Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Owen, I think, is different. He lies in wait, knowing how good he is. There is no need to prove anything. You don’t know he’s there until he strikes. Why that is so damn appealing and alluring to me? I don’t know, but it is. The more I watch him, the more I need to know. It’s either that or I’m being really paranoid. It’s likely the latter. This man is really throwing me off. Never in my life has someone evoked this sort of reaction from me.
“He can’t be my dad. Owen is too clean with his trail. He remains on the grid while still being off it.” It's baffling to me how he does it. I need to get closer.
“True.” Ocean ponders over the man herself.
I know we joke that no one can ever truly disappear, but that’s not entirely true. It’s also not something you can do with the flip of a coin; it must be strategically set up for years. It would require a tremendous amount of time, patience, and planning. And no matter how much of those things you put into it, you would forever be looking over your shoulder.
It might appear to some as though in a flip you’re gone without a trace, but to the person holding the coin, it was anything but a magic trick. Off the grid doesn’t use credit cards or walk into a busy coffee shop in the city. He has to constantly be cleaning up behind himself. Ocean already did a thermal scan of his home. He’s the only human inside.
I can’t track anything coming in or out of his systems without the worry of triggering an alert to him. I was trying to lay low, but I may have put myself right on his radar. I felt his eyes on me. He saw me. I drew attention with my hot chocolate incident.
On the other hand, I wonder if I’m overthinking everything and giving him too much credit. It’s possible the level of security I’ve made myself believe he has on his system isn’t really there. It could be a false narrative I’ve put into my own mind because both Parks and Duffy can’t get to whatever it is they want to know about Owen Caddel.
Unfortunately, they’re no longer the only ones that want to know.
6
OWEN
I find everything I need at the hardware and head back outside. My mind keeps wandering back to the blonde at the coffee shop, the one in the glasses with the bun.
The coffee place is only a couple of blocks away, so I get into my truck and take a few turns, winding up right back out front where I was before.
I catch sight of the blue-haired woman walking away, her hands in her pockets, but I keep my gaze on the coffee shop windows. Inside, I see the blonde rising from her seat and tossing her cup into the trash.
It’s creepy really, the way I’m watching her. I’m not a stalker—at least, I don’t think I am. Even so, I take in each of her movements–the way she keeps her chin down to avoid making eye contact, the way she doesn’t grab the door handle. Instead, she uses the hem of her shirt to make contact with it.
As she steps into the sun, the blond fly-aways around her face shine, giving her an ethereal sort of look, though it’s tempered with ‘sexy librarian’ because of her glasses. She’s a vision, one I can’t pull my eyes away from.
She hurries to a small car. It’s a reasonable vehicle, a Camry with no bells and whistles, and it still shines like new, making me wonder if she drives much at all.
Sitting behind the wheel, she stays there for a while. Then I see her throw her hands up. It makes me quirk half a smile. When she smacks her steering wheel, the half turns into a whole.
She flings the door open and steps out, then marches to the front of the car, where she stares down at the hood. After a few more seconds, she goes back to the driver’s side and bends over, giving me a perfect view of her plump ass. Holy shit.
I know I shouldn’t be watching her like this, but I don’t stop. In fact, I get out of the truck and lean against it as she stands back up and heads to the front again.
A car passes, and I cross the street right after it as she drops to her haunches and peers at the hood mechanism.
“You need help?” I walk up.
She jerks to her feet and spins, her eyes narrowing on me. “Excuse me?”
“I was just passing by and couldn’t help but notice you’re having car trouble.” I try to make it sound as non-threatening as possible. After all, creeps are everywhere. I don’t want her to think I’m one.