The Boss's Son | ✅

26

I didn't know what had brought it on. I hadn't spit into anyone's soup, nor did I spill, accidentally or by purpose, drinks on the gathered masters – a small assembly to which Mr. Duncan under the watchful eyes of Rizzoli introduced me, before they put me to work. Maybe that I had behaved like a good servant, had made me suspicious. After that Saturday however, Sam and An seemed to be even more vigilant than before, watching my every move and, despite being nice guys overall, annoying the shit out of me.

Sometimes, they even stuck to my side as a pair. While in general Adrian had welcomed the installation of bodyguards for me - I never told him that they didn't watch me for safety reasons, but because I was bait - some silent agreement had been reached that Adrian's house was off limits for them. His privacy was not to be disturbed. So, when I spent the night at Adrian's, An and Sam had the time off and made up for it during the day.

The arrangement surprised me – What about Adrian's compound should discourage Henry more from attempting to close in on me than my house? – but I welcomed it. Especially when Sam was looking over my shoulder, I was barely able to get away with my snooping on the Henry investigation, much less with finding out anything about him and his possible whereabouts myself.

With Henry running around however, none of my friends were safe. That was an unbearable, an untenable situation, especially since I knew that I could contribute to his capture, if I just used what I knew and was good at. My help might not be wanted by others, whatever their reasons, but so what? I couldn't sit by idle as the threat continued to exist. Rizzoli should have known and foreseen it.

So, I used my unsupervised nights, when Adrian had fallen asleep, to hack away on my laptop. All I had to go on was Henry's photo. Rizzoli and the police, I wasn't sure how much distinction I had to make between them anymore, looked for him in the here and now. I wouldn't waste my scarce time on that therefore. I only set up one tiny program that would alert me, if Henry's current mug appeared anywhere on the internet, just in case.

More interesting for me was, how Henry sustained himself ever since leaving Mike. It was always a good idea to follow the money. Gio had had to come out of hiding because he was running low on resources. That had driven him to the fake auction and whereby directly into Rizzoli's arms. Henry didn't seem to have the same problems. Except for the shooting, he hadn't appeared anywhere. Not as name, not as sight. How was that possible? Even this man couldn't live from air alone.

Fact was: Henry couldn't use any money that was attached to the name Henry Harris, or Henry Blunt (the name he had used before his marriage to Mike, stolen from the man, he most likely murdered), without fearing to be tracked. Nor could he dwell at any of the places, he had visited under either of the names. He couldn't sell art since his hand was known, except of course, he would go somewhere far away and start over.

That was a possibility to keep in mind. Find another identity, start over - Henry had done it before. He had experience in that. But not least since the shooting, the assumption was that Henry was sticking around to satisfy some strange desire for revenge or whatever other motive he had to choose the more dangerous and difficult path.

That left either crime as source of income or that he originated from somewhere close by, and thus had a place to retreat and hide that offered him, what he needed. I kept taps of robberies, break ins and the like, though none so far had had anything to do with Henry. I doubted he would go down that road. It didn't fit the picture of him that had evolved in my head. His mission and crimes were personal. My money was on the theory, that the key to Henry's whole behavior had to be found in his past; a past that had ties to Rizzoli. Why else would Rizzoli be so adamantly against me sticking my nose into the matter otherwise?

It took me a while, and meant that I had to call in a lot of favors in the hacker community, but making the photos, I had of Henry, younger, left me with a couple of possible names. One name in particular caught my interest, for the boy from a rough background showed artistic promise at a young age. It wasn't much to go on. And there was a catch: I couldn't reach the source that had sent me the information after I had received it. We all used pseudonyms. I was told by others that the source was usually trustworthy, but the behavior was off.

What should I do? I had to be damn sure about finding Henry with the information, I delivered, since I was of no illusion; once I would reveal that I went against my strict orders to keep my nose out of this matter, that would be it. I would probably be downgraded to pencil and paper, after it was deemed that I had spent enough time on my knees and had licked enough boots. That was the happy scenario. Whatever came, would be worth it, when my friends were safe from Henry by then.

So, I did some more digging in order to find an address to go with the name, a childhood home, some more facts that shaped a story of a kid that had been raised by a single mother who'd been constantly in trouble with the law. My gut said, it was Henry. My gut was basically sounding out the Death Halloo already. But I couldn't be sure without checking out the places that I could connect with the name now. It could be so much fun. Sam and An would never be up to it though.

In the end, I sacrificed my wedding dress fitting for the cause. I still had a month to reschedule it, so that wasn't a hard choice. Mike had volunteered to take me to the shop. He was waiting for me by the entrance of the Independent after work, Brett at his side and both definitely not unhappy about that constellation, to pick me up. By purpose I had dawdled a little that day. Apparently still left with some work, I asked Sam, if he could go down and invite Mike and Brett up to wait away from the traffic. To my relief, he did as asked.

Sam out of my way, I told Mr. Grumpy Face at the opposite desk that I would take a bathroom break. Instead the bathroom, I hit the stairs. At the backdoor, I found Alex leaning against her car. When she saw me running to her, she rose to her feet – with the grace of a panther that I envied her for.

"Is anyone following you?" She looked behind me, but the door remained closed.

"Not yet," I replied grinning and looked impatiently at the car.

"OK then, the key is in the ignition. You're sure, you don't want me to come?"

"No, it's OK," I shook my head, already walking around the car to the door. "As I said, I need some time alone. All these people constantly besieging me, aren't good for my health, or theirs."

"I totally understand, girl. One can't go around and beat them all, even if they deserve it."

"Right," I laughed. "You call Mike once you are back at the Dojo, right? So he will not worry too much."

"Because he will not worry when I tell him, that you sneaked my car keys, right. But don't worry, I'll tell him." She mounted the bike that she had brought in the car for her way back. "Go, or all this will be for nothing. Enjoy your few hours of freedom."

I slid into the driver's seat and started the car. "Thanks. I try to bring it back in one piece," I called out of the open window.

"You better," Alex laughed, and we were both off. 

A tingle started in my belly. The hunt was on.