The Outcast MC - Reaper # 1

Chapter 3

It continued on its way when I turned into a street. Either someone else is taking over the surveillance, or I might come across it again on my grandparents' street. Parking in front of the house, I rejoin my family. While everyone gathers in the living room, I head downstairs to change into more casual attire—jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket. I make sure to cover myself well, just in case. Letting everyone know that I'm going out for a ride, they understand my need for solitude.

I quickly glance around before heading to my right and walking up the street. If I spot a car identical to the one I suspect, I cross the street and place my hand on its hood to determine if it's the one following me. As I reach the corner, I glance back and scan for any occupants in parked cars, such as the sedan on the other side. Satisfied with my assessment, I continue moving forward, double-checking before crossing the street and heading back toward the house. The car is still there, and the man behind the wheel remains oblivious, his attention focused on the house. I prepare to confront him, my badge ready to be slammed against his car window, with my hand hovering near my Sig-Sauer at my back. However, just as I'm about to act, a woman emerges from a nearby house and approaches the car. I swiftly discard my jacket and retract my hand, walking away. I continue patrolling the street, but nothing appears to be suspicious—at least for tonight. Meanwhile, we maintain a semblance of normalcy, or at least everyone does except for me.

Upon returning to the house, I accept the offered coffee and settle in the living room. Logically, I should stay for a few days to ensure everything is truly safe. However, I decide to deflect any suspicions instead. My first move is to visit my brother's office to collect any personal belongings. Even the simple act of leaving with a box or files will alert anyone observing me, possibly putting them on my trail.

"Mr. Myers? This is Emily Lowry. I apologize for bothering you have a favor to ask. We were followed by a vehicle from the funeral home to the cemetery and then to the house. Notifying the police wouldn't be very effective. I need to divert their attention in order to shake off our pursuers. Would it be possible for us to meet at your office to retrieve some of my brother's belongings, if there are any? If not, I could at least leave with a file and a few blank sheets. Exactly. That's even better. I'll take it upon myself to continue my brother's investigation, and I'll keep you updated. No, I'm not a journalist. Not exactly. I'm with the Army Criminal Investigation Division, the CID. Yes. Unofficially, unless it has military implications. Thank you. Yes, I'm on my way. I can confirm that they have switched vehicles. I'm not going to be their prey, trust me."

I know I'm playing the innocent role perfectly as I step out of the building where my brother worked. His editor had gone the extra mile for authenticity, packing a desk lamp and some insignificant articles into a box. Sitting behind the wheel of my grandparents' car, I rummaged through the cardboard box. Across the street, the car that had been tailing me was parked, and on the sidewalk, about five meters away, was a man pretending to sip a coffee. I could tell his cup was empty by the way he held it, feigning a drink. If there had been liquid, he wouldn't be holding it with just two fingers. Acting as though I was engrossed in the documents, even though I couldn't understand a word written on them—they seemed like some alien language—I pulled out a flash drive, examining it and raising it in the air, as if it were the trophy for the Super Bowl. That got his attention. I delved my hand back into the box, retrieving a small notebook. I flipped through its Paiges and then placed it back, carefully returning the box to the back seat.

As I fasten my seatbelt, the man with the coffee tosses his cup and joins his friend in the car. I merge into traffic as soon as I can, driving with the windows open. I maintain a calm demeanor, occasionally stopping to take photographs, giving the impression that I'm just sightseeing before returning home. I search for a street that leads me to Central Park, where I park and then step away, leaving the windows open. Playing the part of an ecstatic tourist, I snap photos, mostly switching my phone to selfie mode to capture the man who reaches out of the car window to retrieve the box. The car passes in front of me a few seconds later as I make my way back.