S I X

The dial tone was broken by a soft-spoken voice. “Simon DeAngelo speaking.”

A pang of guilt rippled through her at the knowledge she’d be leaving him short-staffed. “Hey Si, it’s Zoe. I won’t be able to make it in tonight. I’m not feeling the best.”

A breathy grumble of frustration echoed through the speaker, leaving Zoe pursing her lips in a vain attempt not to cry. She’d spent all night tossing and turning, the morbid images of Natalie’s confident grin marred with pain flashing omnisciently every time she’d closed her eyes. She’d awoken nauseous, unable to function - the first twenty minutes of her morning spent with her head in the toilet bowl.

“Thanks for letting me know.”

The tears breached her glassy eyes, her voice cracking as she spoke. “I’m really sorry.”

“Oh, are you crying? Shit. Don’t cry.” Simon spoke very little of his private life, but Zoe imagined he had to have at least one emotional teenage daughter with the way he settled into the role of awkward dad effortlessly. “Is everything okay?”

Her fears tumbled from her mouth before she had a chance to stop them. Even admitting her attraction to Jon felt risky, for both her private and business life. Everything spilled out, however, through a mix of sharp, jagged breaths and salty tears, and Zoe felt a slight weight lifted off her heavy shoulders.

Silence resounded through the speaker as she wiped her nose with the sleeve of her shirt, sniffling pitifully. Pulling the phone away from her ear, she checked Simon was still there. After what felt like an eternity, Simon cleared his throat. “It was a real shame what happened to his girlfriend, I know, but as long as you’re working for SubTerra, you’re protected. Frank couldn’t risk the coverage. You don’t need to worry about all this, okay?” He waited for Zoe’s meek agreement, before continuing. “Stop reading the articles, get some sleep and come back to work when you’re not a blubbering mess. Just keep your distance from him, okay? I’ll have a word with him too, remind him of the conditions of entry.”

“Thank you, Simon.”

“No problem. Now I have calls to make. You sure you’re right?” The soothing, hapless parent was replaced by the stern awkwardness that often accompanied Simon.

Zoe breathed a deep sigh of relief, grateful that Simon’s words had absolved at least some of her fears, and mumbled out a small acknowledgement. The dial tone sounded, Simon wasting no time in fleeing the conversation, and Zoe couldn’t help the small smile breaking through her quivering lips.

Ambling to the bathroom, Zoe rifled through her medicine cabinet, finding the frayed bottle of sleeping tablets stashed behind the pain relief. She gulped it down with a glug of tap water, and as she rose, she caught sight of her frazzled reflection in the mirror. Smoky shadows lined the base of red, glassy eyes. She could easily play an extra on one of those zombie TV shows her brother loved so much. If only Jon could see her now. Perhaps he’d run a mile and she’d be saved from this god-awful mess. But there was a small part of her that doubted that would be enough to deter him. Beneath the confident composure, she had felt the racing heart beat under her palms, seen the fleeting look of nervousness when he propositioned her.

Closing her eyes, a brief reprieve from the stinging, she pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to abate her migraine. Sleep was the only thing she knew would silence her ever-present thoughts. Shuffling to her bedroom, she felt the mattress sag beneath her weight, the covers cocooning her into darkness. Between the stillness of her apartment, the quick effects of the tablet and the minute sliver of sunlight peeking through the draw curtains, it wasn’t long before she fell into a deep sleep.

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Heels clicked against cold, concrete floors, warning the conference room’s occupants of her arrival. In the chair closest to the door, a shaggy-haired man sat, nervously twiddling his thumbs. Work would need to begin right away. It always did. Jon Moretti’s dating life often caused a company-wide lockdown, with every minute occupied with preparing and watching, planning and scheming. While it exhausted her employees, her commitment was always unwavering. One day, she was certain, there would be someone to lure in the elusive Moretti and it was on that day, that she’d take her revenge.

Across the table, a composed brunette flicked her blunt bangs from her eyes, spreading out the papers she had accumulated on the current target, Zoe Genevieve Walsh. Twenty-four years old. Daughter of Clara and Stanley Walsh, currently living in a disreputable apartment complex in Trenton, New Jersey. She’d be harder to get than most, considering her employment under Frank Muscovado, but their team was calculating and cunning. She was sure her boss would find a way to catch her.

The cherry red wooden door slammed open, the brass door knob bouncing against the wall with a loud clunk. The menacing blonde strode into the room, leaning agitatedly against the silver chair back. There were no greetings, no warm welcomes. She was here for business.

“Where are we up to with surveillance?”

As her gaze shot to the man on her left, he sat up uncomfortably. “Uh, I hadn’t set up any as yet. It’s only relatively new.”

“I want eyes on her. Can you take care of that as soon as possible?” she snapped, not waiting for a response before swiveling her attention to the leggy blonde on her right. “I want her to a have a warning. Give her the option of getting out before she’s dragged into this mess.”

The brunette across the table gaped, head shaking as she spoke. “I never had that luxury afforded to me.” Petite knuckles blanched as she tightened on the papers in front of her. “Why does she get a warning?”

Rising from her hunched position, the leader exuded an impenetrable air of authority. Steely green eyes narrowed on the deflating figure sinking into her seat, and the brunette quickly realized she’d overstepped the mark.

“Because I said so, and the last time I checked, I’m the one who’s in charge,” she paused, glancing down at neatly manicured nails. “Also, I’m pretty sure I afforded you some pretty large luxuries, if you recall. Happy to rescind those though, if they’re not enough for you.”

The room fell silent - papers came to a standstill, breaths hushing. Tensions were always high when discussions of Jon Moretti were involved, but for some reason, the petite blonde was more on edge than usual. The brunette nodded in acknowledgment, not daring to speak.

“So, surveillance and a peaceful nudge in the right direction is the plan. We’ll reconvene in the next few days to discuss progress.”

She was out the door before anyone had a chance to argue, the cherry wood banging aggressively against the frame as heels clicked with a new, frenzied intensity. Silence hung in the room, each occupant slipping out into the hallway in stony silence, trying desperately to make sense of the new directives. Never before had the option of a peaceful deterrence been available, but as the displeased brunette clipped down the hallway, she thought she understood.

And the realization made her resentful.