Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
EVERS
She twisted the ring in one direction, then another, before she looked up with a sheepish expression on her face. "I don't even know if this is important. I could be making something out of nothing, but you asked if anything weird had happened."
"I did. Has something weird happened?" I'd asked, but I hadn't expected an answer.
Summer shouldn't be a target. She had nothing to do with whatever her father and mine were wrapped up in. She barely saw Smokey Winters. He wasn't exactly an attentive parent.
"It's probably nothing, but a few weeks ago somebody tried to break into my building. They broke the lock on the back entrance that the super uses. Tried to get up the elevator, but the security is pretty good—"
She broke off, probably remembering all the times I'd bypassed it without any trouble. "Or maybe it's not."
"Did they get into your place?" I asked adrenaline spiking up my spine, sharp and cold.
"No, but I've been getting weird calls. Hang-ups from unknown numbers. I figured it was telemarketers or a wrong number. And there's this client—"
"You have a new client?" She couldn't have a new client. I would know. Knox would have put it in the report.
"No. I turned him down. He, uh, he creeped me out."
I abandoned the stool and moved closer. Summer shrank back. Slow, I reminded myself. Take it slow.
Holding my ground, I said, "He creeped you out? How? Did he touch you? Did he—"
"No. We only spoke over the phone. I didn't meet him in person. He claimed he wasn't local, said he traveled a lot, and one of my other clients recommended me, but when I asked more questions, his answers didn't fit."
"Do you have any information on him? Age, where he's from?"
"Some. I can send you the file. I asked some general questions. He said he was early fifties. He had an accent. He claimed he was Greek, but I had a friend in high school whose father was born in Greece, and this guy didn't sound like him at all."
"You turned him down?" She nodded. "Have you heard from him since?"
"No. I told him I was too busy, that I wasn't taking on new clients, and he said that was fine and hung up. I wouldn't even mention it, but there was something about the conversation that felt off. He asked personal questions. He mentioned my family—"
"Get me the file. I'll check into it." She had good instincts. I'd bet she was right, and that call had not been from a prospective client. Fuck.
"And you're absolutely sure you don't know where your father is. If you're protecting him, I understand, but—"
"I don't know, Evers. I don't know where he is. If I did…" Her voice faded away.
"I know he's your dad," I said softly, "I know you want to protect him. But this is over your head. He's not safe out there. And if you get involved, neither are you. If you hear from him—"
"I'll tell you. I already said I would. I have to get back to work." She straightened and moved to walk past me.
I blocked her, and she stopped abruptly, taking a step back to keep distance between us.
Every step she took from me drove the need to touch her higher. It clawed at me, demanding I close the few feet separating us. Demanding I take her back. Make her mine again. I saw myself reach out, pull her into my arms. That would be too far, and I knew it.
"We need to talk," I started.
The fire in her blue eyes flickered out, leaving them cold and hard. "No, we don't. We had a thing. It's over. Now we both have jobs to do. Let's just stay focused and we'll get through this. Our main concern is Cynthia."
"Forget Cynthia," I shot out, "I don't care—"
"I do. She's my client, and this is my job. It means something to me and I'm not going to mess it up because of you. Get out of my way. I have to get to the stationery shop before they close, or I won't get the invitations out in time."
"I'll go with you."
"No, you won't." Summer's eyes were sparking fire again. I'd take her furious over cold any day. She propped a hand on the jut of her hip. Her round breasts strained against her dress. Keeping my distance was killing me.
"It's bad enough that you're here," she said, temper spilling over. "I don't want to see you any more than I have to."
Her voice choked a little on the last words and I felt sick. That was me. I'd done that, fucked things up so badly she just wanted to get away from me.
All I wanted was to get closer.
"Look," I said, trying to sound reasonable when I felt anything but, "until we figure out what's going on with your dad, I don't want you out there by yourself. You're safe on the property, but outside the gates—"
Summer scowled up at me, gritting her teeth. "Then find someone else. Anyone but you."
"Griffen will go with you,” I said grudgingly.
"Fine."
Hating the idea, but knowing Griffen would keep her safe, I stalked back to the control room so I could send my partner out to watch over my girl.
I could feel the frustration coming off me in waves. I couldn't watch over her. She wouldn't let me explain. I was backed into a corner, and the only thing on my side was time.
I'd wasted enough of it with Summer already. Too much time. Screwing around. Not being honest. Treating what we had like it was a game. Like it didn't matter.
Just as I reached the door to the control room, my phone went off in a series of high-pitched alerts.
"What's that?" Summer asked from behind me.
I swung open the door, and a cacophony of shrill beeps flooded out. Before Summer could ask again, I ushered her into the room. "Stay here. I'll be right back."
Griffen told her, "Perimeter alarm. Someone tampering with the gates."
I don't know what else he said. I was headed for the gym at a brisk jog. I walked in to find Cynthia flat on her back on a yoga mat, one leg extended into the air, her half-naked trainer leaning into it, stretching her hamstring and glutes, looking like he was about to do a lot more than that.
"We have an issue with the gate. I need Cynthia in the control room now."
Cynthia could be headstrong and a diva, but she was smart. Viggo moved and she rolled to her feet with grace, snagging a towel off the stack by the door as she hustled down the hall.
The control room doubled as a safe room. It wasn't as robust as the safe room attached to the master suite, but it would do the job. Cynthia preceded me into the room and came to an abrupt halt when she caught a glimpse of the scene on the center monitor.
Clint Perry stood at the wrought iron gates barring entry to Rycroft Castle. A bouquet of roses in one hand, he pressed the intercom button with the other, repeatedly, breaking only to shake the gates until they rattled.
I'd learned from experience that most actors, particularly leading men, looked a lot smaller in person than they did on the screen. Clint was the exception.
He was known for playing oversized, broody action stars. In person, he was even more oversized than on screen, with wide shoulders, hulking biceps, and thighs that looked like tree trunks. If he'd been drinking or using, it hadn't affected his workouts.
He was missing the brooding frown his fans knew so well. His eyes were desperate. Broken. A part of me, a part I ignored, wanted to hit the button to open the gates, to let the poor guy see the woman he loved.
Project much?
Unlike Clint, I hadn't cheated on Summer. I hadn't so much as looked at another woman since the day I picked her up at her client's party over a year before.
Some of the accusations against Clint Perry—his relapse, drug use, attempted harassment—were unproven. His infidelity was a matter of public record. Literally, considering he'd been caught screwing a starlet on a public beach. His mug shot had been a meme for a while.
"I'll go out and talk to him," I said to Griffen. "I'd rather not call the police and alert the press if I don't have to."
"Isn't he violating the restraining order?" Cynthia asked, her voice shaking. Summer stepped closer and put her arm around her employer, giving her one of Summer's trademark tight hugs.
I wasn't going to think about how much I missed those hugs. Such a simple thing until they were gone.
"He is," I affirmed. "He's not allowed to come within 300 yards of you, your vehicle, or your place of residence. I'll go talk to him, see if he can be reasoned with before we have to take this a step further."
"Be careful, Evers. If he's been drinking, he's not stable. He's not usually violent but…"
Cynthia squeezed her eyes shut and trailed off. I'd assumed she and Clint were just another Hollywood marriage. That she would divorce him and move on. I wondered if I'd underestimated her. If beneath that perfect facade, she hid a broken heart.
"You three stay here. Don't open the door until I come back."
"Got it, boss," Griffen answered, rising to follow me to the door. "Be careful out there," he said in a low voice.
"Always." He shut the door behind me, the flick of deadbolts loud in the quiet hallway.
Locking them in the control room was probably an overreaction, but I wasn't taking any chances. Not with my client, and absolutely not with Summer.
I left my weapon in my holster as I jogged down the long driveway to the gates. I hoped I wouldn't need it, but it was good to know it was there. When he caught sight of me, Clint stepped away from the button on the intercom, coming to the center of the gates, the bouquet in his hand.
"Clint Perry," I said coldly, "are you aware that you're breaking the terms of Cynthia's restraining order?"
"I know," he said, sounding defeated and desperate, a dog who'd been kicked too many times and couldn't stop crawling back. "I just need to see her. I need to explain. She doesn't know. It was all lies, and she doesn't know. I never would have—"
"Except you did. Over and over. She doesn't want to hear it, man. She's trying to move on. She came all the way across the country for some peace and quiet, and if you really cared about her, you'd give her that."