Chapter 32 Lexi
Lexi
By my third day back, everything settles into a routine. After Zane told me Ivy was fired for illegally obtaining a director’s address, I spend an extraordinary amount of time reviewing and re-reviewing our notes on her. So far, we’re coming up empty, but I’m not crossing her off the suspect list.
Today’s Sunday – game day – and Justin invited a group over to watch.
Jack completed the initial guest vetting on Friday, and I finalized my secondary vetting yesterday.
But this morning, I woke up early, uneasy with so many people at Justin’s house, and triple vetted every guest in the company database.
As of now, though, we’re still not any closer to finding out who the hell this stalker is, and the studio and Anthony are both refusing to bring in the feds. It doesn’t make sense. I pull up to the security gate in Justin’s neighborhood. ‘Morning,’ I say.
The security guard taps into his digital clipboard. ‘Morning, Doc.’
‘Just a reminder that Mr Greenwood is expecting thirty-four, not thirty-six guests this afternoon. Two people dropped off the list. I emailed it to you but wanted to double check that it arrived,’ I say, thumbing my sunglasses back up my nose.
‘I know you all are fantastic at your job but want to remind you that there are zero exceptions for anyone not passing the ID check.’
‘Yep, it’s under control.’ The guard nods. ‘We’ll call if any issues come up.’
I’m hearing his tone loud and clear, but I don’t care that they think I’m overbearing.
Something’s in the air, and it’s making me itchy.
I head up Justin’s long, circular driveway, mentally going through my checklist for the party tonight when I slam on the brakes.
What the … I hop out of the Jeep for a closer look.
A dead bunny. Odd. No track marks like an animal brought it there, no indication that it was hit by a car.
It looks placed there. I sweep my gaze across the lush green yard and down the driveway.
It’s strange, for sure, but not out of the realm of possibility with all the coyotes in the area. I jot a note and continue to the house.
The moment I open the door, a mushroom cloud of fried food, garlic and bacon wafts to my nose.
‘Whoa, it smells good in here,’ I say as Justin saunters by wearing his Seattle Seahawks jersey.
Caterers scatter the area, neatly displaying food on the massive dining table in the adjoining space.
‘There’s less than forty people on the list. You could feed an entire neighborhood with all this food. ’
‘Trust me. They’ll eat it. Have you ever been to a party where half the guests are former football players?
They’ll scarf this down and probably stop at In-N-Out Burger on the way home.
’ His smile reaches his eyes, and he motions for me to join him at the table.
‘Look at this stuff. An entire fleet of chicken wings. Mini chicken and waffles. Potato skins that look like footballs. I mean, come on, am I right?’
‘Um, aren’t you part of the Hollywood elite?’ I say with a laugh, and drop my stuff at the table. ‘Don’t you have this on every movie set?’
‘You kidding me?’ He crunches into a potato skin. ‘We always have random shit like beluga or duck confit. Who likes that crap? But potato skins with prosciutto and blue cheese? Now that I can get behind.’
I really shouldn’t think of Justin as adorable.
He’s a six-three, steel wall of muscles, man.
But him and food, especially food like this, I’m not sure how else to describe him.
He’s smiling so much while eating, I’m worried he’s gonna choke.
‘Hey, just real quick, I gave the updated guest list to the gate security. Remember, we’re not making any exceptions, even for you, no matter how much you beg. ’
‘Yes, yes. It’s all good. Relax, okay?’
Ugh. I hate when he says that.
‘Oh, heads up, I changed my mind last night and am allowing alcohol here today.’ He snatches a chocolate-covered strawberry with vanilla drizzle off the plate and pops it in his mouth.
‘But you and Jack pre-vetted the list. Everyone’s on high alert, which means I don’t need to worry, you don’t need to worry and we both get to have some fun. ’
The way he never wants me to worry is annoying.
Sweet, yes. But he treats me like a guest, not his bodyguard.
I came back to keep him safe, not be his friend.
My stomach fills with unease, and I’m in full protective overdrive.
Justin may think these guests are his friends, but in threatening situations like this, nine times out of ten, the perpetrator is someone the victim knows.
He lowers his head to meet my gaze and presses his palm into my shoulder. ‘It’s gonna be fine, all right? Today’s an easy day.’
It’s not cool that the heat of his hand on my body leaves an imprint.
‘Care to make a wager on the game?’ A devilish grin slides across his face.
‘Oh, Jesus. I hate football,’ I say, reaching for a sparkling soda. ‘I wouldn’t even know who to cheer for. Who’s playing?’
‘Seahawks versus Bears. My money’s on Seattle.’
Hmmm. A little bet could be interesting. ‘What are the stakes?’
‘There’s a lot of things we could put at stake.’ He winks. A flush rushes through me. From a wink. ‘But how about a movie of your choice.’
‘Deal,’ I say, cracking open the top. ‘I’m gonna win and force you to watch the classic Girls Just Want to Have Fun with Sarah Jessica Parker and Helen Hunt before they became famous. I may even make you recreate one of the dances.’
His lips tug into a playful grin. ‘It’s on.’
***
Every guest is a potential suspect, and I survey each one as they enter Justin’s house. Although it’s a little odd to see Justin drink in his house, I’m eternally grateful that he’s drinking lager and opening his own bottles. Not that anyone will roofie him in his own home. Probably.
The gate security sends me a scan of each guest’s driver’s license.
I feed those back to the agency and confirm no red flags have popped up in the last five hours.
I laser focus on each face, looking for any peculiar micro-actions.
The vast majority of the guests are former football players, their girlfriends and a few ex-costars. So far, nothing concerning.
‘Neanderthals.’ Zane slumps next to me at the kitchen island and plops a plate of food between us. ‘Ever since I can remember, I’ve always hated football. They’re all so loud. I can’t hear anything.’
I bite into the best bruschetta of my life. Zane’s not wrong. My ears will verge on splitting if the team makes one more interception.
‘I’m glad you’re back, Doc.’ Zane dunks a chicken wing into sweet buffalo sauce. ‘Justin was a total fuckdick while you were gone.’
‘A fuckdick?’ I chuckle and spread brie on a cracker. ‘Is that an official term?’
Zane opens their mouth but is interrupted with deafening cheers. ‘He was stomping around, being all mopey and whiny. But I think the package kicked him in the ass.’
I can’t believe that his team refused to call the police. Any more of those and I’m telling Marcus we’re overruling their wishes.
‘Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something,’ I say, reaching for a napkin. ‘You know Justin’s crew more than anyone. We have to look at the possibility that the stalker is internal. One of his friends or partners.’
Zane taps their fingers around their plate before settling on a chocolate-covered mango. ‘I thought that, too. But honestly, I don’t know. There’ve been only a few packages, and the rest are videos. That could be anyone in the world. And—’
‘WHOO! Seahawks scored, baby!’ The shouting drowns out Zane’s words.
‘Christ already,’ Zane groans. ‘I was going to say that even though I want to say it could be Conner, ’cause I seriously hate that guy, I don’t think he’s smart enough to pull it off. Should we—’
‘What are you two talking about? I can hardly hear the game over your boring conversation,’ Justin says as he pops into the room carrying a plate piled sky-high with food. ‘Doc, you eating something? Tell me you saw the baked brie with pistachio and oranges. That shit’s so good.’
I smile and accept that from now until our professional relationship ends, he’ll ask me about food every hour on the hour. ‘Sure did. Delicious.’
Justin points at the oysters on his plate. ‘Want to try?’
Gross. ‘No chance I’m shooting oysters.’ I dip a mini-gourmet grilled cheese sandwich in spicy ketchup. ‘You don’t actually like those things, right?’
Zane tilts their head toward me. ‘Do you know they’re supposed to be a natural aphrodisiac?’
‘Too bad it smells like a combination of a gym locker and over-cologned bodies,’ I say with a grin.
Justin chuckles, swings to grab another beer and hip shimmies out of the room.
Hip shimmies. I might cut him off for the sheer purpose of saving his reputation.
An hour later, my cell pings with an email from Marcus. Subject line: Potential Person of Interest.
Marcus: Doc, ask Justin and those closest to him if anyone recognizes this man. They stopped him twice trying to breach the studio lot while Justin was there. May be nothing.
I scan the photos of a short, mid-40s, broad-shouldered white man with shaggy dark hair and thick frames. Nothing about his photo rings a bell.
The initial catering crew had done a great job of cleaning before leaving for a break, but plates, drinks and leftover food scatter the counter. I push a few items to the side and prop open the laptop next to Zane. ‘Have you ever seen this guy before?’
Zane leans into the screen. ‘Can we zoom in?’
‘We can, but it’ll be more pixilated,’ I say. ‘Try scrolling in and out.’
Zane scrolls with a frown. ‘Doesn’t look familiar. Who is he?’
‘Marcus got these photos from the studio security team. This guy tried to sneak into the studio twice when Justin was there. Most likely a coincidence. We want—’
Angry shouts erupting from the living room break the conversation. What the hell? I leap from my chair, my heart in my throat and sprint from the room.