Chapter 14: Bait

Three days into their counter-surveillance operation, Grace realized that playing the terrified victim required more acting expertise than she had expected. Every public appearance had to exude just the proper amount of terror……..enough to suit Derek's ego but not so frightening that worried strangers asked for assistance.

She rehearsed her acting in Elena's washroom mirror: shoulders bent defensively, recurred looks over her shoulder, and a slight shaking in her hands that indicated someone on the edge of falling. The woman staring back at her looked genuinely scared, which was disturbing in its own way.

"You're becoming really good at this," Elena said, watching from the entrance.

"Method acting." I transform my genuine fear about the plan into fabricated anxiety about Derek."

"That's not healthy."

"Neither is having a career criminal rearrange my underwear drawer."

Elena grimaced. "Point taken."

The plan they'd devised with Santos was stunningly simple in theory, but terrifyingly complex in practice. Grace would resume her typical routines while wearing a wire and GPS tracker, making herself conspicuous and appear vulnerable. Max would keep his distance, appearing to have retreated under pressure while actually coordinating observation from numerous sites.

Meanwhile, Santos' team would keep an eye on Derek's comments, attempting to establish a case for federal intervention based on interstate stalking charges and his involvement in prior harassment activities.

"The key is making him feel in control," Santos added. "Predators like Derek must believe they're winning. When he grows comfortable, he will make blunders."

"What if he doesn't make mistakes?" Grace had asked.

"Everybody makes mistakes under pressure. Our role is to create the appropriate level of pressure."

Now, sitting in her favorite coffee shop, with Derek's implicit surveillance making her skin crawl, Grace wondered if they were building pressure or falling into a trap.

Her phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number: Looking lonely today. Where is your boyfriend?

Grace's heart quickened, but she forced herself to respond with shaking fingers: "We're taking some space." This scenario is difficult for us.

You're a smart dude. Perhaps he is now comprehending his situation.

I simply want it to be over.

Soon. Very soon.

The exchange felt like chess with live weapons. Every word had been chosen to give Derek a sense of control while exposing nothing useful. However, chess required anticipating several moves ahead, and Grace wasn't convinced she grasped the game well enough to avoid checkmate.

She got another coffee she didn't desire and opened her laptop, displaying preoccupied surfing while the little microphone in her jacket collar caught everything. Derek was most likely close, studying her behavior and plotting his next move.

The concept should have scared her. Instead, she had a frigid satisfaction. Let him watch. Every minute of monitoring was proof, every interaction was paperwork, and each threat was another

nail in his legal coffin.

Her telephone rang. Max's name appeared on the screen.

"Hi," she murmured, her voice filled with tiredness.

"How are you holding up?" Max's voice had its own performance quality…….the sound of a man under duress and maybe about to crack.

"I am exhausted. Scared. I keep worrying about what he did to our home."

"Perhaps we might consider his offer. If it means ensuring your safety………."

"No, Max. "We cannot let him win."

"What if winning wasn't important anymore? "What if I just want you alive?"

The talk was written and rehearsed to appear natural while under surveillance. Max's voice, however, was filled with genuine emotion and anxiety. Their portrayal was based on real terror, which made it both convincing and draining.

"I have to go," Grace said. "I'll call you shortly."

She hung up and sat staring at her laptop screen, her shoulders drooping in apparent despair. The coffee shop hummed with normal daily activity: students learning, freelancers working, and couples chatting quietly. They had no consent that they were performing as extras in a real-time mental thriller.

Her phone vibrated again: Relationship issues? How awful.

Instead of responding, Grace shook her hands and gathered her belongings before leaving the coffee shop. On the sidewalk, she hesitated and peered around with obvious nervousness before rushing to the parking garage where her car was waiting.

She allowed herself to experience genuine feeling under the garage's dim lighting. The incessant performance was wearing her down, leading her to question which sentiments were genuine and which were fabricated. The distinction between acting terrified and being afraid has blurred beyond recognition.

"Phase one complete," she murmured gently, knowing the microphone would pick up her remarks for Santos' crew.

As she drove down Elena's apartment, Grace observed flashes of a dark automobile in her rearview mirror…….somewhat clear, sometimes not……….keeping just enough distance to avoid being obvious. Derek or one of his associates are keeping track of her movements.

Good. Allow them to follow. Every mile of surveillance represented another federal crime and

another piece of evidence in their burgeoning case.

However, when she drove into Elena's parking garage, Grace couldn't shake the impression that she was missing something important about Derek's tactics. His actions were too predictable, too textbook. Men who had survived eight years of utmost security did not typically make themselves so conspicuous during surveillance operations.

Derek was either more sloppy than his reputation indicated, or he wanted them to know he was observing.

The second option made her blood run cold.