Page 7 of Sweet and Salty

“Damn, that’s a juicy one,” he says. “Need me to run background checks?”

I shake my head. “The senator’s team already provided me with the details there. But he told me the stalker is slippery. No one, not even the local police, can track him down. He still shows up to the daughter’s place of business regularly though to leave notes. I may need you to try and locate him if I hit a wall.”

“I’ll be here,” he says. “But this should be easy money for you,” he continues. “Big, scary, salty motherfucker like yourself…” He gestures to me, and I cock a brow at where he points to the tattoos running down my neck and beneath my shirt, and over my arms. “He’ll take one look at you and realize the shit he’s pulling isn’t worth it.”

I grunt. “We’ll see.”

I've covered a case like this one before and it only took a week for the guy to back off permanently. A week and a stern…talking to from me that is. This could be the same thing, but the senator isn’t messing around. He paid in full for the six months with our contract open-ended for negotiations at the end of that timeframe.

Understandably, he wants his daughter protected, and the fact that he’s up for reelection and embarking on a campaign tour only makes her a bigger target. It’s a smart move on his part, and I can only hope that his daughter agrees. Far too many times I've been hired this way, and have to fight tooth and nail with my clients to cooperate.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I immediately pull it out.

Kitten: Gregory says good morning.

The text comes with a picture of a black and white tuxedo cat, the feline practically smiling up at the phone where he sits proud and regal on the concrete, his usual morning breakfast haunt outside of Kitten’s office. I have over a dozen pictures of this fucking stray cat in my phone thanks to her.

“Damn, did she send you an invite? Cause you’re smiling like it’s Christmas morning,” Caleb teases me.

“Fuck off,” I grumble, but show him the pic.

“That cat again?” he looks at me like I’ve grown another head.

“He visits her office every morning and night,” I say. “It’s a part of her life.”

“And you still don’t have a clue what kind of an office it is? Is she a vet?”

I tilt my head. “I don’t think so. She’d probably send more pics of animals if she was.” I grin down at the phone again.

“Dude, just give me her number and I can track her down for you. You’re losing it over this girl.”

“Never,” I say, typing back a quick text, telling her to give the cat an extra treat for me. “If she wants to meet me, she’ll let me know.”

Caleb whistles. “Whatever you say,” he says, walking across the empty nightclub. “Have fun on assignment, don’t bring home a cat.”

“This isn’t home!” I call after him.

“Like hell it isn’t!” he fires back, and I laugh, shaking my head as he disappears into the stock room.

I finish familiarizing myself with everything the senator sent over before saying goodbye to Caleb.

It's an hour drive to Sweet Water, and I pull into the parking lot where Senator Casson’s daughter, Dr. Zoe Casson, has her own practice.

I park and give myself a minute to check out the space, noting the damn-near ancient camera that sits at an awkward angle above the front entryway door. The parking lot is empty save for one car and mine.

Maybe she didn’t schedule a client this early in the morning because she knows I’m coming, or maybe her first client is running late. Either way, I’m getting a good look at the space, and gathering a baseline of what it looks like before clients roll in.

I head toward the front door, giving the camera a better look and shaking my head. I know the brand and know getting visuals from it is nearly impossible thanks to the ancient technology it runs off of. I'll have to fix that.

I push through the front door and a soft bell chimes to alert my presence.

The entryway is warm and welcoming, but there are two large bay windows to my right, overlooking a patio which looksstrangely familiar. I could literally break into the building from there with my eyes closed. I'll have to fix that too?—

“Good morning,” a familiar feminine voice calls out to me before someone rounds the corner, hand outstretched, a welcoming smile shaping luscious lips that I’d know in my sleep.

Kitten.

A bolt of shock rockets through me, my entire body clenching. Jesus, it’sher.

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