirting with me.

“Yes, I would,” I say. Another truth.

She rolls her eyes and in that moment she looks younger than her twenty-two years.

“I’m doing homework. Does that make me less attractive?” Quinn and Sylas are both attracted to smart girls.

“Not at all,” I say. “What were you studying before I rudely interrupted you with my gratuitous staring?”

She leans in just a little.

“Art. Specifically impressionism.”

“Art, huh?”

“Art,” she repeats.

“And what have you learned about impressionism?”

She smiles before she answers.

“That if you stare at it too long, you can give yourself a headache.”

I chuckle a little.

“But life could be worse. I get to look at beautiful things all day and try to figure out why the artist painted the shadows that way, or what they were inspired by, or what that tree symbolizes. Do you like art?” I decide to give her an honest answer.

“Some of it. Older rather than newer. I saw an exhibit once where a woman drank colored milk and then vomited on the canvas. I thought it was a joke until I went to the show and there she was. I had to leave when she started the live portion of the show.” Even now, thinking of it makes me queasy. What some people consider art is definitely questionable.

Saige makes a face.

“I’m not a huge fan of modern art. Give me a thousand year old cave painting any day over a vomit painting,” she says. I nod, agreeing with her.

“And what do you with yourself, Quinn?” It’s my fake name, but I like the way she says it. Almost with a smirk. Like it amuses her.

“I’m in finance,” I say. I don’t want to give her too many details about my fake life yet.

“So you get paid to spend other people’s money?”

“More or less,” I say. I like the way she thinks of things.

She makes a face that says she doesn’t find my job appealing.

“Not a big fan of money?” I find this ironic, given how she grew up. Her birthday parties were grand affairs with ponies and balls and tiaras. I’ve seen all sorts of pictures that Cash dug up. My favorite is of her on the back of a spotted pony, wearing an expression on her face that plainly said the horse was going too slow for her liking.

“I like money as much as the next person, but I’ve found that love of money is a huge problem. But I probably shouldn’t say that to someone whose job is dealing with it.” I’m not so easily offended.

“I don’t think of myself as dealing with money. I never see actual bills. It’s all just abstract numbers on a spreadsheet. Percentages and profits and loss. That’s the real secret to money,” I say, waving my hand.

“What is?” she asks, leaning even closer.

“That it doesn’t exist.” I wave my hand in front of her face and then smile at her.

She grins back at me, her teeth white against the red of her lipstick. Her lips are the perfect shape for kissing. Hopefully soon I’ll get to taste them and see how they feel against mine. Something tells me that Saige Beaumont knows how to kiss.

I check my watch, which I didn’t take off when I changed my clothes. It’s a Rolex and I know she’ll notice that it’s expensive.

“Would you like to take a break from the impressionists and have coffee with me?” I say.

Her eyebrows draw together and she holds up her half-finished drink.

“I already have coffee.”