Chapter Nineteen
Rhys needed coffee before dealing with this headache.
He ran a hand through his hair and shut the door behind him.
His bungalow was much smaller than hers.
The unused rollaway bed pushed near the sitting area made it even smaller.
But it was Jules perched on the edge of the rumpled bed, her face distorted in a terrified frown, that almost brought down the walls of this place.
Rhys crossed the space and pulled her onto her feet, giving her an intense once-over. He hadn’t been able to get close enough to catch that asshole before he put his hands on Jules. Logically, Rhys knew she was fine. But he had to touch her. He had to make sure he hadn’t missed something.
His hands cupped her cheeks and moved down her shoulders and arms. He held up the elbow the man had grabbed and found no bruising or red marks, nothing that should bother him as much as he was bothered. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” She didn’t fight him as he rubbed a hand over the arm once more. “Was that him? The guy who’s been bothering me?”
Satisfied that no marks had been left, he released her arm then shook his head. “No. I don’t believe so.”
Disbelief marred her expression. “What? Then who was he? How’d he find me?”
“Sit down a second.”
“ Rhys .”
“Let me think.” He paced from one side of the small space to the other, back and forth, again and again, but couldn’t come up with an answer that made sense. “Who knows you’re here?”
“Who was he?” she demanded instead.
Rhys wasn’t sure. He’d only managed to get the guy’s name— Vincent Von Charles, what a name —and where he was from, Saddle River, New Jersey.
And that had taken a lot of work to get.
Technically, Von Charles hadn’t done anything wrong.
Embarrassment was the only reason he’d shared as much as he had.
“Work with me, Jules. All right? Who knows you’re here? ”
“Everyone. It wasn’t a secret. My family. Close friends. Mason and whoever he told where we were going. Our teams. The travel coordinator. The photogs Sloane worked with. Their editorial teams. On and on. It’s not a small list.”
The list was too large, and nothing made sense. He needed to spitball ideas with Vivian and Dean but couldn’t until he had better intel to work with. “Who knows exactly where we’re staying? There are a dozen little islands and resorts we could have hopped to.”
Jules rolled her bottom lip into her mouth. “Probably the same family and associates. Some friends. Not everyone. We mostly said the Caribbean.”
He kept pacing.
“Rhys, what aren’t you telling me?”
He didn’t have a clue. First, she’d gotten the oddball text message, and now this guy had knocked on her door. “Did he say anything about retiring?”
“Yeah, he said I’d have more time for family if I retired. Or something like that. I was flustered. He started in about Mason.”
What were the chances that the retirement line was random? Because Vincent Von Charles wasn’t her stalker. Rhys would let Titan and the FBI confirm that, but that man had been used. Her stalker had never brought anyone into the antics before. Why now, after taking that picture last night?
“Mason’s upset over losing you.” The access.
The money. Mason Marlow was a big deal, but compared to Jules, he was a mid-lister with an expiration date.
“He could have arranged for someone to bother you. He knows how to use the word retire . He knows…” Rhys rubbed his temples. “But what would he get out of that?”
“I don’t know. He might be upset, but he’s not nuts.
Not to mention Mason and Olivia are apparently just happy lovebirds, according to Sloane.
” Jules wrinkled her nose. “There’s a reality show in the works to follow them through the pregnancy.
It makes sense. She always wanted to break into acting, but nothing ever caught. ”
That gave him pause but didn’t line up with Mason trying to scare his ex-fiancée for leaving him. It would create drama for a streaming reality show if a publicist wanted to play dirty, especially if the video that man had taken had been clipped apart and made into something else.
“What’s that look, Rhys? What does Mason have to do with the stalker outside my bungalow?”
“That guy was not your stalker.”
“I beg to differ. He knocked on my door and told me to retire. The text message last night confirms that he’s here.
” She threaded her fingers through her hair and tugged.
“You’re going to tell me he hasn’t done anything illegal.
That he hasn’t crossed the line to causing me fear or whatever the legal definition is.
Well, screw fear. I’m angry. My privacy’s been invaded.
He came to my honeymoon. That’s… That’s enough.
Did you get his name? Can I finally get a restraining order? ”
“I got his name. But we had to let him go. It’s not him.”
She tugged on her hair again. “How are you so sure?”
“Vincent Von Charles is staying here with his family. Someone texted an offer to comp his entire stay if he approached you. He thought it was a scammer text, but this morning, the resort informed him that a night had been paid for.”
She sank onto the corner of the bed, as though his words were too heavy to absorb.
“He replied to the text and received detailed instructions in exchange for comping his stay. He needed to approach you, ask about Mason, tell you to retire, and ask for a photo.”
She sucked in her cheeks, seeming to agree that it didn’t sound like her stalker, more like someone trying to replicate him.
Rhys blew out a long breath. “I called the front desk. The cheapest lodging at this resort starts at four figures a night and goes up, up, up. I didn’t ask what kind of bungalow he and his family were staying in, but it can’t be cheap.
Paying for lodging for an entire visit? That kind of offer is hard to ignore, no matter the size of your bank account. ”
Her mouth rounded as though she had a question, but she paused. Jules shook her head and tried again. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Exactly.”
“Is my stalker contracting out now? What the hell?”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “It doesn’t make sense, does it?”
With her legs dangling off the side of the bed, she dropped back. His attention moved from the problem at hand to the beautiful woman, her hair splayed, not wearing a bra, lying on his bed. It took too many seconds to refocus.
“I sent everything to Dean already. I’ll talk to Viv after he has a chance to look into the guy and confirm what he told me.”
“What if he lied about who he was?”
“I took a picture of his license. It matched his credit cards. He would have done anything to make sure his wife didn’t find out about this.”
She sat up and bit her lip. “What now? I can’t sit still and think about that guy. Actually, I need coffee.”
“Same.”
“Can I have ten minutes to get ready, then can we get breakfast?”
“Take as much time as you need.” He would take every second to understand what was happening. “I’ll be outside—”
“Can you stay in here?” She dug through her beach bag without looking up.
She was still unsettled. Not that she’d ever tell him. “Yeah. No problem.”
She grabbed her bag and slipped into the bathroom.
He picked up his phone. Vivian answered on the first ring. “I didn’t expect a call from you so early, Romeo.”
“What? Never mind.” He couldn’t imagine the conversations Vivian, Sloane, and Scarlett had had in the last twenty-four hours. “Have you talked to Dean?”
“Not yet.”
“We have a weird situation, and I sent what I have to Dean.” Rhys explained how he’d walked out of his bungalow—leaving out the part where he’d been irritated that Jules had taken off without telling him—and stumbled upon a man accosting her. “What do you make of it?”
“Nothing until I talk to Dean. I’ll call you back.” Vivian ended the call.
He pushed the squeaky rollaway bed out of the way and dropped onto the couch. What was he missing?
“Actually,” Jules called from the bathroom, “more like twenty minutes.”
“No rush.”
The door shut again, and Rhys stared at his phone until Vivian called back.
“Dean’s here too,” Viv said.
Dean, their OSINT specialist, had an uncanny ability to find electronic minutiae most people never knew existed. They worked well together. Dean could find the small details. Rhys could remember them. Together, they figured out impossible puzzles. “Have enough time to find anything?”
“Eh,” Dean said. “Confirmed what you did with Google.”
“Dean will keep at it,” Vivian said. “But working with what he knows? It doesn’t sound like the guy we call her stalker. Yet…” Rhys imagined his boss scowling and tapping her nails on her desk. “It kind of does.”
“Kinda does, kinda doesn’t.”
“Strange change to his MO,” Dean added. “Why use a surrogate to pull off this kind of stunt? It’s not like I know a lot of celebrity stalkers, but sharing the center of his attention seems to contradict the point of stalking.”
“Yeah,” Rhys said. “And the money.”
Vivian let out a long whistle. “The money. That stunt wasn’t cheap.”
“Von Whatever-His-Name-Is didn’t know what that hell he was getting into. He hadn’t thought it through at all. Just saw a chance to save money and jumped.”
“Scar just walked in,” Dean said. “Rhys and Viv are on the phone.”
“Oh, hey, Rhys. Last night, woohoo, right?”
His cheeks heated. Romeo from Vivian, and a woohoo from Scarlett. Rhys guessed there had definitely been a paparazzo watching them on the beach last night. He’d ignore them. “Any news on the text message from last night?”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “Burner number. CCTV footage doesn’t give a clear look at the person I think took the photo.
Caucasian male. Five feet six to five nine.
Round around the middle. Khaki pants. Tommy Bahamas shirt that half the resort residents have in their closet.
A fishing hat with floppy sides covering hair and face. Nothing all that useful.”