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Mistress(83)

By:James Patterson


I can see her place right now…

Can anyone see me?

I jump at the sight of movement in the back of Anne’s apartment, the kitchen. Can’t make out the features, just a figure quickly passing by the shade over the window. Was it Anne? But if she were being held by somebody in there, she wouldn’t be walking around freely.

I move a few more steps. I’m hiding behind someone’s garage now. It’s the last structure between me and the fence at the rear of Anne’s building, about ten yards away.

Garner played slutty pretty damn well in the Arthur remake. I love it when actresses decide to branch out and play slutty. See Jennifer Aniston in Horrible Bosses—

Focus, you moron. Once I move past this garage, I’m exposed, out in the open. The lighting isn’t great back here, but it’s good enough. If anyone’s looking, they’ll see me.

Here goes nothing.

I step out from behind the garage and tiptoe toward the fence, feeling as visible as a neon sign. If they’re looking, I’m a goner, so my money has to be on them not keeping a vigilant watch. They shouldn’t be expecting me, after all. I told Anne over the phone that I was miles away in Maryland.

I walk along the brick wall on the side of her building. Anne has a window in her bedroom. The shade is drawn, but there’s no light behind it. That room is dark.

I silently creep forward. There is light coming from the front of the house. The shade on the window isn’t drawn. If I stand on the balls of my feet, I might be able to see in. But will they see me?

Only one way to find out. I slowly rise from my crouch.

“So that sounds more like she’s waiting to hear from someone.”

I jump at Sean’s voice in my ear. I’m not used to this spy stuff.

“You almost gave me a heart attack!” I whisper.

“I’m saying, it sounds like she’s waiting for someone, either for a call—”

“Or for someone to drop by in person. Good point. Watch for cars, okay? Any car would have to travel north up Fifteenth, past you. Got your camera ready?”

“Oh, yeah.”

I take another breath. I stand up slowly, raise up on my tiptoes—

“She’s by the window.”

I jump back down. “Jesus, Sean. What?”

“She’s by the front window, looking out over Fifteenth. I’m out of my car and I got an angle with my zoom lens. The lady’s looking out the window. She’s waiting for someone, Ben. Believe me. She’s looking down the street. She’s waiting for a car.”

Then so will I. But not here in the alley. Too conspicuous.

I do a crab walk forward a few steps toward 15th Street, so I can see the front yard of the building next door to Anne’s without revealing myself to Anne. As I remembered, there’s shrubbery bordering the small parcel of grass in front of that apartment building. Most of the buildings around here have some kind of small grassy lawn, and most of them put up some shrubbery or garden on it. There isn’t a whole lot of cascading acreage here in the U Street Corridor, so any plot of grass, no matter how tiny, usually gets dolled up.

That shrubbery isn’t much, but it’s about three feet high, which should be enough. If someone’s really looking for me, they might spot me. It’s a risk. But hey, I left risky back in the dust long ago. I’ve been walking a tightrope for days.

“Tell me when she’s not standing by the front window,” I say. “I’m going to stake out a spot, but she’ll see me from the front window.”

A pause, but not a very long one.

“Go. Go fast. She’s pacing around, and she’ll be back at the window soon.”

I dart from my position and almost dive behind the shrubbery next door. I must have looked ridiculous doing so. And I probably look ridiculous now.

“Nice swan dive,” says Sean.

But I made it.

Now let’s see who comes a-callin’ on Anne Brennan.





Chapter 97



Several cars pass by on 15th. Each time, Sean signals me. Each time, my pulse ratchets up. Each time, the car keeps going—false alarm.

The winner of the surprisingly-good-at-slutty thing is Glenn Close—not on anyone’s list of supermodels, but Dangerous Liaisons and Fatal Attraction? Seriously. I think it’s her cheekbones.

“Maybe she’s just waiting for friends to hit the clubs,” says Sean in my earbud.

“No, this is no social call. She was too nervous,” I say into the grass. I’m still facedown, afraid to move lest I attract Anne’s attention. But I’m obscured behind the shrubbery, I think, and, more important, I’m north of her and she’s looking south, waiting for some car to arrive from the only direction it could travel on this one-way street.