Chapter 5 Tom
TOM
After a heated round of goodbyes, it’s well into the evening as I followed Kat in her small white sedan out of Ironwood and into a smaller Chicago suburb. The homes here are modest with kids playing in the front yards and people walking their dogs on the sidewalks.
Colt mentioned privately that he’d been trying to get Kat to move into the vacant house in his development that he had built specifically for her. He wanted her close and safe in his gated and heavily guarded neighborhood—the one that only had a few residents.
Namely Colt, Roan, and the lead singer of the rock band, Descending North, Garrett North.
So far, she’d refused, but I’m not surprised.
From all outward appearances, Kat is a pillar of strength and perceived sunshine.
She knows how to play the game and be in the spotlight both for her sake and her brother’s.
His reaction had been more raw than I expected, the outward display of frustration and hurt unscripted as he listened to Kat talk about what she’d been through.
The room had finally hit its emotional limit for everyone involved, my need to protect Kat both natural and unsettling considering I’d just met her.
It’s my job to protect.
An oath.
A primal need that hums in my veins.
But there’s something different about the way my body responds to Kat Harrington, something I have to shut down immediately.
I’ve never gotten involved with a client and I sure as hell don’t plan to now.
The screen on my dashboard lights up, and thankful for the distraction, I accept the call.
“Go,” I say without preamble, but Royce is used to this side of me. Work mode, as he likes to call it. I almost smile remembering how long we’ve actually worked together. He’d come to live with me as a teenager, and I’d helped him hone his computer skills for something constructive.
And legal.
Mostly.
“So far I’ve split her life into four pieces—Kat as herself, sister to a famous baseball player, children’s book author, and romance author,” he says in one breath. “Without any real digging, there are standouts in all categories.”
“Give me the short version.”
“First is a childhood best friend who thinks it’s selfish of Kat to be famous. She doesn’t want to be friends. There’s an ex-teammate of Colt’s that hasn’t gotten the hint she’s not interested in dating him, and a jealous author that said some really unhinged things like two years ago.”
“Romance author?”
“No, kids’ books which is why it’s weird. I’ll get the full workup on it as soon as I can.”
“Good, what’s the rest?”
“The aunt of her local friend is a little odd. I have a few things to check out on that. Should be nothing but I don’t want to discount her yet.”
“Fine.”
“There’s a couple of disgruntled narrators that continue to want to start problems, lots of trolls and bullies, unsolicited pictures, hate mail, and messages.” His exhale is heavy. “She’s endured a lot in the short time she’s been writing as Sloane Daniels.”
His humanity is one of the things that makes him so good at his job.
My ability to compartmentalize and completely shut down those pieces of myself is what makes me so good at mine.
“Anything stand out as related to the not-so-subtle message left at the fire?”
“Nothing obvious aside from her writing bedtime stories for children and adults. There’s definitely a group of people that wouldn’t be okay knowing the books they read to their kids are written by the same person throwing fuck and dick around like confetti.”
“Thanks for that visual.”
He chuckles as Kat pulls into her driveway, her car slowing as the garage door starts to rise.
“You got it.”
I shake my head because a year ago, my nephew wouldn’t have dreamed of uttering that sentence. Apparently, all he needed was a swift kick in the ass by his now fiancée, Kinsley Dane, sweeper for the Tennessee Tornadoes.
“We’re at the house. Call in a patrol check for tonight and send me the names you have already so I can get some more information out of Kat.”
“Try to be nice.”
“My job is to be professional.”
“You can be professional and nice.”
“Get back to work,” I grumble, and his laughter fills the line as I disconnect the call. It’s ridiculous the things I let him get away with.
But he’s family.
And damn good at his job.
So I’ll let his little words of wisdom slide…for now.
Parking my SUV, I push everything from my mind as I step out, scanning the street as I move toward the mailbox and pull a stack of packages and letters from inside.
“I would have gotten that,” Kat calls but I don’t respond, my gaze taking in the standard junk mail, promotional flyers, and bills before landing on a large, blank white envelope with Kat’s name printed on the label and nothing else.
It’s the kind of thing that has my hackles rising as I quicken my pace toward the garage where she’s standing with her arms crossed over her chest.
Annoyed.
My go bag will have to wait.
I need to get her inside.
Because my gut is telling me that whatever is in this envelope is going to solidify what I already know.
Kat Harrington is in danger.
And that danger may be closer than we think.