The Watched Girl

by Rachel Rust

  “Come on in,” I said. “This is my brother Josh. Josh, this Shawn. He’s a security guard at the mall.”

  Shawn said hello to Josh. Josh glared at Shawn.

  “Do you want anything to drink?” I asked Shawn. “Water? A soda?”

  “Water would be great, thanks.”

  I turned to go into the kitchen, grabbing ahold of Josh’s t-shirt and dragging him along with me.

  “Shawn’s a nice guy, don’t be an asshole,” I said, retrieving two bottles of water from the fridge.

  Josh rolled his eyes. “Looks like a douchebag.”

  I scanned Josh’s sculpted hair and button-down shirt. He spent more time in front of a mirror than I did, and he had the nerve to call another guy a douchebag? Please.

  “Leave him alone,” I said.

  “You’re not taking him to your bedroom.” Josh’s voice did that dad-thing again, full of authority and contempt.

  I stepped up in front of Josh and smirked. “I am. And I’m totally gonna do it with him, too.”

  His face contorted. “Gross.”

  I rolled my eyes and walked away. Josh of all people had no room to give me grief over bringing a boy to my room. He had countless notches on his headboard. I couldn’t count the number of times I had heard a giggly girl being escorted to or from his room late at night.

  Eww. I shook the thoughts of Josh and his girlfriends from my mind. I also tried to shake thoughts of Eddie from my mind. Our night together. The shower. The bed. Falling asleep in his arms. The mental images of him were impossible to ignore.

  I handed Shawn a bottle of water and brought him upstairs. We sat on the floor, crossed legged, staring at blank sheets of paper and a thick phone book I had found in my dad’s office.

  “Well,” Shawn said. “Let’s get started. I’ll make a list of phone numbers to barbers and hair salons, and you can start on restaurants.”

  We worked in silence for over an hour, jotting down phone numbers of restaurants fancy enough for reservations, hair salons, and veterinarian offices.

  Since I was female, complete with a female voice, the phone calls fell to Shawn. He started with hair salons and barbers. He’d pretend to be Brandon, stating he had forgotten to write down his next appointment. All the way down the list, he delivered that line. And all the way down the list, each place stated that they did not have a Brandon Sabato down for any appointments.

  After hanging up with the last place, Shawn stretching back against the side of my bed. “Should I start on the restaurants?”

  “I suppose so. But hey, I can call some too and say that the reservation is under my boyfriend’s name.”

  “That’d be helpful,” Shawn said just before finishing his water. With all the talking he had done, it was surprising he still had a voice.

  We began making more phone calls. He started at the top of the list. I started at the bottom. It began the same as the salons—no Brandon Sabato on anyone’s lists.

  Several calls later, I was so wrapped up in my own phone call, that it took me a moment to notice Shawn’s hand wave in my face.

  “It’s at seven-thirty?” he asked, wide-eyed. He nodded. “Okay…”

  “How many people?” I whispered.

  “How many people did I reserve for?” he asked. “Two?”

  I shook my head. “Make it three!”

  “I’m sorry, could I change that to three?” He smiled. “Yes, my sister is joining us as well.”

  I giggled at the effortless lie, and he tried not to laugh as he reconfirmed the reservation and said good-bye.

  We stared at one another in stunned silence and then burst out laughing. I launched over the three feet between us and hugged him. His body flinched a bit in what was probably surprise, but he hugged me back.

  “Holy shit, I can’t believe we found him. When’s the reservation?”

  Shawn looked at his phone. “Forty minutes.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  My mind spun. I needed clothes. I needed make up and heels and good clothes. “What restaurant?”

  “The Tavern Green, at The Cartwright downtown.”

  I nearly puked. “That’s the same hotel the FBI had me at.”

  His eyes widened. “Shit, I didn’t realize that.”

  My entire body clenched in anger at Brandon Sabato. He had the nerve to take a date to the restaurant that was located in the hotel where he had just shot and killed Han. The hotel had been all over the news in the past few days. What kind of sick bastard could enjoy a steak where he had murdered someone?

  The kind of sick bastard I was getting ready to confront.

  “Why did you want me to change the reservation to three people?” Shawn said.

  My stomach dropped. “Because I’m going to crash Brandon’s dinner date.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  As I sat in the passenger seat of Shawn’s SUV, my ex-stepmother’s black strapless dress was every bit as uncomfortable as it had been last month when I wore it to the drug dealer’s house. It was the same dress I had been secretly photographed in, except tonight I had on black flats and less skanky makeup and hair. A more respectable look for a fancy place like The Tavern Green.

  We sat in the small parking lot next to The Cartwright, staring at its brick façade. Straight ahead was the Employees Only door. Around the corner, off Main Street, was the front entrance.

  “You sure you wanna do this?” Shawn asked.

  “I have to.”

  “I don’t think you do.”

  “I need to find Eddie.”

  Shawn exhaled hard. “Look, I don’t mean to pry or anything, but if this Eddie guy is FBI, I don’t think he needs finding. I’ve done a lot of research on the FBI and their training. If he’s on the lam, he’s perfectly fine. He can survive on his own. He’s obviously smart, and they train their agents to be skilled at handling a lot of different situations.”

  I nodded in understanding. But I needed to find Eddie for other reasons than his own safety. He needed to clear his name and get his job back. Plus, he still had to kick Brandon Sabato’s ass and take out Sergei. And I needed to see him again, feel him and touch him and kiss him … or I might implode.

  The dashboard clock read 7:18. It was early, but that was the point. I needed to get to the table before Brandon did. I opened the car door. “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck. I’ll be here waiting.”

  My shoes clip-clipped across the parking lot asphalt, around the corner, and then up the front steps of the grand hotel. The lobby was spacious, and two stories high. Chandeliers hung in the middle. On the left side was the front desk, and the concierge. The Tavern Green restaurant was on the right, through large brass double doors.

  A woman with long, black hair greeted me.

  “Brandon Sabato, table for three,” I said.

  She checked the tablet on the host table, and then motioned to a man dressed in black and muttered a table number.

  The man led me to a table for four, with two seats on either side. I chose a seat with my back facing the front of the restaurant so Brandon wouldn’t see me until he was at the table. Then it’d be too late for him to make a huge public scene.

  My phone buzzed in my purse. It was a text from Shawn.

  I think he just pulled up. Tall, brown hair. Cast on his leg.

  I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly in an attempt to shut down my racing heart.

  “This way sir,” I heard the host say.

  Seconds later, Brandon Sabato stood alongside me, blue eyes piercing into mine with rage and confusion. A tall, blonde woman stepped up beside him and hooked an arm around his.

  “Why is she at our table?” she whispered to Brandon.

  His jaw clenched and unclenched. He motioned for his date to sit in the chair kitty-corner from mine. He sat down right across from me.

  His gaze shifted to the quiet diners around us. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  I looked
at his date. “I think you need to powder your nose.”

  Her jaw dropped, but before she could protest—and by the look on her face, she was definitely going to protest—Brandon spoke. “Go,” is all he said, in a stern voice.

  With a huff, she grabbed her small black purse and left the table. Brandon watched her walk away.

  “She’s pretty,” I said. “Tell me, do blondes bring in more money? Or do your clients like exotic women better? What about a freckled-face virgin? How much do they go for? What about height? Are petite women easier to kidnap? Does that make them cheaper?”

  Brandon’s expression didn’t change. He was good at playing it cool. “You found me. What do you want?”

  “How’s your knee?” I asked with as snotty of a tone as I could produce.

  “How’s your boyfriend?” he shot right back.

  I glared at him.

  A sickening smile spread across his face as his eyes canvassed my chest. “That’s a nice dress. Although I liked it better a few weeks ago, when you had those red shoes with it.”

  My eyes went wide. “You asshole,” I whispered. “You took those pictures of me and Eddie, didn’t you?”

  Brandon shrugged. “I did. So sue me.” He took a sip of the ice water in front of him. I wanted to reach across the table and dump it in his lap.

  I tamped down the anger over the stalker photos. I needed to keep my cool and keep the upper hand of this conversation. Brandon, minion of Sergei, was right in front of me. He held possible answers to the questions and ideas that had been brewing in my head over the past week. “You followed Eddie and me that night because you had been sent to kill us, hadn’t you? Sergei wants us both dead.”

  Brandon half-rolled his eyes, as though bored with my presence already. “Yes. I was just waiting for the go-ahead from Sergei. But…” He sat back with a sigh. “That signal never came because you and Martinez got split up down at that old mechanic shop. Then The Barber was arrested and everything went to shit. So we went to plan B.”

  “Kidnap me and then get Eddie to rescue me—thus bringing us back together again.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why does Sergei want Eddie and me together? What’s the link between us?”

  Brandon shrugged, but the smirk on his face said he knew plenty.

  “Why does he want us dead?” I asked.

  Another shrug. Another smirk.

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “I know. Now tell me why you’re here.”

  “Your boss and I are looking for the same guy,” I said.

  Brandon turned his hands palms up. “I don’t know where your precious Eddie is.”

  “Maybe not, but you know where Sergei Romanov is.”

  Brandon cocked an eyebrow. “You wanna meet with Sergei? You’re either extremely dumb or extremely brave. Maybe both.”

  I didn’t respond, unsure which characteristic was most accurate. And afraid to admit that he was right. I was both stupid and brave, which is probably what got most people killed in the ugly criminal underworld. But the FBI was ignoring me, and I needed to find Eddie. If Sergei Romanov was also looking for him, his resources might come in handy. But I would need to find Eddie before Sergei did, and then jump out of the way quick enough before Sergei’s iron fist came crashing down on us.

  “I can’t find Eddie on my own.”

  Brandon sat back, fingers drumming on the table. “I’m not in the business of giving advice to girls who fuck me over, but I think your friends at the FBI are better suited to help you.”

  “They’re ignoring me.”

  Brandon chuckled, clearly amused that I had been dumped by my allies. “I can get you a meeting with Sergei if that’s really what you want. Is he looking for Martinez? Yes, he is. And will he put a bullet in his head? Yes, he will. And once Martinez is found, he’ll put a bullet in your head, too. So I’m not quite sure Sergei is the man you want helping you find Eddie.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “You really think you’ll be able to find Eddie using Sergei’s resources, and then escape Sergei’s wrath in the end?”

  I uncrossed and re-crossed my legs, keeping my hands and arms stationary on the table, unwilling to let Brandon see me fidget. “Like I said, I’m willing to take that chance.”

  Brandon looked around, watching the room. He reached into his suit coat and my heart raced, afraid of what he might be holding when his hand reappeared. Did men keep guns in their suit coats? Would a gun even fit in the inner pocket?

  When Brandon pulled his hand back out in front of him, he held a small, black flip phone. I sighed in relief which made him smile a little. “Relax, Natalie. You think I’d kill you in front of all these people?”

  I stared him straight on. “Yes, I do.”

  His smiled broadened, and I hated him for it. He was model good-looking, and he didn’t deserve to be. It should’ve been a rule that bad guys are always ugly.

  He held out the phone. “Take this. Someone will contact you shortly.”

  I stared at the phone. Was it bugged? What if it was a trap and had GPS, and Sergei was now going to track my every move? I took the phone and inspected it. It looked like any other cheap pay-as-you-go phone. My fingers grasped it tightly. Why the hell not? Sergei was watching me anyway, waiting for Eddie to make an appearance in my life.

  “When?” I asked.

  Brandon shrugged. “In the next day or two, most likely.”

  “Who’s going to contact me? I want a name and a time.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You have no negotiating power here, Natalie. Take the phone. Someone will contact you. That’s it.”

  His date returned to the table, stabbing me with her icy stare.

  I cleared my throat and looked at Brandon, speaking loudly enough for everyone around to hear. “Anyway, that’s what the doctor told me. So I’d get that prescription cream if I were you, ’cause that rash is really hard to get rid of.” I smiled at his date. “Have a nice dinner.”

  The blonde gave Brandon a disgusted look. Brandon smiled as I walked away, appearing amused by my antics.

  But as I exited the restaurant, a smiled curled my lips. He wouldn’t be amused for long. In fact, he’d be plenty pissed by the time I was finished with him. The night was still young.

  I exited the hotel with the calm steps of someone who didn’t have nefarious plans bubbling in her head. But the calm was only on the outside. Inside my heart raced so fast, it barely felt like separate beats.

  On the sidewalk in front of the building, my foot tapped the pavement, drumming up the courage to make my next move. I needed to act quickly, before Brandon got nervous about my presence and decided to ditch out. I stared at my phone and then realized that Brandon himself had just handed me the perfect tool.

  A cheap, pay-as-you-go phone that had no connection to me, aside from the fact that it was in my purse in that moment. I dropped my own phone back into my bag and retrieved the small flip phone.

  I inhaled deeply, channeling my eleventh-grade drama lessons, and dialed 911.

  “Nine-one-one, where is your emergency?”

  “I’m at The Cartwright Hotel restaurant. Please send help! The guy I’m with is forcing me against my will and says he’s going to sell me to someone. I don’t know how to get away. His name is Brandon Sabato, dark hair, he has an injury to his leg. Please hurry, he’s coming back and—”

  I snapped the phone shut with a mixture of adrenaline and dread. I wasn’t sure what the punishment was for making a phony 911 call, but I knew the police would arrest Brandon and hold him for at a little while. Long enough, hopefully, for the FBI to force their way into the interrogation room and make him give up information on Sergei. And anything that could help find Sergei would, in turn, help Eddie.

  Han had said the FBI liked keeping Brandon on the loose so they could watch him and learn more about Sergei’s movements. But I thought that plan had gone on long enough with no apparent results. If the FBI wa
sn’t willing to drag Brandon into an interrogation room to question him, then I would make it happen. And if it messed up the FBI’s case, so be it. Punishment for ignoring me was having me taking matters into my own hands. And this made me smirk.

  Sirens and lights approached from behind me. Uniformed officers stopped their vehicles in front of the building.

  A young officer grabbed my elbow. “Miss, I need you to come with me. We need to clear the front steps.”

  I played dumb. “Okay, sure. What’s going on?”

  “We just need you to clear this front area.”

  My feet moved with his, down the sidewalk. He left me thirty feet from where I had been standing, and then joined the other officers at the front of the steps.

  Two officers went inside.

  My phone buzzed. It was Shawn texting.

  Check in when you can. Let me know u r ok

  I texted right back.

  I’m fine but it will be a few more mins

  But it didn’t even take that long. Less than a minute later, a police officer escorted Brandon down the front steps toward a squad car. Brandon was cool, eyes moving in all directions, no doubt looking for me.

  I half-hid behind a retaining wall.

  His blonde date was yelling at another officer near the front doors. I almost felt bad for her. Talk about a date night from hell.

  The officer with Brandon opened the back door to the police car. He placed his hand over Brandon’s head to lower him into the seat.

  Brandon’s head suddenly jerked back and a red mist sprayed onto the police officer’s face. Brandon slumped against the car. His body slumped to the ground.

  The blonde screamed. Police officers rushed in all directions.

  I fell to my knees, hands slapped over my mouth.

  There had been no sound of a gun, but Brandon’s bloodied forehead and lifeless body was proof of one.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine