Chapter 15: Warning

It never would have occurred to me that Jayla was a lesbian. If she cared deeply about keeping it private and hid it in public, I could use that to my advantage. With a little leverage, I might actually land the job at the Swiss mall. To be honest, the network administrator position was nothing to brag about, and the pay was lousy, barely four thousand dollars a month. Still, with my savings almost gone, a job like that would have been a godsend, a timely lifeline. I copied Jayla's photo to my phone. As for the surveillance camera Brock had installed, I decided to leave it alone for the time being. I could break into Brock's computer whenever I wanted; who knew, that might even grease the wheels for my job hunt. Once I handled those details, I slipped quietly downstairs and hailed a cab home. By the time I got back, it was already 12:30 a.m. I knew the situation with Marlee was far from over. Brock, that filthy old pervert, would definitely try to lure her out again. I did not want to see her in pain, and I certainly did not want her body in the hands of a repulsive creep. I had to nip his scheme in the bud. I thought it through for a long while and finally settled on a plan. I logged into my computer, made an online call, and used a voice changer app. With my skill set, not even the police could trace my IP address, so I had nothing to worry about. I waited a good while before the call connected. Brock sounded angry right off the bat and barked, "Who the hell is this?" "Heh. Mr. Zimmerman, satisfied with how tonight went?" He reacted fast and exploded. "Who the hell are you? Was that text about my kid being sick your little stunt?" "Bingo. Nailed it. Congratulations." Through the voice changer, my words came out in a thin, electronic whine. "Consider this a friendly reminder: stay away from Marlee Casson. Cross that line again, and you'll take what comes." "Fuck you. Who are you? I'm calling the cops." "If calling the police could actually punish the crimes you've committed, I would be more than happy to wait for you to call them," I said with a cold laugh, then spelled it out. "I'm not joking. First, I've already deleted the photos you used to threaten Marlee. Second, if you harass her again, I will email everything about you and her to your wife. When your home turns into a war zone, don't blame me. Third, I know everything about you. Your Venmo password is XXXXX, and your debit card PIN is XXX, right?" There was a long silence on the other end. I figured the shock had knocked the wind out of him. After a long pause, he asked in a low voice, "Who are you?" "I'm everywhere. Remember my codename: Code D. Behave yourself and steer clear of trouble, or I'll make sure you taste real pain." I hung up and smiled, pleased with myself. Code D had been my old screen name back in college. As for Brock's debit card and Venmo passwords, I had pulled them from his phone without breaking a sweat. Moving his money into my own account would have been a cakewalk. But that would have put me on the police radar and was seriously illegal, so I would never do it. I believed that after my warning, Brock would not dare bother Marlee again. With that settled, I felt much lighter. Next came the task of locking down my own job. I finally slept well that night. Early the next morning, I got up with a clear aim: head to Swiss E-Commerce Corp and find Jayla. What I had not expected was to spot Marlee at the bus stop again. She looked unwell, a little drawn, with dark circles under her eyes. Last night had clearly rattled her and kept her from sleeping. The moment she saw me, her gaze skittered away. She turned her back on me. I brazened it out and walked up, smiling. "Morning, Ms. Casson. Your husband didn't drive you today?" "The car's in the shop at the dealership," she said. She plainly did not want to talk, offering the briefest explanation and moving ahead, widening the distance between us. I let a sly smile curl at my lips. Even the heavens seemed to be on my side. When Bus 218 pulled in, a wave of people surged toward the doors. Afraid of a repeat of yesterday, Marlee squeezed on first. I worried for a second that if she found a seat, my chance would vanish. I need not have worried; I had underestimated the morning rush. By the time I climbed aboard, Marlee and the whole batch that had just boarded were forced to stand, and she had been pushed back toward the rear door. Delighted, I shoved my way through the crowd toward her. People around me looked annoyed. I kept my polite smile in place. "Excuse me." At last, I elbowed my way to the rear door, the same spot as yesterday, and stood right behind her. Marlee glanced over her shoulder at me, and her face changed. She seemed to want to move farther back, but the carriage was packed tight. She wasn't strong enough to push through. The bus lurched into motion and kept rocking; she lost her footing and nearly fell. Quick as a flash, I grabbed her by the waist with one hand and caught her hand with the other. "You okay?" Color flared in her cheeks. She shook her head. She straightened up out of my arms, clutched the stainless-steel pole, and did not dare move again. I lifted my hand to my face. It still held a faint, sweet scent that made my head swim. Her back was a study in grace, her waist slender, her hips round beneath the cling of her pencil skirt.  My composure slipped. She had dressed much the same as yesterday. With yesterday's lesson learned, I moved with more practiced ease today. I pressed the bulge in my pants against her, again and again, until heat climbed in her cheeks and left her flustered. I seized the moment. I did not waste time. I slipped an arm around her and slid my other hand under her skirt. Just like yesterday, she did not fight. She lowered her head and bit her lip, looking like she wanted to disappear into the floor. I toyed with the fullness of her chest with one hand while the other pressed against the thin fabric beneath. Her expression shifted; her face flushed red. She clamped her legs together, trapping my hand and keeping me from going any further. I chuckled, worked at a button on her blouse with the hand on her chest, and slipped my fingers inside. She panicked and pushed my hand down, turning to look at me in panic, shaking her head again and again. I leaned in and whispered in her ear, "It's fine. No one will notice." "Please… stop." "But you're already wet." While she focused on my hand at her chest, the hand under her skirt pressed harder. My fingers slid into a warm, slick softness. A tremor rippled through her body. This time, she did not cry out; she bit hard on her lip. My fingers worked faster. She couldn't keep her legs together anymore. Her body went limp, melting against me. Her face burned crimson. She kept her head down, brows drawn tight, lips caught between her teeth, her whole posture betraying how overwhelmed she felt. I felt a smug thrill. I kept my hands moving. My upper hand had already slipped inside her bra and found her breast.  For a moment, excitement almost made me forget we were both on a public bus.