Page 122 of Unseen Danger

“And either of you, I suppose.” Peter looked down at his tablet as he launched the even more personal insinuation. But the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

He was enjoying this. Or at least relishing his own cleverness.

Peter just moved higher on Branson’s list of suspects.

“We’re ready for you in five, Chef.” A guy in his early twenties with a brown beard long enough to brush his black T-shirt popped around the end of Bartlemay Cox’s leather sofa.

The wannabe celebrity chef waved a dismissive hand at the man who seemed to be the director of the TicTube video Bartlemay said they were about to record for his channel.

Most TicTubers Nevaeh had seen used their own limited equipment for their videos. But Bartlemay had a small crew and enough equipment to transform his large apartment into something that looked like a TV news studio.

The chef draped his long, skinny arm along the black sofa cushions as he looked at Nevaeh. He’d been staring at her most of the time since she’d arrived, ignoring Alvarez and Branson almost entirely.

“Nevaeh.” Bartie Boy smiled. “Heaven in reverse. It’s perfect for you.”

Nevaeh barely stifled an eye roll. The guy must want to add playboy to his resume along with celebrity chef.

“I’m having a party here tonight. To celebrate my contract with ‘Wake Up, Minneapolis.’” He lingered on the name of the popular morning talk show, as if that was supposed to impress her. “I’d like you to come as my special guest.”

She glanced at Branson just in time to catch his eyes narrowing at Bartie Boy. Branson’s jaw muscle twitched, and his fingers dug into the navy blue armchair he sat in, a small table with a lamp separating him from Nevaeh.

Was he jealous? Or just being protective? Either option was fine by her. Warmth heated her belly as she swung her gaze back to Bartie Boy—a name that fit him much better in her mind. She tapped the arm of her chair. “I’ve had smoother pickups, Bart.”

The chef’s professionally shaped eyebrows lifted at that. But he grinned. “I like a challenge.”

“You got one. Like explaining why your girlfriend stuck a knife into D-Chop’s pillow last night.”

His smile froze, then dropped as he stared at her.

Somebody had to show him women could think.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Kim Jameson.” Branson’s voice rumbled deeper than usual.

“Who’s Kim Jameson?”

Alvarez sat up at Nevaeh’s side. He’d kept his attention locked on Bartie Boy since they’d arrived. Something about the man put Al on edge. And his instincts on people were never off. Could Al tell Bartie Boy was lying now?

“I can show you the photos from her social media account.” Nevaeh pulled her phone from her jacket pocket.

“You said Kim Jameson?” Bartie Boy’s tone turned more cooperative. Funny thing.

“Yes.” Branson didn’t look amused.

“I do know a Kim. I wasn’t sure what her last name was. We met at an event—someone’s party, I think.” Bartie Boy landed his eyes on Nevaeh. They were blue like Branson’s but a darker color—cool and flat. Eyes that made her want to look away instead of move close like every time Branson looked at her. “But she’s not my girlfriend. I don’t have one at the moment.”

Uh-huh. Because he liked to play the field. Didn’t have to be a genius to fill in the blanks with this guy.

“Did you know she was going to D-Chop’s last night?”

Bartie Boy dropped a fake chuckle, barely looking at Branson. “First you think she’s my girlfriend, and then you think she’d tell me when she’s having a sleepover at D-Chop’s?”

Nevaeh leaned forward. “But you did introduce them.”

He smiled at her like her statement didn’t rattle him a bit. “Anything you say. Has anyone told you how fabulous your skin is? Flawless. You would shine on camera.” He tilted his head, his bleached blond, long-on-top locks falling to graze the shaved side of his head. “How would you like to go on with me? You could be my assistant.” He grinned, and his eyes lit with a glimpse of life. Dude was in love with his own idea.

She held his gaze. “I’d like it better if you answered our questions. You agreed to.”

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