Bree, a couple years ago
The shadows of the alley were still cover enough to conceal oneself in, though the sun was higher than the smuggler would have wished. From the small nook, she could see any comings and goings from the bookie’s villa.
Harold Ashe. The man that had caused her father’s ruin.
Could have caused hers too, if she’d stayed.
But it was time to cause his instead.
That thought made her smile grimly. She’d left this business finished for far too long. Leaving Bree when only barely an adult, she'd had no skills to do anything about it, and she’d avoided the town since -- first from genuine fear, and later on out of habit. It was easier to stay away. But now here she was, and she had to take care of this.
Leaning her head back against the stone, Lane swore in frustration. An operation like this was best planned over a much longer time. But no, he’d gotten wind of her return and she had to act fast.
Movement at the door distracted her. It had been three hours and the guards at the front door appeared to be changing shifts. She quickly sat up, alert, and began making notes in a small pad carried in a pouch on her belt. The diagram of the house contained notes on times and positions of guards, along with shorthand scribbles of other information.
Then the guards settled in and she leaned back to wait. The day was dragging on and it would be hours before the next shift change.
She pulled out her other notebook and began to write a letter, one that she might never send, but she needed something to occupy her mind.
Dear Greyson,
I’m back in Bree, believe it or not. Taking care of one little thing, and then I think I can expand our interests here...
