I now had the necklace. The next step was delivering it to my client in Tolosa.
Delivery was by far the easiest part of the entire mission. But laziness had always been my biggest flaw. I was chronically negligent with simple tasks that required almost no effort or time. Because they seemed so trivial, I habitually put them off.
The same happened with the Emerald Princess.
The sensible thing was to hand the necklace over immediately. The theft would soon hit the news, reach the police, the media, and border control. My name would be near the top of any suspect list. The sooner I got rid of it, the better. But negligence won out again; instead of dealing with business, I couldn't stop thinking about Alex.
I had never imagined obsession was part of my nature, or that fixating on someone could push me to do things I hadn't known I was capable of. Meeting Alex had revealed who I really was — and how far I would go to get what I wanted.
I couldn't show my face at her police station, but I convinced myself it would be harmless to watch her from a distance, unseen. So, I returned to the small town where it all began.
Nothing had changed. Even the white utility van we had used to escape the mobsters was parked in its usual spot. I hid behind a billboard and waited for her shift to end. Through the window I could see Alex at her desk, reading a book. Every so often she stood to make tea.
I felt like a lovesick schoolboy stealing glances at his crush. When she finished work and headed home, I didn't dare follow too closely. I knew she carried a handgun for self-defence, and I had no idea how she would react if she spotted me — I was sure she was furious. So, I left.
But I came back the next day. This time I tailed her home and discovered where she lived. I told myself that simply seeing her, confirming she was all right, would satisfy my curiosity.
It didn't.
And it wasn't mere curiosity pulling me toward her like a magnet.
Alex lived in a three-storey building, her bedroom on the top floor. Her windows overlooked a pretty country house and, directly opposite, a modern warehouse that had recently been built. Above the warehouse was a loft space rented to a retired couple; it had a large balcony offering a direct view into Alex's windows. That was why she always kept her curtains closed, only opening them on sunny days.
She rarely went out after work. At weekends she stayed in or visited her parents. The elderly neighbours across the street were often away — especially on Fridays and Saturdays, when they would head out to drink at local bars or stay with friends. So, one weekend I broke into their house and used their balcony as my observation post.
Sometimes Alex forgot to draw the curtains as evening fell. She knew her neighbours' routine and assumed no one could see in once they had left. She would leave them open until she switched on the bedside lamp. What she didn't know was that I was there, watching through binoculars from their balcony.
A few times I caught her changing. The sheer curtains offered only partial cover; for fleeting moments her naked body was visible. More often she would move around without a bra, combing her hair in front of the mirror. It brought back memories of the blissful hours we had spent together while running from assassins who wanted us dead.
Watching her like that, flooded with flashbacks to what we had done in my bedroom, yet unable to touch her — it drove me to the edge of madness.
I lost sleep and appetite. I couldn't think of anything else. Every detail reminded me of her: the chair she had sat in, the bathrobe she had worn, her silhouette behind the shower screen. I even tried to catch her scent from sheets I refused to change for weeks. My behaviour bordered on neurosis. The only cure was Alex herself.
One day I followed her to a travel agency in the city and learnt she was planning a trip. I didn't know the destination or date, so I had to improvise.
As soon as she left, I walked in. I turned on the charm, chatting and rambling to the busty advisor until she excused herself to make me coffee. The moment she vanished through the back door, I scanned the papers on her desk — just travel brochures, no clue which one Alex had chosen. Fortunately, the advisor left her computer unlocked and the client database open. A few clicks later, I had the answer.
Her destination was Tolosa.
How convenient. Even without knowing it, Alex was still looking out for me and my business. It was time to pull myself together.
As I had expected, news of the Emerald Princess theft broke. Border controls began scrutinising all luggage leaving northern Gaul by train, bus, car, or plane. My client contacted me, anxious to know when he would receive his necklace.
I had no choice but to go to Tolosa.
Together with Alex.