We weren’t alone at the large round booth. But Zane’s great-aunt Shell was busy gossiping with every local who entered the place, and her granddaughter was busy taking selfies with Zane in the background while pretending to check her hair.
“No. I was trying to figure out how to tell him we didn’t have time when he told me that he’s being sent on a job up in Cordelle. But I did tell Jordy Crowder we’d stop by his print shop.” Zane flashed me an apologetic wince. “Sorry, but after he didn’t charge me for the printing on all those field day shirts last year, I felt like I owed him a solid.”
He was right. Even though the good old boy was a talker, he was a good guy, and he helped Zane out with plenty of local charity projects. “We already have that one on the schedule. I’m trying to figure out which unexpected ones are going to pop up while we’re out and about. Bart’s is usually the one that pops up.”
Bart was an ass, and he never hesitated to drag Zane to the HVAC service center where he worked to impress his boss and sucker Zane into a photo op.
Zane pressed his lips together in thought before his eyes brightened and his cheeks turned a little pink. “Oh, Carrie-Beth said I might run into Sully Bynam and, if so, to be sure and ask to see his tulip poplars.”
Shell overheard and snapped her head around. “Sully’s tulip poplars are a sight to behold. You’ve never seen golden beauties like those. A whole driveway full of ’em. It’s like… like something on TV.”
I couldn’t remember why that name sounded familiar… until I remembered Pearl talking around the bonfire about theonehot gay guy in Barlo.
“We might not have time for any of that,” I said gruffly.
Zane shrugged. “We probably won’t see him anyway.”
Right. Zane seemed to forget that when he was in Barlo, everyoneand their hot gay uncle flocked to the tiny downtown area to catch sight of him.
The rest of the day was a nightmare. Several times, I’d thought someone was trying to get close enough to Zane to sneak a stamp onto his skin, and I’d roughly interjected myself between the stranger and my principal. Each time, it had turned out to simply be a friend or fan with innocent intentions.
Several months ago, Zane had laughingly sent me an Instagram video of Lionel Messi’s bodyguard comically cutting off zealous fans before they could get to the famous soccer star. That was what my day in Barlo ended up looking like.
Thankfully, Zane politely declined the (admittedly gorgeous) Sully Bynam’s offer to see his poplars, and we ended up back at Gran’s before dinner. Zane threw himself down in the corner of the large sectional sofa and pulled out his phone while I went to the kitchen to grab him a fresh water bottle and some carrot sticks out of the fridge.
As I was walking back into the family room, I caught sight of his face as his jaw dropped and his complexion paled. His eyes flicked from his phone screen up to me, and I saw him hesitate for a split second before sighing and handing me the phone. I handed him the water and carrots before sitting on the edge of the coffee table across from him and looking at his screen.
The email on the screen was from a junk Gmail address and had been sent to Zane’s private, personal email account—the one that only the brotherhood, his agent, his manager, and a few other select people had access to.
To Zee,
Do you like wearing my mark? I can get to you whenever I want. You’re not his to protect. Cut him loose.
See you in New York.
Semper in scopum.
The Stamper.
My rage was a feral beast clawing at my skin from the inside. How fucking dare they find another way to get at Zane? How dare they cause him another single moment of fear and worry? How dare they insinuate that I couldn’t protect him when there was nothing I wouldn’t do to keep him safe?
I forced myself to read the words over and over, partly in hopes of discovering new information and partly in an attempt to calm myself down since I knew my anger would only upset Zane further. When nothing new revealed itself, I forwarded it to myself and Violet, closed it in his email app, and then made a folder in his email account to put it into so I could preserve it without him having to see it every time he opened his personal email.
Always on target.
The Latin galled me, but I was grateful for it since it at least offered us a little bit of insight into the sender. Violet’s technical guys could try to trace the email, but I didn’t hold out much hope. If the perp was smart enough to use Latin, they were probably smart enough to mask their virtual identity.
I glanced up at Zane, who’d pulled his legs up to wrap his arms around his knees. “We have to go,” I said softly.
He nodded, dislodging a piece of brown hair to fall over one eyebrow. I reached out to brush it behind his ear without fully realizing what I was doing. “We have to cancel New York.”
“I know.”
I glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear me.
“Where do you want to go?”
Zane’s eyebrows winged up. “I assumed we’d go to LA. Isn’t that what you said you wanted? To meet up with Violet, call in reinforcements, and strategize?”