Habits (Stay High) [Hippie Sabotage Remix] - Tove Lo

I slammed the door of the bedroom closed. I didn't see Ethan the Asshole, for which I was thankful. I noticed a glass of water and half of a bar of Xanax on the side table. Underneath was a note from Ethan, saying that he was out meeting his sister.

Well, that was something at least. Hopefully he would be able to figure out who Katherine was working for and why someone else was moving in on my target. Not that it wasn't uncommon in this world, but my target wasn't exactly a political figure or head of state.

I wasn't one to usually get angry, but I hurled the full glass of water at the wall and watched in satisfaction as it shattered and the water started to stain the opulent wallpaper. I was shaking and adrenaline was pumping through my body.

I picked up the pill and held it in my palm, staring and wondering why it had such a power over me. I sighed deeply and tapping into some internal strength I didn't know I possessed, I dropped it in the toilet and flushed. I stepped out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom.

My hands were shaking and I knew I would regret flushing the pill, but I needed to get over my dependency on Xanax. I needed a fresh start and I needed to focus on requesting a new target. What happened with my target was a blip, a distraction. I got caught up in the daydream that we could be something more. A distraction. Christian Grey was nothing more than a pretty face. And he would remain as much.

I sat down on the bed and pulled out my laptop from the room's provided safe. I still needed to look into who shot who at the opera. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was three in the morning, but I knew I should have come straight back to the hotel after the opera to do research, not go to my target's apartment and become distracted. Hell, I shouldn't have gone there for so many reasons. I could have figured out that he had heavy leanings towards sadism through recon. I was dropping the ball big time. I mentally made a note to workout tomorrow, as I couldn't remember the last time I did any physical activity since my staged run-in with my target.

Refocusing on the screen and the news articles, it turned out that no one was actually killed last night. The mystery assassin seemed to have missed the kill shot, only hitting the target in the shoulder. It was a debilitating shot and the target would never regain full mobility of their arm again. What was even more interesting about this hit was who the target was. It seems that it was the lieutenant of Seattle PD. I frowned, wondering why he was a target, but I figured the press would investigate that. I was also wondering why the fuck he was at a society event like the opera. It wasn't worth trying to hack into any servers to find out any information that wasn't related to my target. I did need this distraction though.

Part of me was gleeful that whoever had been hired clearly missed their mark. Warning shots were designed to injure and be painful, typically the leg was a target, not the upper body. Or, a warning shot would be fired to scare the target into action for an easy pick-off shot somewhere else. Shooting the lieutenant in the shoulder was fascinating and I couldn't shake the feeling that something larger was at play.

I found my notebook and quickly jotted down a rough timeline of my arrival in Seattle, my reconnaissance, and interactions with my target. I began to fill in the spaces with Rodriguez, seeing Katherine, and what happened tonight. I wouldn't have been suspicious of a few assassins working in one city at any given time, had someone from the police department not been shot. Something was up and I think someone was trying to cover something up.

I flipped through my Moleskine, looking at my notes about my target. Something was missing, and I knew that I had to try and hack into the cities records to learn about the lieutenant, but I was also running out of time. Ethan the Asshole would be hounding me to take out my target, with some line about Eamon hiring others to take me out. And I knew that part was true. The longer I waited to take out my target, the larger the target on my back would become.

I needed an ally. I needed to find Prescott. Printing off what little I was able to find in the police's database, I moved to finding a way to contact Prescott.

Hacking into Ethan the Asshole's computer was easy and it was even easier to find the brief email exchange with Prescott. He hadn't even bothered to try and hide it. I scrawled the email on a scrap of paper and sent of an email to Prescott on my own, with layers of protection and passwords. It took a second, but I even spoofed the IP address, so the email couldn't be traced back to the hotel's server. Ethan the Asshole had a long way to go if he wanted to keep his communications truly secret. I left his room and pulled dark jeans, my trusty black boots that I could run in, and a dark coat.

Walking around the streets of Seattle in the middle of the night was oddly calming. Although dark and potentially dangerous, the water on the road was a magnificent mirror for the lights of the buildings and skyscrapers downtown. I still hated the cold damp that felt like it would never leave my bones, but I was starting to see the appeal of Seattle at night at least. It was beautiful.

I saw her before she appeared to notice me. Prescott had lethal senses, like my own, when I wasn't using, and she turned around. She turned and began to walk to a bench with another one on the opposite side of the running path. She sat down and I sat on the one across from her. It was a pretty great meeting spot, considering we each had views of the park and could see for a about a quarter of a mile in all directions. It was equal footing and I appreciated the gesture of meeting on neutral territory.

"Ana," she said simply, her dark eyes appraising me. "You look like hell."

I smirked. "You don't."

"What do you want?" She asked, tilting her head to the side.

"Well, I wanted to thank you for taking our Rodriguez. You likely saved my life. But, I'm more interested in what happened at the opera tonight," I said, slowly reaching into my inner coat pocket and pulling out a piece of paper.

Her eyes narrowed. "I had assumed that it had been you. Granted, you don't miss and your warning shots are always to the leg, but I don't know anyone else who's active in this city."

I nodded. "I was there. Turns out it was Seattle PD's lieutenant, Jack Hyde, who was hit. I would have let it go, had it not been a police officer, but I think something bigger is going on here."

Prescott nodded. "Okay, so what's your theory?"

I reached out my arm to hand her the piece of paper. "This is the first page of fifteen page report someone filed with the police department. Except it's been redacted and not marked for investigation by none other than Hyde. I don't know about you, but I don't know of any police report that gets censored like this, especially on their internal database. Short of breaking in and finding the original file, this is all there is."

I watched Prescott's eyebrows raise up in surprise. "What kind of police officer would ignore this kind of abuse? Especially on a fucking kid. There's no identifying characteristics beyond the BDSM though."

"It's fucked up," I said shrugging and handing her the next piece of paper. "It seems as though Hyde got a hefty pay out for ignoring the report."

"Okay, so $750,000 dollars to make a report go away. Do you know who paid it?" She asked.

"No idea. It's a dead end account number. And I don't know if I'll be able to leave Seattle to go to Caymans to find out. But, this isn't the only thing," I said, handing her another piece of paper.

"Jesus, Ana. Just give me all of the papers," she said leaning forward and snatching yet another paper from my hand.

"Sorry, I just didn't want to startle you by reaching into my coat too many times."

She rolled her eyes, scanning the next two piece of paper. "So there's another redacted police report that seems like the same circumstances as the previous report. Except this one seems recent and the other reads like an older victim who came forward. And the older victim is likely still within the statute of limitations for this state, otherwise it wouldn't have been a too much of a problem for whoever wants to hide this."

"Bingo," I said, leaning back on the bench and crossing my legs. "I want to know how the older victim knew to come forward, or who in the police department knew that something was going on. And I want to know who paid off Hyde. I also think I have pretty good idea of someone who is involved, as either the older victim or who paid of Hyde. I just don't know which one yet.

"Well, who?" Prescott asked.

"Christian Grey." I said, watching her eyebrows rise.

"Makes sense why someone wants him dead, either way. What do you need from me?" She asked.

"I need help digging into his past. I feel like I'm missing a lot of key information," I said standing. "I'll email you what I have so far."

Prescott stood and held out her hand. "I'll look into it. I just don't know why you're so invested in this and haven't killed him yet."

I sighed. "If he's the victim that's a bullshit kill and I'm not doing that. Look, I can afford to say no to Eamon once, I've earned that right, and I'd do that in this case. But if he's the one who paid of Hyde, I'll fucking strangle him."

Prescott nodded as we shook hands. "Eamon told me about some client of his that's giving him a headache. I'll try and get details about that as well. Stay aware, Ana. Rodriguez is not the only other one hired to try and take your target out from under you."

I nodded. "Thanks, Prescott."

She nodded and started walking south and I buttoned up my coat to jog back to the hotel. The sun was starting to rise.