Ford
THEY SAY GOOD THINGS COME to those who wait.
It's almost intolerable to endure all of Saturday at close contact with Genevieve while she remains in her fearful state. After sleeping for only two hours but laying in bed consciously for almost double that, I'd traipsed downstairs to find her tipping the curtain back to inspect the repairments on the window. Whoever Hawk had enlisted to patrol the vicinity has done a decent job of filling the gap with some wooden planks during the night.
She violently jolted when I cleared my throat, having lingered near the threshold to simply observe her. She didn't even hear me approach.
I push the shock from her mind as I uncover the rubber from the bathtub. Genevieve with her morbid curiosity hangs back in the bathroom, craning her neck for a better vantage point over my shoulders. Hudson's body has been completely disposed of and all that remains in the bathtub is the liquid in the colour I predicted, Hudson's teeth and the bullet. After removing the plug and draining the tub of the liquid, I crush the teeth and pocket the bullet to be disposed of after leaving the house.
When I turn around, Genevieve's a few shades too pale and doesn't ask any questions.
I continue to text Jeremiah to request food and by Sunday he turns up with a sigh. "Hurry the fuck up and finish this job already," he whines.
When evening nears, I instruct Genevieve who's idly scrolling through something on her phone to pack up her belongings and ensure nothing remains. I take the trash out, wash and dry the dishes, and reopen the curtains. After collecting all my own possessions, I wait near the front door for Genevieve.
She appears relieved to be free to escape, but there's something reserved about her expression. Joltingly, the cracked iPhone feels like it begins to burn in my pocket, but I hastily shrug the paranoia away. Since the first message from Jean Sommers upon receiving the phone, the iPhone has remained inactive. No more messages, and while I've attempted numerous downloads of the data, it retrieves nothing except the message and contact of Jean Sommers—as predicted, considering the phone has been totally wiped to a factory reset state prior to sending it to us.
"Do you want me to drop you off at home or our house?" I ask her.
"Home please."
She steps away from the staircase, her bag hanging from her hand. As she peers up at me, I instruct, "Don't tell anyone about this, okay, princess? Harris included. He knows nothing your involvement and I'd rather not get into a fight with Harris, given I've had to spend the last few days with his girlfriend. I'm sure he'd love that."
She narrows her eyes. "I won't be telling him a damn thing," she replies thickly.
"Excellent. We're on the same page, then."
She rolls her eyes at me before lowering her head and following me out of the house. I lock the door behind me before depositing the spare key through the letterbox. As soon as I've dropped Genevieve off at home, I'm to meet Hawk at an agreed location to update him of the house status. Everything will require wiping of DNA, and the key I dropped through the letterbox will be relocated pronto. He'll be able to drive off in the Range Rover and I can walk the few blocks back to my Audi.
With whispered instructions, Genevieve fixes her gaze low, her head dipped as I navigate us to the hired Range Rover. We dump our stuff in the trunk along with the rubber sheets, tape, pizza box and my pistol before clambering in the car. As soon as we leave the neighbourhood, I sigh gently.
Thank fuck that's out of the way now. I'm crippled with desperation to investigate Jean Sommers by fucking Gabriella, getting her hooked on Bullet and retrieving any information I don't have access to through West Point. I can give my contact at the police station a few days' notice before Gabriella will be set to turn up to retrieve a thumb drive with the aforementioned data, but I have to fuck her first.
