Chapter 4
Chapter Four
L abor Day weekend was a bitch of a time to do any kind of investigating.
Ward leaned against the hood of his SUV in the parking lot of one of the largest sporting venues in California and contemplated the arena that was already beginning to fill with people.
Ms. Bellamy’s stalker had managed to bypass a dozen layers of security with nothing but a baseball cap and a vase filled with flowers. He’d done it on a day when the arena was on high alert because of the show. And he’d vanished from all camera feeds before he even reached the first exit point.
Ward and his team agreed the guy had acted alone. He hadn’t paid someone to sneak in. A paid actor wouldn’t have been that cautious or that capable.
Who the hell was this guy?
Two weeks in, they were no closer to the answer. All they really knew was their suspect was no casual fan. He sure as hell wasn’t an average, everyday stalker either. This guy had major computer skills and an agenda that had long ago descended from casual into full-force obsession. The letter and emails proved that.
The stalker had waited over two years to escalate in any meaningful way.
What was the trigger?
Maybe because he saw Ms. Bellamy often? Had the recent tour taken her out of his line of sight?
A line of cars rumbled past him, filled with overly enthusiastic fans of some big-name singer. The sweet smell of pot tickled his nose. Someone in a cherry-red Mustang tossed a crumpled can out a window. It rattled to a stop not far from Ward’s SUV, spilling a trail of beer.
He was glad tonight’s security wasn’t his job. It would take an army of well-trained specialists to even come close to something resembling control with this kind of crowd. He was convinced no venue this large would ever be completely secure anyway. There were too many ways in. Too much distraction. Next to no control of outside forces like rabid fans and entitled celebrities. It was hard enough dealing with them one-on-one. Never mind when they were in full look-at-me mode.
Then again, if his deal with Renic held up, celebrities and arena shows would make up the bulk of his business.
Would it be worth it?
He ran a quick calculation of the dollar figure Renic had promised per show, then multiplied that by the number of artists Renic managed and the average number of shows they put on per year. He added the attendance bonus as he watched the steady stream of cars filled with concert-goers roll by.
The total would be life-changing.
Visions of satellite offices across the country, then around the globe, danced through his head. It was a steady, stable future that provided protection done the right way.
Working shows like this would allow him to give the women who wouldn’t usually be able to afford his services a place to turn when they needed help the most.
His mother could have used that kind of help.
Yes. It would be worth it.
His phone buzzed with an incoming call. He checked the ID.
FG.
Front gate.
Dread crawled across the back of his neck. “Ward,” he answered on the second ring.
“Uh, sir, the protectee…”
“My name is Della!” Ms. Bellamy shouted in the background.
“…is at the gate, sir. She’s requesting permission to leave with her personal protection…”
“His name is Greg,” Ms. Bellamy said. “And yours is Brian, in case it’s been so long since he’s let you use it that you’ve forgotten.”
“…for a burger, sir.”
“A burger,” Ward repeated.
“Yes, sir. And fries.”
Ward suppressed the urge to give Brian a sharp retort and hang up. It wasn’t the man’s fault. “Inform Ms. Bellamy that burgers and fries can be delivered. Just like ice cream.”
“Uh…she says that fries are best when you eat them in the car, sir.”
“If you don’t open this gate right now, I’ll climb over it!” Ms. Bellamy shouted. “So help me, God, I will.”
He strangled his temper and schooled his tone into something that almost resembled calm. “Put Ms. Bellamy on the phone.”
“Yes, sir.”
A lot of scuffling noises were followed by the screen flaring to life with a video feed.
Ms. Bellamy’s angry face popped onto the screen. “It’s just a burger, Warden. I won’t even get out of the car, and Greg is right here. Tell him, Greg.”
The phone swiveled to reveal Greg. He looked deeply uncomfortable. “The place is less than a mile away. Won’t take fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops, with traffic.”
The view shifted back to Ms. Bellamy. “See? It’s not a big deal.”
Irritation prickled along his forehead and poked a headache into life. Clearly, Greg still didn’t get it. He had a lot of potential, but he couldn’t seem to get past the need to give his client everything she wanted. He’d be a decent field agent if Ward could just untangle him from Ms. Bellamy’s charming tentacles. “It’s a very big deal, Ms. Bellamy. I’ve explained why several times.”
“It’s been two weeks, Warden.”
He gritted his teeth. “The name is Ward.” The Marines had made him a very patient man, but this woman had a way of jumping up and down on a part of him he’d thought he’d buried in basic training.
“How many names are on the list now, Ward ?”
“Now is not the time or place for a status update. Please return to the house.”
“I’m not getting out of this car until I get my fries.”
The parking lot was filling up and getting loud. He got into his SUV. “I’m on my way.”
She scowled at him. “I don’t want a burger delivered, Ward . I don’t want ice cream or flowers or anything else delivered either. I want to go out . Me . Not you. The out part is key.”
“Out is exactly where you shouldn’t go. We talked about this. If you need excitement, Annie and Spencer will stop by tomorrow. I’m sure Annie can keep you busy with a self-defense workout.”
“I can’t keep doing this.” Her face softened into something almost desperate. “I can’t stay here like this. I can’t…come on. It’s just a drive. Please.”
A traitorous part of him almost relented.
Almost.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Bellamy.”
The stony look in her eyes pushed at him. If he didn’t toss her a bone, she really would climb the fence. The best way to calm a client was to involve them in the process. He didn’t like it, but he’d do it if it kept her contained a little while longer. “Please go back to the house and wait for me in the front room.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What, like a dog?”
He was going to deeply regret what he was about to do, but what choice did he have? “I’d like to get your take on some of the names on the list.”
“Oh.” Her expression morphed into something far too bright and excited. “Oh really . That’s…surprising. Unexpected, even. But cool. Okay, I’ll wait in your dungeon room. But don’t forget the burger. And fries.”
He ended the call. “Damn celebrities.”
Over an hour later, after he’d woven his way like a salmon up the stream of traffic, Ward was surprised to find his protectee dutifully waiting for him on the loveseat in the front room. He’d expected her to get bored and wander off in search of something shiny.
He deposited the greasy bag of takeout onto her lap. “Ms. Bellamy. Your fries.”
“Thanks.” She popped a fry into her mouth and shuddered. “Gross. I told you fries are only good in the car.”
He suppressed the urge to tell her he’d had some of them in the car and she was right.
He opened his computer and pulled up the secondary list of potentials, then turned it so that she could see the screen.
Ms. Bellamy unfurled from her perch to peer at it. “That’s the list? That’s what you’ve all been working on for weeks and weeks?”
“Two, Ms. Bellamy. Just two weeks. The bare minimum required to be a plural.” He’d already discussed the names on this curated list with Annie and Spencer. For the most part, the suspects fell into two categories: those who’d most likely slept with her and those who desperately hoped they would.
Mixed in were superfans who followed her on tour but never spent any time with her, as far as they could tell.
“I’m shocked you’re letting me into your den of secrets.” She moved the love seat closer to the desk. “This is exciting. Like peeking into your underwear drawer.”
Ward’s hands froze on the keyboard. It was a short mental leap from her exploring his underwear drawer to her exploring the underwear he was currently wearing. His thoughts dissolved into white static.
No. Hell no.
She hadn ’ t meant it that way , he reminded the parts of his body that had bolted awake at the idea . It was a casual statement, not a suggestion .
He cleared his throat and put his mind firmly on the task at hand. “Start at the top. Tell me your first impression of each name. Details we can’t find on social media. Things only you would know.”
“Okay.” She pulled the laptop closer. “Wow, if this is your idea of who-done-it, you’re way off. No wonder it’s taking so long.”
Ward gritted his teeth. “Meaning?”
She tapped the screen. “No way Marshall Weston writes a creepy note. No way he sneaks into my dressing room, either. He wouldn’t have to.” She snorted a laugh. “That man goes wherever he wants, and he usually brings a parade with him.”
Ward nodded. That had been his assessment too, but as her last semiserious relationship, Weston had to top the list until they could prove beyond a doubt he wasn’t the one they were looking for. “It’s routine to consider all previous partners as possible suspects.”
“He wasn’t my partner. What we did doesn’t even count as a relationship. It was more of a temporary romp. He’s a lot of fun and super sweet. He’s also a fantastic party planner, and always up for late-night gossip sessions. But he’s not a long-term keeper.” She bit her lower lip thoughtfully. “Neither am I, really.”
Ward leaned back. “Have you ever had a long-term relationship? One that’s not obvious on social media?”
She gave him a flat stare, practically daring him to make judgments on her love life. “Define long.”
“Six months. A year.” He kept his tone just-the-facts-ma’am neutral and his gaze steady.
After a long second, she looked away as if sifting through a mental file cabinet. “A year. That’s…hmm. I can think of one. Edward Rhodes. We played around for maybe eight or nine months, years ago, but it was never that serious. At least, not to me.”
The name struck a familiar chord. “ The Edward Rhodes? As in Johnathan Rhodes’s grandson?”
“Yeah.” She studied the burger bag as if it held distasteful memories instead of cold fries. “It was a mistake. I thought he was looking for fun. Turned out he was looking for a trophy. He hated when I called him Eddie.”
“He’s not on the list.” He picked up a pen to make a note of the very famous, very politically charged name. “How’d you keep that so low-key?”
She lifted her shoulder in an it-doesn’t-matter motion, but the look on her face said it had. “His family has this compound. It’s acres and acres with fences and gates and security that makes this house look like an open park, and they all live there, from Great-Grandma to the latest grandkid, Sarah. They say it’s so they can control media access. They’re really into their image. Everything was a production that had to be managed. In a…how many camera angles are possible and how will this affect elections long-term way. I didn’t really fit. My chaos factor was way too high.”
She gave a rueful laugh. “They used to sneak me in through a service gate in the back with whatever delivery was coming in just so the paparazzi wouldn’t catch wind of our association . That’s what they called it. We weren’t dating. We were associated .”
He wrote a few quick notes as she spoke, careful not to let his real thoughts show. The whole situation seemed ripe for the kind of behavior they were looking for. Predatory. Patient. Paranoid. “Any fights? Disagreements? Threats?”
“No. That’s not their style. They’re too proper and fancy for anything that overt. But I tell you nobody’s ever made me feel quite so much like a worthless piece of fluff before or since.” She gave him a little smile. “Present company excluded.”
It was an obvious attempt at emotional manipulation. He was familiar with the tactic. His high school so-called sweetheart had been a master at sixteen. The only way to deal with that kind of thing was to ignore it.
He added sociopathic breeding ground to his list of notes on Edward. “Who ended it? You or him?”
When she didn’t answer, he glanced up.
A shadow clouded her face. “Me. I ended it right before I…went solo.”
He knew her basic history. He was pretty sure the guilt was caused by family, not the boyfriend, but something about the entire situation tickled the back of his mind. Edward wouldn’t be the first kid from a powerful family to take a stroll into the darker side of human behavior.
He sent a quick text to Spencer to check it out. When he looked back up, he found her watching him with a curious expression.
“You don’t have to worry. It’s not them. Trust me.” She fished a limp fry out of the bag and flipped it back and forth with a frown.
“I’m paid to worry, Ms. Bellamy.”
“You like it, don’t you.” She tossed the feeble piece of potato back into the bag. “The worry. It makes you feel important.”
He blinked at the verbal hit-and-run. “I didn’t mean it like that. I protect people who need my help.”
“Uh-huh. Because it makes you feel useful. I get it. No judgment.” She let out a sigh. “It’s a good thing. Feeling useful. Anyway, don’t bother with Edward. Pretty sure the only reason he wanted to go out with me in the first place was Lizzie. She invited him and his family to a meet-and-greet in New York, and I guess he thought one sister was the same as another. Funny part is Lizzie would totally fit into their little world, but he had no hope of catching her eye. She was fresh off her divorce and not interested. But she likes the behind the scenes, and she likes to stay out of the public life just like them. Me…not so much.”
He didn’t miss the wistfulness in her voice, but he let it go. He wasn’t here to be her friend or her therapist.
He scanned the list, wondering who else they’d missed in their background search. “We have a Mr. Harris who was seen with you on the red carpet two years before Weston, but that’s a long gap in between with no obvious entanglements. Was there anybody else during that time?”
“Is this really helpful, or is this just an excuse to snoop into my love life?” She pulled her feet up under her and snuggled into the chair.
“It’s part of the process. In cases like these, it’s usually someone you know or have met who wants more than you’re willing to give. Ex-lovers, colleagues. People in your orbit. Unfortunately, your orbit is bigger than usual.”
Her eyes flashed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He held her gaze. “It means you’re popular and your list of casual acquaintances numbers in the thousands.”
“You make popular sound like something horrible.” She scowled at something just over his shoulder. The cameras , he thought. Or memories. “You know, it’s such a double standard. Every time I even glance at a guy, they write about it like it’s the end of days. Women trail after Marshall like ants at a picnic, but nobody cares. Nobody cares about all the women Edward and his family have left by the side of the road, either. It’s just boys being boys. But I hold hands with someone for two seconds on a red carpet or at a restaurant, and next thing you know I’m a homewrecking whore with a bad attitude. It’s not fair.”
Sympathy flared briefly in Ward’s chest. It wasn’t fair. It also wasn’t relevant. “Fair has nothing to do with this.”
“So you agree. There is a double standard.”
“Yes.”
The idea of this pampered princess comparing her privilege to actual suffering itched at him. He wanted to explain to her what unfairness really looked like for most people. Like being forced to choose between prison or the military, for example.
He gestured at the screen to get the conversation back on track. “Anything else I should know about anyone on the list? Anyone we missed?”
Her eyes still held a spark of something, but he wasn’t sure it was anger anymore.
“You thought I was spoiled and self-centered and flighty the second we met. Before, probably. You had your opinion all worked out based on all the crap.” She waved vaguely at the cameras.
He was a little surprised she’d picked up on it, but so far, she hadn’t proved his first instincts wrong. “My personal opinion isn’t relevant.” He tapped the screen. “Focus, please.”
“I think you hit all the lowlights.” She crumpled the bag of greasy takeout with both hands, then tossed it at the trash can.
Ward watched the meal he’d brought her land with a loud thunk. He’d waited in line for twenty minutes for it, thinking it would somehow make this conversation easier.
She hadn’t noticed the effort any more than she’d noticed the hours of hard work his team continued to pour into this case. She took people for granted, and it grated. It confirmed his opinion that she was a selfish, entitled pleasure-seeker with no concern for anyone but herself.
She hadn’t been wrong about his opinion. He just hadn’t formed it based on media coverage. He’d formed it based on two weeks of experience. But that didn’t matter. He had a job to do, and he wasn’t about to let her distract him from it.
“I need you to take this seriously, Ms. Bellamy.”
She gave him a flat stare. “The first five names are all Marshall groupies. I didn’t stick with any of them for more than three months. They run in the same circles, they’re at all the same parties, and none of them would have to sneak into my dressing room as a delivery boy. The next ten I don’t recognize by name at all. Maybe if I saw their faces. I’m better with faces. There’s one further down I know. Jason Jackson. He’s a super VIP who’s at all of Piper’s concerts. He’s harmless. Besides, he’s in love with Piper. Not me.”
He moved Jackson to the top of the list. “No one that passionate is harmless, Ms. Bellamy. Thank you. This was productive.”
“Isn’t it time to admit that you’re never going to find him and you’re just spinning this out for a big paycheck?”
He closed the laptop and stood, facing her like a soldier. “I don’t spin.”
“I can believe that,” she muttered. “I doubt you’ve ever done anything that fun.”
“I’ve done plenty of fun things. They just don’t make national news.”
“You know, that was pretty judgy from someone who says they’re not judging.”
“I never said I wasn’t judging. Just that it wasn’t relevant.” He gestured toward the door. “Again, thank you for your time.”
She didn’t move. “I want parole. I want to go visit Lizzie. Just for a couple of days. She lives in upstate New York. Nobody would ever find me in upstate New York. Nobody ever goes to upstate New York.”
“Anyone could find you if you went to your sister’s inn. Including, as I recall, the paparazzi.”
“Low blow.” She had a way of lifting her chin when she felt challenged that would have been enticing if she weren’t.…well, Della Bellamy. “I’m not doing this forever, Warden. I can’t. I won’t. I have a life, and it’s not in this house.”
He resisted the urge to scrub his face with his hands. “We’re working as fast as we can to get you back to that life. Believe me, Ms. Bellamy. That’s our only priority.”
“Sure it is.” Her gaze flicked to the closed laptop. “If that’s all you have, then you don’t have anything. Prove to me that there’s something to worry about or go find someone else to torture.”
She stalked out the door without waiting for a response.
He had a feeling the only kind of proof she’d believe was the kind that involved something worse than flowers in a dressing room.