"A stakeout?" Jazz eyes me appreciatively. "That's genius. If he catches you, you can just pretend that you're into him. You're quirky, so you can sell it."
"Uh, thanks?" I say sarcastically.
She waves her hand. "I just mean that you do random, wild shit all the time. A stakeout is totally on brand for you."
I hate that she isn't wrong.
"It's not a terrible idea," Lilah says. "I mean, on the off chance that he is an actual serial killer, it's literally the worst idea imaginable, but since you're the only one in creation who thinks that's remotely possible…why not stake him out? You guys can bond over your mutual obsession."
"I am not obsessed," I huff, full of indignation and lies. "I'm saving lives."
The way all three of them grin at me says they think I'm full of shit. They may be right, but they haven't heard what I have. There is somethingweirdgoing on at his place.
And if he isn't a serial killer? Well, I'll cross that bridge if I come to it.
Chapter Four
Olive
Stakeouts are boring.
On TV, they seem exciting. You have a partner, deep conversation, and some laughs. There's usually something to see. In reality, you down a pint of ice cream, argue with a Yorkie,and stare out your window at literally nothing until your eyes burn.
I'm three hours in, and I'm bored out of my mind. The only interesting thing I've seen is the shirtless picture of Henry Cavill that Sarah texted me two hours ago.
Mason's lights went out an hour ago, and I haven't heard a peep from his place. Not one.
"This is the worst idea ever," I mutter to Oscar.
He cracks one eye open to look at me, snorts, and then burrows under his blanket like he'd prefer if I minded my business and left him out of it.
I sigh, standing to stretch. My legs are cramping from sitting in the kitchen chair I pulled up in front of the bedroom window. I pace around the room, pausing to turn on the television. I might as well have a little entertainment, right? Right.
I gather up my trash, deposit it in the trash can in the kitchen, and then stride back to the bedroom, determined to give it another hour before I give up for the night.
I'm halfway through a rerun of Downton Abbey, trying not to fall asleep in my chair, when a shrill sound cuts through the room. I jump, nearly falling out of my chair. Even Oscar pops out from beneath the blanket, his ears back as he tries to figure out where the sound came from.
"Murder! Murder! Help! This is murder!"
I bolt to the window, my heart pounding like a jackhammer.
"What the fuck?" I whisper, my voice shaking. "What the actual fuck?"
Oscar growls.
"Help! Help! Murder!"
"I was right. Holy shit. I was right, Oscar."
Oscar barks softly, pacing on the bed.
"Masondoeshave some poor woman chained up in his house."
I panic for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. Do I rush over there and rescue her? Do I call for back-up? I should definitely call for back-up, right?
I scramble for my phone, knocking it onto the floor before I finally manage to get my hands on it. It takes two tries before I manage to dial emergency services.
"9-1-1, where is your emergency?"