Every Photo I Take Shows Something Standing Behind Me | Part 2
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Savor every last drop of summer with Starbucks. From bold refreshers to rich cold brews, the sunniest season only gets better with a handcrafted ice beverage in your hand. Available for a limited time. Your summer favorites are ready at Starbucks. Cops still bugging you? Haley texts me. It's from a number I don't recognize, but I have gotten used to that.

No, they aren't buying my gang of junkies story. But they also can't pin anything on me. Really, I think they're just scared shitless and want the case closed. Willful ignorance is a survival mechanism. No shit. Are you still presenting in Baltimore next week? Yes, you guys coming? I don't know. I am. Bobby is. Lulu loves a crowd, so she says she'll be there. Trask? Nikki? Trask won't say. Nikki is in Boulder. What's in Boulder?

Scotty. Another one of us. He died of cancer two days ago. He and Nikki were close. How many of us are there? You've met everyone we know about, but there have to be others. Not just here, but in different countries. Stands to reason. You talk old for a guy in his thirties. I had to raise myself after my family died. Mostly books and movies, and old TV shows kept me company while I lived with my grandparents. Grandparents, that's it. You sound like a different generation.

You're not the first person to say that." There's a long pause before she texts again. "This guy has lost track of August Rhymes." "What does that mean?" "When did he have a track on him?" "This guy has his ways. He's been doing this longer than we have. Why didn't he turn Rhymes in if he knew where he was?" "I don't know. I think he kept slipping away. The guy is good at disappearing. Whatever his connection to the Shrouds is, they can hide him if he needs them to.

You sound old when you text too. MFA, too much literature can be a bad thing. LOL. Seriously, Sky is worried about August. The guy is a psycho, so we should all be worried. Sky thinks he's planning something. The fucker is always planning something. This is serious! Fuck. Okay, chill. I'm still getting used to this shit. Sorry, shouldn't have shouted. I'm just scared. Another long pause. We don't all have guardian angels like you.

She must really be scared. Hailey doesn't do passive aggressive. She doesn't do any kind of aggressive. Shouting, texting, and then the dig about my shroud being a guardian angel? She's downright terrified. "I gotta go. See you in Baltimore." I don't respond. No need. She's already dumped the burner.

When I step off stage, Haley and Trask are waiting for me. "The goons frisked us!" Trask says, pissed. "Security is tight around me after my driver was chiffonaded in an abandoned warehouse." He frowns at me. "It means… I know what it means!" Trask snaps. "I watched the Food Network too. At least our names were on your invite list." Haley says, jumping in to keep things from getting too tense. Trask can be a lot.

"Just you two?" I ask. "Where's everyone else?" "Best if we don't clump up," Trask says. "You know, because of the chiffonade." "Stop it," Haley says to Trask before smiling at me. "We should go." "I have the reception," I say. "You didn't cancel?" Trask asks, then glares at Haley. "He was supposed to cancel."

"Standing right here, dude," I say to Trask. "Receptions after my talks are part of the whole deal. It's a way to sell more books. That's how I make a living. This is my life, so, no, I didn't cancel. It would have looked weird if I did." "You go with Alex," Haley says to Trask. "What?" We both reply, neither of us happy with that suggestion.

Keep an eye on things while Alex does what he has to do, Haley says to Trask. I'll find Skye and Lulu. We can meet up in Alex's suite after the reception. Well, this day just got worse, Trask glances past my shoulder. We're already drawing a crowd. Let's get going. I look over my shoulder but don't see anything, of course. Your buddy better be with you, Trask says. The Disconnected are giving you space, but they're getting antsy just like last time.

"I'll stay in touch," Ailey slips away into the backstage shadows, leaving me with Trask. "Hope you like mini crab cakes and mini quiches," I say, "because that's all they serve at these things." "I can eat." When I walk into the banquet room, where the after-talk reception is being held, I'm greeted with ubiquitous polite applause. "Thanks, folks," I say. "I appreciate you coming. Mingle and chat. I hope to talk with all of you if I can." I don't hope for any of that, but it's the job.

"How many disconnected in here?" I ask Trask out of the side of my mouth. "A few, not a lot. Keep me posted if the numbers increase." Trask rolls his eyes. "Obviously." Then he eases away from me and tries to blend in with the crowd. Security instantly pegs him since his eyes are looking past everyone and not at anyone.

but they already have his photo and personal details and know he's with me. Still, they monitor him. I can't blame them, considering how jumpy he is. The minutes crawl by as I am forced to make small talk with local celebrities and politicians. Fans who have won access to the reception come up to me and I take selfies with them, or let them take the selfies. I don't take any pictures myself during these things. No freebies. My phone vibrates,

I don't know the number, but the code word is in the first line. "Integimento, he's here. Get close to your security and try to slip out of the reception." I have to assume it's Sky texting. "Who?" I text back, even though I know who he's talking about. "August Rhymes. Get out and up to your suite. We'll meet there." "On it, thanks." It's amazing this is even working. I could have ditched Haley and her people after the shit went down in that warehouse, but where's the fun in that?

I extract myself from the conversation I'm not listening to. Some story that the owner of several Baltimore car dealerships is telling about how he once saw a ghost in his grandmother's basement. Because ghosts are the same thing to him. Even though I always say in my presentations that I do not think my shroud is a ghost. Not that I have started calling my buddy a shroud in public. Now, that name stays within the group.

Trask catches my eye and holds up his phone. I nod back and then aim my chin at the head of security, standing off by the south wall. We both make for the guy. But we haven't gone more than a few feet when screams erupt by the north wall. I sigh. It's like a train is ramming itself through the crowd. People are flying this way and that, tumbling head over heels through the air, colliding with each other, crying out as legs break, arms shatter, heads conk and make horrible splitting noises.

Everyone panics and flees from whatever is happening. The crush of the crowd presses at my back and I start to go down. "Gotcha!" Trask yells over the chaos, his hands on my upper arm. "Move out, superstar!" He drags me through the crowd until my feet are back under me and I can run on my own speed.

The head of security sees us, and his guys carve out a path for Trask and me to escape through. I don't look back when we get to the doors. There's no way I'm going to look at what I'm hearing. The screams, the wet thunks and squishy plops. I've seen it. The police are not happy when they confront me in my suite. "You lost a driver to something similar," the detective says, his voice low, and even despite his obvious anger at my constant "I don't knows" to his barrage of questions. "But you're saying the two events aren't related?"

"I'm saying I don't know." Skye explained to me that the disconnected were so agitated by all of us being in the old warehouse together with our shrouds that when a normal, non-seeing human walked through that warehouse's door, they sort of snapped and went after him. I just nodded along as he told me the theory. Skye has lots of theories. A favorite of his that he has been trying to drill into me is that shrouds aren't rational. Deciphering their motivations is a losing battle.

I could have argued he was wrong, but getting past Skye's preconceptions is the real losing battle. "Mr. Kasdan?" The police detective is staring daggers at me, and I can tell he knows I'm holding back. He's pissed, but I think his anger is really more about how there's nothing he can do, how helpless he is in the face of this craziness, than it being about not getting answers.

The security footage clearly shows me well away from where the nightmare started. Same with Trask. We were obviously in just as much danger as anyone else at the reception. There's shouting from the other room. In seconds, the door bursts open and Trask rushes in. A different police detective on his heels.

He's not disconnected, he says, panic in his voice. We need to leave, now. Split up and lie low for a few weeks. We'll regroup when it feels right. What the fuck is he talking about? My detective asks the other one. I don't fucking know! Trask's detective yells. Security moves toward me, but some of the uniformed cops steps in their way, blocking them. Put the dicks away, guys, I say, holding out my hands. Everyone chill out and we'll...

The doors to the suite fly open, and two security guards and one police officer are thrown through them, or their mangled corpses are. "Fuck!" Trask shouts. "Shrouds are doing this! I can't see any of-" Trask is lifted up off his feet by an invisible hand. His face turns purple almost immediately. There's a loud crack, then pop. Trask's body hits the floor hard. "What the fuck?" My detective shouts, just before he doubles over in pain.

Then his head twists all the way around so he's facing the ceiling while the rest of his body is bent toward the floor. The crack of his neck barely registers over the shouts and cries of the security guards and the other police officers. They're all fighting something they can't see. Then it's over and a hazy mist of blood floats on the air currents pushed out of the AC vents. Without warning, I'm lifted off my feet and carried toward the suite's door. I only have time to glance back once before I'm out in the hallway.

From what I saw, Trask won't be following me. I don't think his head is attached to his body anymore. When I'm out in the hallway and at the door to the stairs, I'm set on my feet. My adrenaline is pumping so hard that my knees don't hold, but I'm steadied until I get the shaking under control. "Thanks," I mutter after shoving the stairwell door open and hurrying through onto the landing.

I scramble downstairs and somehow get out of the stairwell and past the bank of elevators to a side door without being noticed. When I'm outside, I jog down the alley I find myself in, hail a cab when I reach the street, and don't look back.

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Have you ever spotted McDonald's hot crispy fries right as they're being scooped into the carton? And time just stands still. I really don't know if August Rimes was in Baltimore or not. Doesn't matter. What matters is that he calls me three weeks later. I haven't left my house since Baltimore.

I pushed it a little far, playing with these other shroud seers, if that's what they can be called. It's not safe if I go outside. Too many people. Too much temptation. Things need to chill for a bit. I have no idea how August got this number. I haven't turned on my old phone since Baltimore. I've been using only burners since. Which means August must have gotten to one of the others.

Or he's cracked the code on the ancient news board we all use to communicate with each other. If he's done either of those things, then I have underestimated the wacko. Why are you avoiding me? He asks. I've only tried to help you. Why? Why even bother with me? You are a lost one. Not anymore. I've got friends. Them? You're more like me than them. We should work together. I'm nothing like you. He laughs, and I want to hang up on him. But I don't.

I don't have one, but I can talk to them all. You can only talk to one, but that one is stronger than all of them. We are two sides of the same coin. August, you aren't even in the same currency as me. Bullshit, we are the same. I hang up, take the phone to my garbage disposal, and turn the thing into bits and pieces. I'm going to need a new garbage disposal.

So?

"Um, well, I waited until the photos I took showed the security guys as shrouds were ignoring me. Then I slipped inside. It's not hard to do. Most shrouds reflect their people, or their people reflect their shrouds." She smiles and shrugs. "So, how have you been?" "Fucking trapped in my own house. That's how I've been." She waits patiently. I breathe deep and let it out. "Shitty and bored. I've been shitty and bored. How have you been?"

"'I miss Trask,' she says with another shrug. "'I didn't know you two were close.' "'We weren't, but his shroud was just such a mellow presence.' "'Trask's shroud? Mellow? That's not a word I'd use for him. "'Oh, he was very mellow. He'd have to be at heart, or he'd have been screaming all the time. "'The disconnected aren't shy or fun to be around.'

"Huh, I never thought of that." "Nope, you wouldn't. You think of you first, just like your shroud does." She holds up her hands. "No judgement, we're all wired differently." "Feels like a judgement." She continues to smile at me, but says nothing. I rub the back of my neck. "Why are you here, Lulu?" "Oh, because he asked me to come. You won't answer his calls." It takes me a minute to realize who she's talking about.

August? August Rhymes? He told you to come? Yep. It's at this moment, right now, that I realize something about Lulu I should have noticed before. She's not off. She's bug-fuck insane like Rhymes. Great. Just what I need. Another variable. At least I now know who's been leaking info to Rhymes. Why? Why would you talk to him?

"I don't know," she says and ambles around my bathroom, picking up this and picking up that. She starts opening drawers. "Oh, I get bad heartburn too sometimes. Can you not thank you?" She purses her lips at me like I have spoiled all her fun. "August says that he can fix us," Lulu says after she stops perusing the contents of my bathroom. "Make us more like him where we don't have his shroud following us all the time. He says he can set us all free."

Why would we want to do that? Oh, that's easy for you to say. Your shroud protects you. Mine wants me to take pictures all the time. If I don't, it gets irritated. What does that mean? Without warning, she lifts her shirt. She's not wearing a bra, and I really wish she was. Her huge breasts are covered in long, white scars. Jesus, Lulu, do you cut yourself? Of course not, she says, and pulls her shirt down. Don't be stupid.

I don't know what to say. I can only stare at her. "My Shroud tells other Shrouds to hurt me while I sleep. It's a real bastard, my Shroud. A real bastard!" "That's surprising. I didn't know other Shrouds could be so willful." "You wouldn't." She shudders all over. "Hold on." She takes out her phone and snaps a couple of pics of me, then studies them. "You've got some upset Shrouds behind you. I think they're trying to tell us something." "Like what?" She frowns.

Her eyes look up from her phone, and I can see the fear in them. Shouting followed by gunfire cuts her off.

Sounds like August is here, Lulu says. Then she jumps at me, her fingernails like claws, slashing and hacking at my face. I feel the blood already flowing from the scratches on my cheeks when Lulu is flung backward, her spine hitting the vanity. The snap is horrible, like a fresh ear of corn being broken in half. Poop, Lulu says, slumping to the floor. I thought it was in the other room. Her eyes glaze over. I spit on her.

Dumb bitch! More cries, more gunfire. "Mr. Caston!" A man shouts from my bedroom. I step out just in time to see him picked up and flung across the room, his head smashing through the flat-screen TV I have sitting on my dresser. But it's not on my dresser anymore. No, it's on the floor, wringing the guy's neck. Racing to my bedside table, I yank open the drawer, grab the 9mm I keep for home use, turn, and take aim.

"Hello, Alex," August Grime says from the doorway. "Put that away. It won't do you any good." He steps toward me, then he pauses and frowns. "Tell it to stop," he growls. "Make it back off." "Fuck off if you think I'm telling my Shroud to stop protecting me!"

Protecting you? It protects itself, Alex. If you are safe, it is safe. Plus, it needs you so it can travel. Where you go, it goes. And it likes to travel. It likes it a lot. When you travel, it gets to meet new Shrouds. It loves meeting new Shrouds.

He takes a step toward me, then ducks. "Oh, that was close!" he chuckles. "Do you know why your Shroud likes to meet new Shrouds?" He doesn't wait for me to answer. "Because it loves fresh meat. It's such a little killer. And people aren't its only targets. It likes other Shrouds too.

A lamp shatters by the window. Great. I was trying so hard to avoid all of this. Now my place is getting trashed. "Get the fuck out of my house!" I snarl at Rhymes, the 9mm steady in my hand. "I'm here to help you, Alex. To get you away from your killer shroud. You're sorely misguided, and your ignorance drove Lulu nuts and got her killed.

"Aw, come on. We both know Lulu was already well down the insanity road before I found her. That poor girl was only one little push from full-on crazy pants. It didn't take much to get into those scrambled brains and give her a little hard truth about Alex Kasdan." He leans forward like he is telling me a secret. "I think we're all just one little push from total insanity, don't you, Alex? You really have no idea what you are talking about." I lower the gun. "You never did." "You never have.

I glance toward the bathroom and Lulu's corpse. None of you have. August's eyes flicker around the room. None of who? All of you, I say and lift the gun, squeezing the trigger before his eyes can even widen with surprise. August falls to a knee, his hand to his side. Blood is already spilling out around his fingers.

"You shot me!" he says, surprised when he looks down at the blood on his hand. "No, no! We were going to work together! You and me against the world like it's supposed to be!" He coughs, and red splatters across my bedroom carpet. "They don't like us! They are very mad at you!" Another lamp shatters. "I was going to help you, Alex! Where will you hide now?" He collapses onto his face, and I watch his back hitch once, then go still.

I stand there, my eyes on August. I wait for him to jump up and go for me. That's what happens when you kill the bad guy, right? They give one last chance to go for you. But several minutes go by, and he doesn't take his encore. I nudge his body with a toe and say, "Why would I hide?" "Help." My head jerks up, and I look toward the front of the house. "Help me." Jesus, is someone still alive out there?

Hurrying from my room, I walk out into a nightmare of gore and violence. Security guards are strewn everywhere. There's a foot stuck up in my living room chandelier. Blood splatters everything like Jackson Pollock had painted the walls on meth. I have to navigate around viscera, careful not to step on intestines or a stray liver. I don't see anyone intact, let alone alive. So I step carefully to my front door. It's not much better outside.

The walkway is a bloody path, and my lawn looks like it's been mulched with chum. My head snaps to the right. I see a pair of legs sticking out of the azaleas. When I get to the man, I don't recognize him. He's just one of the faceless guards who thought he was assigned to protect me and my house. Little did he know. "Hey, you're going to be alright," I say to one, "and I think he will be."

He's missing most of the flesh from his left bicep, but other than that, he looks fine. I think, other than that, so casually. Have I gotten too used to this butchery? I call 911 and sit and wait with the guy, holding his good hand the entire time. It's the right thing to do. The ambulances pull up less than 10 minutes later, followed by a swarm of police cars. I slowly stand, arms out, hands up.

I leave my 9mm on the ground next to the unconscious guard. No need to get myself shot. More importantly, no need to get the cops hurt, or worse if they go for me. I have to keep the mayhem in check a little, right?

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"Sorry we couldn't do anything," Skye says, his voice sounding a million miles away. "What could you have done? You couldn't have stopped any of it from happening. August got into Lulu's head and used her to get to me." There's silence for a second, and I think we've lost the connection. "Skye? You still there?" "Yeah," he says, but he's hiding something. "What is it? What aren't you saying?" "I don't think we should communicate anymore, Alex."

You what now? What the fuck does that mean? You came to me! You got to meet me at that warehouse! My life has been nothing but shit ever since then! My tour was cancelled after Baltimore! I have more than one department of police detectives up my ass! Did you know they think I have something to do with all these killings? I mean, yes, I'm involved. We all are. But I didn't kill anyone!

Except August Rhymes. His cold tone startles me. Um, yeah, I killed August. He sipped all those shrouds on the security guards. He was going to kill me. I don't think he was. I don't like his tone at all. Didn't you say he thought he was there to help you? He continues. I stay quiet. I think you know what I'm saying, Alex. None of us have ever seen anything close to like what happened at the warehouse, or in Baltimore, or in your own house.

You came to me, Skye. We did. We thought we were forming something. A strength in numbers thing. But we were wrong. There's no safety in numbers around you, Alex. There's no safety at all when we're anywhere near you. Is that so?

Damn him. I don't know what is really going on, Alex, but I do know I was wrong. We should have stayed a million miles away from you. I should have never had Haley approach you. Your shroud is dangerous, Alex. It's the most dangerous one of them all. He hangs up. I think of calling him back, but what's the point? If he hasn't already tossed his phone, then I doubt he'll pick up. I walk to my desk and open my laptop.

With a couple of keystrokes, I'm staring at the plain text of the newsboard. Our thread we used to get in touch with each other is gone, deleted from the site. Plugging in the last number I have for Haley, I press send and wait. The phone is out of service. A dead number. Those fuckers! I feel a nudge at my right shoulder and spin around.

"What?" I ask and look around for my phone. My real phone, not the burner I still have clutched in my hand. I toss the burner into my bedside trash and pick up my actual phone. "This?" I ask and hold up my phone. Then I move in a slow circle, taking pictures as I rotate. When I look at them, I understand. My shroud is behind me, but only when the pics are of my bedroom door.

"No, it's too soon," I say in turn and take a photo, making sure I get the view over my shoulder of my bedroom door. When I look at the pic, my shroud is halfway into the hall. "Shit, okay." I follow, blindly of course, out into the hall and down to the living room. I do another rotation of photos and see that my shroud is moving toward my front door.

"Why do you want me to leave?" I ask. "That's not a good idea. Right now we need to keep a..." My whole body stumbles forward as I'm shoved hard from behind. "Hey! Knock it the fuck off!" I'm shoved again, but not as hard. It can be a real dick when it wants to be. "No!" I stamp my right foot. "We're staying here, got it? I can order groceries. I can order takeout. I can order pretty much anything I need. I'm not going anywhere unless the house is on fire, do you hear me?"

I woke up to the smell of smoke three mornings ago. The asshole can set fires now, I guess. Little shit. Probably learned it from one of the other shrouds. This is why, even though I've always known about the others for a long time, I've stayed far away. The last thing I need is for my shroud to pick up more bad habits. I got the fire put out quickly, so no harm, no foul.

Now I'm in my car and driving toward an address that cost me a lot of money to procure. I pretty much had to double my security company's fee, even though they refuse to actually guard me anymore. They aren't wasting more men on my sorry ass. I can't blame them. I did sort of do them dirty by using them like props. But money talks and bullshit walks, so they took my cash when I asked them to find some folks for me.

Of course, it didn't go well for them when I stopped by to pick up those addresses. I couldn't have loose ends now, could I? "Hello, Haley," I say when she opens the door. "No!" She shouts and slams the door in my face. I hear several locks and chains being thrown into place. "Go away, Alex! I don't want you here!" "Haley, please! At least do me the favor of talking to me!" "No! Fuck off and go away! I'm calling the cops!"

"Aww, Haley, please! You don't even have to open the door. Just talk to me!" "Bobby isn't answering his phone anymore. Neither is Skye!" I sigh. Haley's wasn't the only address I asked the company to find. "Come on, Haley!" I shout. "Open up!" I casually look around the neighborhood. A couple of curtains move quickly back into place. An audience. Good. I return my attention to Haley. "Let's just talk, okay? You don't even have to let me in.

Quietly, like she's whispering from the other side of the door, I hear, "What did you do, Alex?" "It's not me, I swear. It's my Shroud." "Oh god. Skye was right." "Oh please. Skye wasn't right about shit. August Rimes was barely right. He got the closest to the truth, but not quite there. Listen, Haley, I'm not bad. My Shroud isn't bad. It's… it's a complicated relationship."

Bador shakes a little. I'm not surprised. Patience isn't one of its virtues.

"What are you doing?" she cries. "Nothing, it's not me," I say, holding up my hands for everyone to see as I back away, stepping blindly down her porch steps until I'm out on her postage stamp of a front lawn. "I'm not even near your door!" Not that it makes much of a difference, for Haley at least. For me, it's a great cover. I hope some of the nosy neighbors are recording this.

Haley sobs behind her door, and I feel for her, I really do. In the days since it tried to set my house on fire, I've had a lot of time to think. Crisscrossing the country, going from discovered address to discovered address, has put things in perspective. "I am sorry," I say to Haley's door. "I thought I needed someone who understands me, and what I've gone through. A little company for a change." "I've called the cops, Alex. They're on their way."

I get why you're scared. You didn't know when you approached me. But you know now, right, Haley? You know now that my Shroud is not a guardian angel. Not even close. We just share, it and I, certain tastes. You're a monster, Alex! Please, go away!

Going back to your earlier statement, you are correct. August Rimes didn't kill my family. I wish you hadn't found that out. I actually think we could have been friends. When Skye's flesh was stripped from his body, I realized that once again, I was getting bored. All the killing, killing, killing it does. So boring. But you know what? I think I want to go in a different direction. I'd love to have a normal, everyday friendship. What do you say, Hayley?

"Are you… are you serious?" "Um, yeah." "Please." Sirens wail in the distance. "I guess you really did call the cops." I sigh. "Well, so much for the friendship thing. Thought I'd try. I'll go now. I'm sorry, Haley." I walked toward my car, but a tug at my shoulder slows my progress. "Nah, not this one. We're leaving. You've had enough fun." The tug is more insistent.

Oh my god, do you ever stop? I laugh and walk to my car. Three hard tugs. Fine, fine. You know I can't deny you. I hold up a finger. But no more fires, you hear? A soft tug. I mean it. Another soft tug. Okay, go have fun. Hayley's front door bursts inward, and I hear her scream. What's happening? I shout and clamp my hands to my cheeks like that kid in Home Alone. Oh my god, what is it?

That'll play great if someone is recording. It's gonna really fuck with the local cops to have me standing by my car while what happens inside happens. The front window of Haley's house shatters, and her body is flung out onto her postage stamp yard. She's dead before she stops rolling across the grass. I know. I've gotten good at spotting a corpse being flung from windows, from bridges, from cars, from skyscrapers. My shroud really likes to throw people out of and off shit.

When I feel the tug on my shoulder again, I listen closely and can hear the sirens getting nearer. I feel my shroud settle in behind me and I wait. When the police arrive, they have guns pointed at me the second they get out of their cars. The tugging starts up again. "I know what you're thinking," I say, speaking quietly to my shroud, not the cops. "But you kill them, and there will be more, and more, and more. Eventually, something will go wrong and they'll kill me. What will you do then?"

The tugging stops. That's what I thought. I slowly get to my knees like the cops are shouting for me to do. When they reach me, I am thrown this way and that, my arms yanked behind me and cuffed. Then I'm pulled up onto my feet and dragged to the back of one of the many police cars filling the street. I say nothing on the ride. I say nothing during booking. I don't have to.

There is no direct evidence against me. My prints are never anywhere at the scene, and there have been so many scenes. It just drives the cops crazy. Anyway, I have excellent lawyers, and as I wait for them to arrive, I feel a tug at my elbow. "No, you've had enough." I know what it wants. It wants the guy sitting in the cell across from mine. My door rattles. "You are incorrigible!" I shake my head. "Alright, go have some fun. You know I can't ever tell you no."

The poor guy's screams start almost instantly. Good thing I don't have kids. Man, they'd be spoiled rotten. Seated on the metal cot, I lean my back against the wall and think. There was one address the security team couldn't find, and that bugs me. I wonder if Nikki will still be in Boulder after my lawyers get me out.

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