I make my way to the back of the restaurant and up a staircase that leads to a private dining room that resides on the top floor of the restaurant. Stepping inside the room is rather dark, almost intimate. An entirely black room with small white and gold marble tables mirroring each other on either side of the room, with each holding a large black vase filled with birds of paradise and orange orchids that give a pop of colour to this dark room. The lighting is very minimal and strategically placed. It’s placed in a manner so that it’s easy to see all the features of my guest who will sit opposite me, whereas my features will be somewhat obscured by shadow. I’m not trying to be invisible, but it does intimidate people and make it a little harder to remember someone’s features when they aren’t on full display. Sitting in the middle of the room is a single round table with a black cloth over it with gold trimming. The table is set for two and my guest is already seated waiting for me wit

Yesterday’s research was useless and maddening. Sure, everything was detailed but nothing interesting stood out and when dealing with two criminals, trust me when I say, there are always some interesting secrets or skeletons to be found. But these guys had none, which I find suspicious. So today I’ve decided to go right to the source. I’m sitting in my car outside Lowell’s apartment building waiting for him to come out. I just need him to leave for a few minutes so I can go in and have a look around. I’m sitting in my car for two boring hours when thankfully I see him step out of the building. I was worried I’d have to sit here for a day or two waiting. Even from across the street and through tinted windows this man looks delicious. He’s 6’3” - so he’d tower over me - he’s wearing a grey sweatshirt with a hoodie; navy blue jeans and sneakers and his eyes are glued to his phone. Nothing about him screams criminal and something about his posture seems… anxious? Even though he’s covered

Once I park in the underground parking lot I curse the fact I’ve left bloody hand marks all over the steering wheel. Goddammit! I really didn’t want stains in my car. I quickly grab a bottle of water and some tissues from the glove compartment and wipe down the steering wheel and clean up my hand. I’ll do a more thorough job later. Now I just have to get this guy into my apartment. I grab my leather gloves and put them on to disguise any more blood that may trickle down my arm. I then get out, get into the elevator, and stop at my floor, but instead of going to my apartment, I rush and knock on my neighbour’s door. I’m aware of who all my neighbours are; leave no stone unturned as they say. After a moment, I hear someone walk to the door, followed by silence, then the sound of chains moving. “Rachel? I didn’t know you were in town. Is everything okay?” Asks fifty-two-year-old John Anderson as he opens the door. Retired construction worker, divorced, two children, both who live out o

For the most part, I’m completely oblivious to the injury to my arm, but there are moments when I shift a certain way and I’m quickly reminded last night I took a bullet to the shoulder before I block out the thought again. The pain from injuries doesn’t bother me, it’s just how much of an impediment they can be at times. But at least I’m still alive. I’m packing my suitcase in the bedroom when there’s a fast knocking at my door. Can honestly say I don’t get many visitors… okay, I never get visitors. Especially at 10:45 at night. I walk to the living room and grab Crimson from the coffee table. Come on, I’m not going to fire a gun in an apartment building, do I look like I’m trying to draw attention to myself? There’s another urgent knock at the door as I walk over and look through the peephole. I unlock and open the door, “Didn’t I just get rid of you?” “You were right. They tried to kill me,” Alec says, panting. There’s sweat on his brow, and his skin looks clammy and a sickly c

Alec has officially been staying with me for a week and he’s getting more hostile with each day, though I just ignore his mood swings. He hates being cooped up here. I’ve suggested he go out for a walk but he’s too afraid someone will kill him as soon as he leaves the building. Pretty ironic seeing as how he’s rooming with a killer. The only time he left was to return to his apartment to get his things and that was with me tagging along, acting as an unofficial bodyguard. How did I go from being paid to kill people to being an unpaid bodyguard? It’s too bad assassins aren’t part of a union, at least then I’d have someone to complain to. I’ve oh so graciously given my bedroom to Alec and I’ve been sleeping on the couch. Well, part of me was being generous because he’s far too big for the couch and the other part of me was being strategic. This way if he tried to leave he’d have to pass me to get to the door, so I can monitor him better this way. I’m just getting out of the shower and