Chapter 24 : Guardian Shadow
[Teller-Morrow Automotive — June 8, 2008, 7:30 AM]
I volunteered for everything.
Guard shift at Opie's house? I was available. Supply run that passed his neighborhood? I'd drive. Working in the section of the garage closest to his usual station? Sign me up.
Half-Sack noticed within two days.
"Okay, what's the deal?" He cornered me near the parts shed, curiosity and suspicion warring on his face. "You've been glued to Opie's hip all week. Every assignment, every duty—you're always right there."
"Just being useful."
"Useful." He crossed his arms. "You got a crush on the big guy or something?"
"Something like that."
He laughed, but his eyes stayed watchful. "Seriously, Cole. What's going on?"
I can't tell you. I can't tell anyone.
"Opie just got cleared by church vote. Clay's pissed. Tig's pissed." I lowered my voice. "You think that means everything's fine? Club politics don't work like that."
"You think someone might try something?"
"I think I'd rather be close enough to matter if they do."
Half-Sack considered this. Whatever conclusion he reached, he didn't share it.
"You're playing a dangerous game, brother."
"All games are dangerous. The trick is picking the right one."
He shook his head and walked away. I went back to positioning myself near Opie.
---
[TM Garage — June 10, 2008, 2:15 PM]
Tig was watching Opie.
I caught it during the afternoon shift—the way Tig's eyes tracked Opie across the lot, calculating, predatory. The look of a man measuring a target.
He's Clay's trigger man. Always has been. If the order comes, Tig pulls the trigger.
I made sure to be visible. Every time Tig got close to Opie, I was there—fetching tools, asking questions, creating witnesses. Blocking opportunities.
Tig noticed.
"You're everywhere today, prospect." His voice carried an edge. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"
"Just doing my job."
"Your job is cleaning toilets and fetching beer. Not hovering around like a nervous grandmother."
"Bobby's got me on garage duty." The lie came smoothly. "Says I need more practical experience."
"Bobby." Tig's eyes narrowed. "Right."
He walked away, but I could feel his attention lingering. Another enemy I was making. Another complication in an increasingly complicated situation.
Worth it. If it keeps Opie alive, worth it.
---
[Charming Streets — June 12, 2008, 4:30 PM]
I mapped Donna's schedule in my head.
It wasn't hard—small town, predictable routines. School drop-off at 8:15. Grocery shopping Tuesdays and Fridays. Book club Wednesday evenings. Church on Sunday mornings.
The patterns mattered because I needed to know where she'd be when the attack came. In the show, she'd been driving Opie's truck at night—wrong vehicle, wrong time, caught in crossfire meant for her husband.
If I can break that pattern when it matters...
But the problem was timing. My meta-knowledge gave me events, not exact dates. Somewhere between now and the season finale—months of uncertainty, every night a potential trigger.
I couldn't watch Opie's house every night. Couldn't trail Donna without being noticed. Couldn't explain why I needed to know where she was at any given moment.
You're trying to prevent something without knowing when it happens. That's almost impossible.
Almost.
But almost wasn't the same as impossible.
---
[Cole's Apartment — June 13, 2008, 10:00 PM]
Sarah's voice on the phone carried concern.
"You sound exhausted."
"Busy period." The understatement of my strange new life.
"That's what you said last week. And the week before." A pause. "Cole, is everything okay?"
I stared at the ceiling of my apartment, phone pressed to my ear. The exhaustion was bone-deep now—weeks of surveillance, constant alertness, sleep measured in hours rather than nights.
"Everything's fine."
"Liar." But her voice was gentle. "You don't have to tell me what's going on. I know there are things you can't share. But I want you to know I'm here if you need to talk."
"I know."
"And I want you to take care of yourself. I have a professional interest in keeping you healthy." A smile in her voice now. "Also a personal one."
"Also a personal one?"
"Don't push it, prospect." But she was laughing softly. "Our next coffee date is Saturday. You better show up looking less like a zombie."
"I'll do my best."
"You better."
She hung up. I lay there in the dark, thinking about Sarah's honest eyes. Her directness. The way she'd accepted the complications of my life without pushing for explanations I couldn't give.
Something worth protecting. Someone worth protecting.
But first, Donna. First, stopping the cascade of tragedy that would tear this family apart.
Then, maybe, something that resembled a normal life.
---
[Opie's Street — June 15, 2008, 11:45 PM]
The night was quiet.
I sat on my bike a block from Opie's house, engine off, watching. The house lights were dark except for one—bedroom window, upstairs. Probably Donna reading before sleep.
Alive. Still alive.
I'd been doing this for a week now. Not every night—that would be noticed, questioned. But often enough to establish a pattern of my own. If something happened, if Tig made his move, I wanted to be close enough to intervene.
The coffee in my thermos had gone cold hours ago. I sipped it anyway, grimacing at the bitter taste.
Donna's silhouette moved past the window. Alive. For now.
How long can you keep this up?
The answer was: as long as necessary. Days, weeks, months if that's what it took. Sleep deprivation could be managed. Suspicion could be navigated. Everything was secondary to the mission.
But you don't know when the trigger moment comes. Could be tomorrow. Could be three months from now.
[LEVEL UP: 5 → 6] [+3 STAT POINTS AVAILABLE]
The notification flickered at the edge of my vision. I pushed it aside. Stats didn't matter right now. Points could wait.
What mattered was the woman in that house. The husband who loved her. The children who needed their mother.
What mattered was making sure the bullet never found its target.
The bedroom light went off. Donna settling in to sleep, unaware of the danger circling her family. Unaware of the prospect watching from the darkness, trying to change a future she couldn't imagine.
I finished my cold coffee and kept watching.
Somewhere in the night, June Stahl was planning her next move. Somewhere, Clay was calculating alternatives. Somewhere, Tig was waiting for orders.
But tonight, Donna Winston was alive.
Tomorrow, I'd make sure she stayed that way.
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