Page 16 of Casual Felonies (Wildlings #1)

RAMI

Silas, Cupcake, and I are hanging out by the pool while Oakley swims his laps, and I’m showing Sy my notes on Operation Hot Barber Stakeout.

“So, whaddya think of my work so far?”

“Do you think it’s a good idea to keep following him?” Sy asks, concern visible in his expression despite wearing the darkest glasses I’ve ever seen.

I press my tablet against my chest. “What do you mean? This was your idea.”

“I didn’t think you’d take it so seriously,” Sy says, shifting as Oakley passes us. “And it sounds like you’ve had a few close calls. Which is probably why they brought Hopper down here for that ridiculous refresher course.”

“You know my dads, Sy. Ever vigilant, or whatever. Besides, I’m getting better,” I insist. “I’m telling you—I have a knack for it. And hey, maybe it’s a transferable skill.”

I’m definitely way more observant. For instance, Sy must be terrified of water because A: I’ve never seen him swim, and B: despite the sunglasses, I can tell he hasn’t taken his eyes off Oakley this entire time. Like maybe Oak will drown if Sy sets aside his vigilance for even half a second.

Adorable.

“Didn’t you tell me you almost got busted by Truett when your dads showed up at the same coffee shop?” Sy pauses. “And isn’t it weird that they showed up at a shop they’ve never been to?”

“Oh my God, you are so paranoid. It’s like I told you—I cut short the convo with the dads and slid out of there like I’ve been doing this my whole life. Truett was facing the other way the whole time. He was none the wiser.”

“And you’re sure he hasn’t seen you?”

“No, man. I’m telling you—I’m really good at this.”

It’s true. I wouldn’t have pegged Truett as a routine guy, but it was surprisingly easy to identify that he steps outside every morning at six-oh-five on the dot, jogging the same route day after day.

His workout gear, however, is atrocious. Like, I understand wanting to be safe on the road, but why does he wear such loud colors to go on a jog? Yesterday morning, he was wearing a tank so pink I couldn’t have lost him if I’d wanted to.

Also, muscular, inked calves turn me on, apparently.

It is a little harder to follow him once he’s in his regular clothes, but he’s started posting his favorite lunch spots around town, which is helpful.

That reminds me, I’ve been letting my social media lag.

I take a quick selfie, careful to crop out Sy and Cupcake, then post it. #poollife #halfiraqi #fullhottie

The likes and comments start pouring in, and a few uncomfy truths bubble up. Refocusing on Sy, I admit, “I’m mostly good at this.”

“Why mostly? Did you get hemmed up somewhere?” Silas asks, leaning forward.

I love that my cousin is ready to jump in at a moment’s notice, but I kinda like figuring this out on my own .

“It’s just… I still struggle at night.” I make a face. “Honestly, I get a little scared.”

“Of the dark?”

“No.” Yes . “It’s just statistically more dangerous at night.”

“Not if you’re armed,” he says mildly.

“Do you need me to recite the statistics on that ? Also, don’t you think walking around with a gun all the time is overkill?”

“You’re the one stalking the guy, Rahm. Not sure why arming yourself would be considered overkill. Also, I’ve seen the way you handle your gun. The statistics are definitely skewed in your favor.”

“Whatever.”

“Seriously, why spend all those hours on your grandparents’ practice range and not protect yourself?”

Here’s the thing I don’t want to admit: I’m not sure I could take a life.

I mean, guns were always one of those automatic things for me. Bullet speed vs. wind speed vs. distance? I might need a refresher to work out the math on that, but my body always knows how to adjust to hit my mark.

If I’m armed and get into it with someone, they’re not coming out alive.

That’s not bragging. I just have no idea how I’d handle taking a life.

Meanwhile, Silas walks around with multiple weapons, always, because he would one hundred percent kill anyone who came after him and have zero remorse afterward.

I know I’m not supposed to know that, but… c’mon.

Finally, I respond with the truth, “I’m just not built that way, Sy.”

Silas returns his gaze to Oak for a few laps before pivoting back to me. “If you don’t want to go out at night, you could put a tracking device on Truett’s car.”

I swear, I love my cousin, but he needs a refresher on how humans do things.

“Sy, no. I draw the line at actual stalking . ”

Silas shakes his head, like I’m some kind of disappointing protégé.

“Boundaries, man,” I insist. “ Consent .”

Lifting his glasses, he narrows his eyes at me. “You normies draw your lines in the weirdest places.”

Fair, but I have no intention of invading True’s privacy that way.

Like, zero intention.

…

…

…

Okay, but I do lose him a fair amount of the time.

As I’m considering it, Sy slips on the sunglasses again and answers, “Fine. Keep your boundaries. But don’t forget you have a gun and one of Uncle Mads’ trackers in your glove box.”

Honestly, I had forgotten about those.

Before I can overthink the fact that I completely blanked on having an actual fucking firearm in my glove box, Silas switches it up again.

“Have you done any work with the veteran groups this month?”

I scoff. “Of course I have. I had to smooth over the Brantley debacle with the veteran charities, after all. By the way, can you believe he’s still in jail?”

“Yes.”

I turn and stare at the side of his head. “What do you mean, yes?”

Silas shifts his focus from Oakley’s impressive stamina to raise his eyebrows at me.

“Eyebrows are not answers, Sy. Why would he still be in jail?”

“You’ve already asked me if I think he’s guilty, and I’ve said yes.” Silas lets out an impatient breath. “As for why they keep denying his bond, I blame his father. ”

“Really? Why?”

“If a jury agrees with me, then Brantley will spend many years in prison. Given his father’s history of evasion, plus his access to both private planes and dignitaries in non-extradition countries, any judge who would bond out Brantley would put their reputation, and maybe career, on the line.”

It’s taken me the better part of a month, but it’s sinking in that Brantley might actually be guilty. Even my dads seem to think it’s a good idea to steer clear of the Whitakers, at least until all of this blows over.

Speaking of, Truett isn’t the only one I’ve been stalking.

I’ve continued to do a little light tracking on my fathers, mostly for practice.

I haven’t uncovered anything even remotely nefarious, so I still have zero clue as to why True and Silas find them so intimidating.

Their businesses are on the up and up, they give a ton of money to charity, and they love traveling to hang with their friends.

They’re exactly who I’ve always thought they would be.

I did, unfortunately, uncover more unwanted intel on their sex life. All I can say about it is this: while it’s not unreasonable that two long-term, devoted partners would enjoy a third from time to time, I could’ve done without the soundtrack. Now I get the ick every time Baba calls Dad Habibi .

I’m seriously considering asking Aunt Hedy if there’s any way to hypnotize this trauma out of my brain.

*Shudder*

I guess there’s such a thing as being too good at reconnaissance.

Fine. I attached the tracker to Truett’s car. I’m not too proud to say that it made all the difference in the world, and I am once again the King of Spy Land.

Also, I discovered that stalking in well-lit areas is not that scary.

Even when Truett doubled back that one time on Rainey, I managed to dive into a narrow alley.

I was sure he’d seen me, but when he passed by, he didn’t even look in my direction.

I was well-hidden by then, of course, but it’s good to know my reflexes are on point and I didn’t blow my cover. Score one for The Rami Man.

Rami Nation?

Eh, I’m still workshopping it.

Point is, Silas was onto something with this stalking thing. Sure, it’s an ethically gray area, but I’m not stalking True to harm him. I’m not even butthurt about his rejection anymore. Now, it’s just for fun.

My only real disappointment is that I thought I’d at least get to see what kind of person he’s into, see how I stack up, but he hasn’t hooked up in weeks. Sure, Marley was flirting with him at the charity barbecue, but he seemed to shut her down pretty quick.

Maybe that’s why following him into some of these places feels like we’re dating. I mean, he’s been to my favorite sushi restaurant, goes to the same farmers’ market I go to, and even went by himself to a new Argentinian restaurant that ended up having a chimichurri salmon dish to die for.

We’re compatible in so many ways, and I still don’t know why he doesn’t want me. Or why the fuck it bothers me so badly that he doesn’t.

I obviously have enough self-respect to walk away when a man isn’t interested, but I’m just following him for fun at this point.

Maybe if I keep telling myself that, I’ll believe it.