Chapter Thirty-Three
Eight hours later, Rhys had flown Jules across the country and taken her to a meeting with fire investigators.
Half an hour after that, he’d determined they could have stayed in Virginia.
They wanted to be helpful and tried to be productive.
But the incident investigators only verified information from Margot, Sloane, and Jules’s business manager.
There was nothing for her to do except watch dozens of doorbell camera recordings and grainy security videos of the person who had started the fire.
They’d only made it through one video, but Rhys knew nothing would come of it.
They couldn’t tell if the person was a man or a woman.
They couldn’t find them by their vehicle—rented under an alias and paid for with prepaid credit cards purchased with cash, in that same genderless, faceless disguise as the one from tonight.
This wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t poorly planned. And if someone didn’t agree with him that it had all the hallmarks of the Vincent-Von-Charles-Chad-Montgomery-Anonymous attack, Rhys was going to lose his mind.
Rhys balled his fists and clenched his teeth. He couldn’t even stand next to Jules. They’d taken her into a conference room that might as well have been an interrogation room, and he could only watch through a two-way mirror.
The door flew open, and Wes walked in. One look at Rhys, and his buddy scowled. Rhys was going to blow a lid if someone didn’t loop in the feds working on her stalker.
Wes lumbered over. “Take a breath, man.”
“I’ll fuckin’ breathe when they get this shit figured out.”
“Yeah, well, if you punch the window, they’re going to throw your ass out. Then you won’t be able to do shit, and I’ll have to dig glass out of your damn knuckles. Sit your ass down and take a damn breath.”
Rhys glared.
“Now, damn it. What the hell?”
He sneered but took a seat. “Sitting. Not sure how that’s helping.”
Wes pulled over another chair and ignored him. They watched the interrogation unfold. Videos played on a large screen, and Jules shook her head, unable to identify anything.
“This is wasting our time.”
Wes shrugged as though he agreed. “Did Viv tell you Dean got his hands on the vehicle rental details?”
“No,” Rhys bit out.
“Probably because you seem so reasonable to talk with right now.” Wes kicked his long legs out. “Dean also has the payment details, such as they are. No details, no strings, but he’s working on it. Between these guys, the feds, Dean—”
“The feds?”
Wes nodded. “Viv did what Viv does. Worked her magic. Pulled favors.”
“How? I’ve been standing here, telling them—” Rhys ran a hand over his face.
“Bureaucracy bullshit doesn’t stand much of a chance once she’s decided to say something.” The corners of Wes’s eyes tightened. “Don’t punch me in the face for saying this, but you’re in deep. Aren’t you?”
Rhys grimaced.
“Yeah. Way over your head.” Wes let out a long breath, shaking his head. “How’d you let that happen?”
“Hell, I don’t know.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
Marry her.
Rhys rested his elbows on his knees, and his head dropped into his hands. He refused to be a problem and was too close to the situation to help. He didn’t sit up but raised his eyes to Wes. “In the future, I need you to take over her security detail.”
Wes held the stare then snorted. “Holy shit, man. You’re serious?”
Rhys nodded. He didn’t like it, but she was the priority. He’d be by her side in another capacity. “Yeah.”
“So it’s like that?”
He kept nodding. “It’s like that.”
Wes reached over and slapped Rhys on the back. “Now for the important questions—”
“I don’t have details. Not even a plan. Just… I just know that’s how it’s going to be.”
“All right.”
“Everything in me wants to burn this city down. I want to knock heads and force answers.” He drank in a long breath but couldn’t seem to make it deep enough. “You’re clear-headed right now, and I’m ready to kill. I need you to stay close.”
Wes chuckled. “What I wouldn’t give to have been a fly on the wall when you told Viv.”
“You might still have a chance.”
His buddy raised his eyebrows.
Rhys rubbed the back of his neck. “Haven’t told her yet.”
Wes whistled. “Yeah, I’m going to watch when you do. She’s going to eat you alive.”
“Probably.”
“You remember the shit she gave Callum? I don’t even know how he still has a job—and wait a minute.” Wes narrowed his gaze as though contemplating an angle Rhys had missed. “Peyton Lowry owns your soul or something. How are you going to change that?”
“By marrying his daughter.”
Wes’s jaw dropped. His head twitched to the side, then he choked. “Guess that’s one way to do it.” He glanced into the interrogation room then turned back to Rhys. “Does she know your grand plan?”
“Haven’t run it by her yet.”
“With a woman like that, it seems like you should.”
It would happen. That woman was his. More than that, he was hers. She owned him, body, mind, and soul. Hell, he hadn’t realized he had one of those until right now.
“I’d tell Vivian sooner rather than later,” Wes suggested.
“That you’re taking over?”
“Probably better to run the marriage thing by Jules before Viv, so yeah, dumb shit. The change to the security plan.”
In the interrogation room, the large television screen turned off, and the investigator perched on the table, talking to Jules. Rhys wanted to turn on the speaker and listen. Then again, he just had one of those life-altering realizations and wanted to sit with that.
His phone buzzed. Wes glanced at the screen as Rhys did and cackled at Vivian’s name.
“Nosy bastard,” Rhys muttered.
“Answer it.” Wes crossed his arms. “I’m the fly on the wall, remember?”
Rhys lifted his middle finger but answered with decidedly less attitude. “What’s going on?”
“Did Wes fill you in?” Vivian asked.
“Yeah. Thanks for bumping it to the feds. What’ve they learned?”
“The same VPN was used for the car rental that’s connected to the Anonymous app. Their backend servers log technical metadata—IP addresses, timestamps, device fingerprints.”
Rhys jumped to his feet and paced. Uncertainty turned over in his gut, and anxiety percolated in his blood. “Does that help us?”
“Actually, yes,” Vivian said. “One person is causing all of this. It’s good news.”
“Then why don’t you sound like it’s good news?”
She paused.
Everything that had been curdling in the back of his mind landed on him like a lead weight. “What?”
Wes arched his eyebrows.
“Mason Marlow doesn’t have an alibi for the fire,” Vivian explained. “Neither does Olivia.”
His mind raced. “What about Tabitha?”
“Not only does Tabitha have an alibi, but her alibi is a gold-plated one. She was with Peyton and Diane Lowry all night long. Spent the night in their guest house. Never left their residence.”
“That doesn’t mean shit, Viv, and you know it.” Rhys didn’t know how to connect the dots, but his intuition screamed Tabitha’s name. “Tabitha is obsessed with Jules.”
“She’s low-key obsessed with the Lowrys,” Viv countered. “All of them.”
“Hard disagree, boss. Jules is her pinnacle.”
“Tabitha Shade wants fame and money and attention.”
Rhys paced the viewing room’s tight space. “Tabitha Shade would die for the Lowry name. Simple. End of story.”
“Which does not mean Jules. She’s done everything in her power to be famous , but so have ninety-nine percent of the people who are in Hollywood with stars in their eyes. She’s not an arsonist.”
“And Mason Marlow is?”
“He played one for Netflix—”
“I’m being serious, Viv.”
“You want to loop this back to the stalker? Tell me what Tabitha would gain from Jules retiring,” Vivian demanded. “What would she gain from a house fire? Nothing. Mason Marlow? He still has a horse in this race.”
He balled a hand into a fist. “Jules isn’t a horse race.”
“But she is a brand. A company. One with entities and investors, with parts that we know nothing about.”
“I know enough.” He glanced into the interrogation room and realized it was empty.
“Here’s something you don’t know jack about: there’s something more going on with the dissolution of Jules and Mason’s relationship—”
“I know everything I need to know about that.”
“Even if you did, you don’t know Mason has been shopping for a cutthroat legal team with enough balls to go up against the Lowry family.”
“Any attorney stupid enough to do that is too stupid to be in court, sitting across from them. Nothing will come of it except for legal bills.”
“Be that as it may, it’s something to consider. If her mansion is community property—”
“It’s not community property,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Then it burns to the ground, and Mason collects a check and doesn’t have to deal with the delay of listing it and waiting for the sale to close.”
Rhys dropped his head back and stared at the low-paneled ceiling. “How would her house be community property? They didn’t get married!”
“There are rumors of a business arrangement that superseded a marriage. That he had his ownership squared away before the wedding.”
“If that were true, anyone who knew anything was probably subject to an NDA.” The nondisclosure agreement Titan had with the Lowrys covered everything his team ever saw or heard.
But who had Mason told? Olivia? Mason would probably tell his baby mama, but Jules would never have had her friend sign an NDA.
“Not to mention contracts like that have morality clauses that would nullify it if and when someone knocked up a bridesmaid.”
“True or not, NDA or not, that would complicate things for Jules. Not Mason, and she wouldn’t want that to get out.”
His stomach dropped. “That doesn’t sound legal.”
“Since when does anyone care about legal or ethical or—”
“I do,” he ground out.
“I was generalizing. I obviously care too. But think about it, Rhys. Mason stands to get a hell of a check from the insurance company if there’s an outstanding legal agreement.”
“Fuck. That.”