Page 7 of Wicked Lies Grow Wildflowers
CHAPTER SIX
XANDER
I need to think critically here. I still have a job to do and don’t need a distraction—no matter how easy the hit is.
If I just do a little digging I can sate some of the need I have, I only want to know a little more, that’s all.
I can find out some basics, learn something that’ll turn me off and then leave her alone, but I also know that curiosity killed the cat.
The devil on my shoulder wins out and I decided to do a little sleuthing on my .
. . infatuation. That’s a good name for her.
I really hope this doesn’t all backfire because I can easily see her becoming my obsession instead.
I’ll just do a quick search, a few minutes is all I need.
I am a professional at digging up information on absolutely anyone, after all.
Plus, I know she’s going to make it oh so easy as I’m sure she’s a typical millennial with her whole life broadcasted across social media.
Most people don’t understand just how dangerous that is.
You never know if someone like me is watching and able to hunt you down with the little scraps of info you leave scattered around.
It may seem harmless to post your favorite restaurant and tag the location, or where you get your coffee every Sunday at noon, but piece enough of those breadcrumbs together and you can find out someone’s entire day-to-day pattern, exactly where they will be and when.
Who they hangout with, where they work, where they live.
It’s just so easy if you know what to look for.
After searching her address online, I was able to trace her apartment back to a name, apartment number four rented by a Miss Maeren Marie Laughlin.
Does every single female have the middle name Marie?
At least she wasn’t fully lying to me about her name last night.
She seems single from everything I can gather, which oddly pleases me.
Not that it matters, I won’t have to compete with anyone either way because this won’t go any further.
A whisper in the back of my mind tells me I’m a liar.
Why else would I be spending the early hours of the morning like this?
I push the thought aside and keep digging.
Her mother is Leanne Butler, a middle aged divorcee.
She’s the only known family I could find—which is interesting.
No siblings, nothing of note on her father who Maeren shares her last name with.
Looks like they divorced when Maeren was just a small child.
Dennis was his name, but there’s no criminal record on him and he hasn’t been around here in over two decades. Virtually irrelevant.
Maeren works at a local real estate firm, a modest one, which explains her living quarters.
Land of Lakes Realty, a fitting name for a Minnesota business.
Looking at their website I find all the little employee bios and ah— there she is .
She’s been with them for four years after graduating from the University of Middle Minnesota with a degree in business management and a minor in marketing, before obtaining her real estate license.
I wonder what led her to this job. The degree correlates a little bit, maybe for a manager, but not for a simple real estate agent.
Did she choose this path, or was this what life chose for her?
Not that it matters. I shut my laptop and lean back in my chair, rubbing my chin as I think over everything I’ve just learned.
Oh Maeren, you have no idea how fucked you may be by opening yourself up to me like this. Inviting me into your life, even if it was done unknowingly, was your biggest mistake.
When I set my sights on someone, I always follow through. I’m a hunter by nature, and you might just be my most worthwhile prey yet.