Ruining Hattie, page 6
I watch her leave her building, punctual as usual. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail, and she has on a sheath dress in a floral pattern that looks as if it’s at least a size too big for her.
As I did last time, I wait twenty minutes to make sure she isn’t going to return, then I pull the baseball cap over my head and grab the clipboard from the passenger seat. I’m back in her apartment in under three minutes. Seriously, the rush is addicting. I can’t do this many more times.
It looks much the same as it did the last time I was here. Everything is in its place, though there are different books on the coffee table. She must be an avid reader. Then again, she does nothing else.
A quick tour of the bedroom and the bathroom reveal nothing new, and I end my tour in the kitchen. I’ve just pushed the junk drawer closed when I hear a key in the lock.
Fuck.
A quick glance around tells me there’s nowhere to hide, and trying to slip out of the sliding glass door in the living room will only announce my presence to who I assume is Hattie.
Goddammit, this whole thing is going to be over before it even starts. Why the hell did I insist on coming here again?
The door closes softly behind Hattie, and I hold my breath, praying that she just forgot something, grabs it, and goes. And that whatever it is, it isn’t in the kitchen.
Heavy steps make their way from the door into the living room.
My stomach lodges in my throat. She’s going to catch me, and there’s not an excuse in the world she’s going to buy for what the fuck I’m doing in her apartment.
“Still reading your smut.” The deep chuckle of a man rings through the silent apartment.
My forehead creases. Did she lie to me when she said she didn’t have a boyfriend?
Footsteps sound again, making their way away from the kitchen and down the hall. I slowly creep out of the kitchen without making a sound until I’m in the living room, where I stand looking between the escape of the sliding glass door and the entry to the hallway.
I should get the hell out of here before I’m caught. But I want to know who the fuck this guy is and what he’s doing here. Why does he have a key to Hattie’s apartment? I’ll dig into my curiosity later.
Slowly enough not to make a sound, I head toward the hallway entrance, pausing when I hear something. It takes me a minute to figure out what it is—the sound of Hattie’s dresser drawers opening and closing. Somehow, I think this guy has a different agenda than I do for being here.
Deciding not to press my luck, I turn and slowly make my way to the slider, careful not to make any noise as I open it before slipping outside and closing it. I return to my car and wait.
Fifteen minutes later, a beat-up old pickup truck pulls out of the parking lot with a man behind the wheel. I snap a picture of the license plate and text it to Mr. Smith, telling him I want to know everything there is to know about the man who owns the truck.
I have an idea, but I want to know for sure what the fuck is going on.
I purposely arrive ten minutes late to the café that night. Not so late that Hattie will have given up on my arriving, but late enough that she’ll worry whether I’m going to show up at all. I want her to feel the disappointment of thinking I won’t be there, then the relief when I walk through the door.
It’s an old trick I learned from my younger days when I used to fuck rich married women for the financial benefits.
When I step through the café doors, Hattie is quick to spot me, raising a hand in greeting. Even from the distance between us, I can see the way her shoulders move away from her ears, how her forehead relaxes now that I’ve arrived.
I quicken my pace across the café to reach her. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I got caught up with something for work and I was going to text you to let you know I’d be late, but I realized that we haven’t exchanged numbers.”
“That’s okay, I understand.”
She doesn’t immediately offer me her number, which irks me, but I don’t let it get to me. Maybe I have more work to do here than I thought.
“Just give me a minute and let me grab a drink. You all set?” I glance at the steaming cup of hot chocolate sitting on the table beside her.
“Yes, sorry, I was going to get you something, but then I realized I don’t know how you take your coffee.” Her blush says she’s embarrassed, as if she feels bad she didn’t memorize my order as I did hers. But she’s not a con artist. I am.
“That’s okay, Hattie. I won’t hold it against you.” I wink and head over to the counter.
I return to the lounge area a few minutes later. Instead of taking my usual seat across from her, this time I sit in the chair to her left.
“My apologies again for being late.” I set my coffee on the table beside her hot chocolate.
Hattie waves away my concern. “It’s really not a big deal.” She gives a nervous chuckle. “Though I was starting to wonder whether you were coming.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
She shrugs and glances at her lap.
“Anything exciting happening in your life?” I ask.
That question draws her gaze back to mine, and she gives me what I interpret as a “you know better than that” look.
I raise my hands. “It’s possible.”
“Just not probable.” She rolls her eyes playfully.
“We can’t all lead a life full of mystery and intrigue like me. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
She laughs. “You are a little mysterious.”
“Is that so?” I arch an eyebrow.
“Can I ask you something I’ve been wondering about?” She licks her lips, as if she wants to ask this question but is scared at the same time.
I pick up the mug and bring it to my lips. “You can ask me anything.” The real question is whether I’ll tell you the truth.
She presses her lips together before she voices what’s on her mind. “How old are you?”
“Didn’t your parents teach you not to ask a man his age?” I wink even though the subtle mention of Carla makes me want to hurl this coffee cup across the café.
“Sorry, it’s rude of me to ask.”
I chuckle. “Not at all. I’m thirty-seven.”
“Oh.”
Usually Hattie’s thoughts are projected on her face like a film reel, but I can’t actually tell what she’s thinking in this moment.
“Not what you expected?” I hold her gaze.
“No. Yes.” She’s apparently flummoxed and shakes her head. “I mean, I didn’t really know how old you were.”
It’s clear now that she’s asking herself whether I’m too old for her to be spending time with, even though if I had to guess, she probably hasn’t even admitted to herself that she likes me. She’s probably thinking, what would my parents think if I brought this man home?
“Age is just a number as far as I’m concerned. Believe me, I don’t feel any older than you inside.” That might be the most truthful thing I’ve ever said to her.
“You really think that?”
Am I seeing hope in her eyes? She really is into me. Satisfaction fills me as I realize that maybe what she’s worried about is whether I think she’s too young for me. “I do. It’s a stupid thing to get hung up on.”
She smiles, and we spend the rest of the evening getting to know each other better.
Well—I get to know her better. She gets to know a version of Bastion Clarke who never really existed. Perhaps he would if he’d had a loving, nurturing mom to raise him.
9
BASTION
Iarrive in Wisconsin the following week with a smile.
My lawyer called shortly after I landed to let me know that I’m the proud new owner of a manufacturing business in all things ventilation. It wouldn’t be exciting except for the part that it’s where Hattie works.
I’m almost giddy. It’s finally time to put my plan into action. The trap has been set, today I’ll lay the bait, and this time next week, I’ll spring the trap.
But first, I have to deal with the man I found in Hattie’s apartment last week. Mr. Smith sent me a dossier on him a few days ago. Turns out he’s the landlord of a few buildings in town, including the one where Hattie rents her apartment.
He’s also a registered sex offender. What are the chances that the piece of shit only sneaks into Hattie’s apartment? Pretty slim.
He reminds me of the men who used to take advantage of my mother when I was young. I don’t like men who prey on the weak. I was once the weak they preyed on too.
I think it’s time for someone to teach this asshole a lesson. And I’m not doing this for Hattie. I’m doing it for the other women and children he’s preying on.
After I check into my room at the hotel, I head out in search of Russell Balcom. The two of us need to come to an understanding.
Following the GPS directions, I drive past Russell’s nondescript bungalow and park down the street. A quick assessment tells me that the best plan of attack is to make my way into his backyard through his neighbor’s—I don’t spot any cameras, and there are a couple newspapers on the front porch that make me think they’re away. People are so fucking stupid sometimes. Why not just take out an ad in the local paper that says you’re out of town?
I put the black mask on my face and pull down my ball cap as far as it will go, then exit my car. Moving quickly, I gain entry into the neighbor’s yard. It’s a two-story home with a walkout basement, and the deck off their kitchen allows me to look into Russell’s yard. There’s no sign of him, a dog, or anything concerning.
After identifying which window I want to use, I climb off the deck and hop the fence, dropping to my feet in the grass. Quickly, I approach the house, peeking through the window to make sure I don’t see anyone.
The coast is clear. I came prepared today, and I pull out my lockpick. It’s an old door, so it won’t take me long.
Sure, I could bust the door down, but I don’t know if he’s inside, and I want to preserve the element of surprise.
Within minutes, I push open the door to the laundry room. I’m careful to be quiet as I move farther into the house. There’s a TV on in what sounds like the living room I spotted in front of the house when I drove by, so I assume the lazy piece of shit is in there.
I move forward, stopping every couple of feet to listen. There’s still just the sound of the TV. If there were a dog, he would have already sniffed and searched me out by now.
I’m in the kitchen, which has an opening that looks onto the dining room. Beside that is the living room.
When I peek around the wall, I’m ready to ambush him should he be facing me. But he’s in a chair facing a TV in the corner with his back to me. I grin against the mask on my face. Too easy.
The curtains on the front window are closed, though they’re only sheers, and they allow some light to filter through.
The floorboards under the carpet creak when I’m about three feet away from him, and I watch him straighten in his chair before his head whips around. His eyes widen in alarm when he finally realizes he’s not alone.
I surge forward as he’s straightening to get up from his chair, and when he’s standing, I tackle him to the floor. He lands underneath me with an oomph, and I straddle his chest, pinning his arms with my legs.
“Who the fuck are you?” he shouts.
Thank fuck Mr. Smith’s intel about this guy said he lives alone, otherwise, he’d definitely draw attention from someone else living here.
“You should worry more about why I’m here,” I growl.
He tries to buck me off him, but I’ve got thirty pounds on him, and I’m twenty years younger.
“So you like sneaking into the apartments of the young girls you rent to, do you?”
I had Mr. Smith do some digging on the other properties Russell owns, and wouldn’t you know it, most of them are rented to women in their twenties.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I slam a fist into his face. “You’ll get one of those each time you lie. Let’s try this again. You sneak into the apartments of the pretty young women you rent to, don’t you?”
“Go fuck yourself.”
When I land a punch to his face this time, his nose squirts blood. It’s broken.
The piece of shit whines and cries.
“Last chance, Russell.”
His eyes widen a little when I use his name. Good, maybe he’s finally figured out he might not know me, but I know him.
“Fine,” he says between gritted teeth. “I do it. What do you care?”
“I care when I know someone is preying on the weak.”
I ignore the voice in the back of my head telling me I’m doing the same thing to Hattie. Am I not the predator and she the prey?
But that’s for an entirely different reason and circumstance. I’m not going to force Hattie to do anything she doesn’t want to. She’s going to be a willing participant the entire time.
“You’re a sick fuck, aren’t you?”
He shakes his head back and forth in a desperate attempt to convince me that he’s harmless.
“Men like you make me sick.” An image of Stan flashes through my mind, and I shake my head to clear it. “I want you to stay out of those apartments, Russell. If I find out you’ve been slipping in and going through any more underwear drawers, one of two things is going to happen. I’ll either take care of the problem—you—myself, or I’ll call the police and provide them with proof of what you’re doing. Do you think they’ll let you out of jail this time?”
I don’t have proof of him going into the apartments, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Tears glisten in his eyes. “Who are you?”
“Wrong answer.” I hit him again, busting his lip. “Do we have an understanding?”
He’s sniveling and crying now, but he gives me a shaky nod.
“Good.” I lean my weight into my legs, pressing into his arms, and he cringes. “And don’t even think about calling the cops to report this. If you do, I’ll have my own report for them. You understand?”
He nods on a shaky exhale.
“I’m glad we see eye to eye on this. And don’t think just because I haven’t made my presence known that it means I’m not watching.” I get up off the floor and give him a swift kick to the gut that should leave him breathless long enough for me to get out of here in case he has a gun hidden in the cushions or something.
After Russell’s taken care of, I head back to the hotel to have a shower before I meet Hattie, who will be none the wiser that I just did her a favor. She should be thanking me really, but by the time I’m done with her, she’ll be doing the opposite.
10
HATTIE
Lately, all I think of is Bastion.
I shouldn’t. It’s stupid. Maybe it’s just a girlish crush on an older man. I don’t know. He hasn’t even given me any indication that he sees me as anything other than someone he enjoys conversing with when he’s away from home.
But it’s the first exciting thing that’s happened to me in a long time, even if by most people’s standards, it’s just casual conversation.
Still, I can hardly sit still as I wait for his arrival at the coffee shop Tuesday evening.
Tuesday has become my favorite day because of our meetups. Every time, I have to remind myself that these rendezvous are finite. I try to tell myself that I’m fine knowing these meetings will eventually come to an end. I mean, Bastion has to finish his business in Wisconsin at some point, right? And then he’ll have no other reason to come back to town.
I push that thought from my mind, determined to enjoy the time I do have with him. I haven’t even told Taylor about him, and I’m not sure why.
Maybe because there’s nothing to tell.
And there isn’t really. I mean, we share one drink together, talk a little, and part ways. It’s not as if we’re having an illicit affair.
I feel guilty for even having the thought. I shouldn’t think of Bastion like that.
I’m here at the café ten minutes early, and this time, I made sure to buy Bastion’s drink. I felt awful last week when I realized I couldn’t order his coffee because I didn’t know how he took it, when he’d remembered my order after our brief meeting the time before.
He walks in five minutes early, sparing me from having to wonder whether he’s going to show up or not. I smile and wave with my free hand, holding up his coffee with the other.
He grins and makes his way toward me. He looks as if he just got out of the shower—his hair is half damp and has more wave to it than usual. He’s wearing a pair of dark gray jeans and a black T-shirt that fits him perfectly. As usual.
Bastion’s never said outright that he has a lot of money, but I can tell by the way his clothes fit him that they’re better than anything I could ever afford. Not to mention his expensive watch and just the way he carries himself.
“You remembered.” His ocean blue eyes twinkle with mirth.
“I did.”
He stands in front of me, and I pass him his coffee. Our fingers brush in the exchange, and I inhale a swift intake of air. It’s an innocent touch, nothing more, but it still makes me feel… things.
We catch up on what we’ve both been up to this week. Me—work, spending time with my parents, attending church and a few of the groups I joined through church. Him—putting out some fires at work and dealing with some employee issues.
Whenever I ask exactly what business he’s in, Bastion just says the entertainment industry. I’ve wondered if maybe he deals with celebrity clients or something, but I’ve never asked outright since it seems like he doesn’t want to talk about it. I figure he must want to preserve their privacy.
Bastion’s just finished telling me a story about how he once jumped off a roof into a pool when I shake my head. “I could never do that.”
