Page 99 of Passenger Princess

"You know, I've done a little research on you, since every fucking article you write about Ava is trashing her for no reason. You were also at the event where she was assaultedandin Utah, where you made someinterestingaccusations."

"They weren't accusations, though—you're on a date at your old boss's house together."

"And how did you know we were here? You sure as fuck didn't follow me because I would have noticed." Even when it's not a threat, Ialwayskeep an eye out for tails, and there were none.

His lips tip up. "A little birdie told me."

"You do not want to mess with me, Smith. That much I can promise you."

"You're nobody. You can't do anything, and once this"—he lifts his camera—"is out, you won't even have a job. Five Star, right? I'm sure there's something in their guidelines about fucking your assignment."

I fight to keep my face completely blank before I take another step closer.

"You think you won some game, and honestly, I think you're not even the one playing it, just some poor puppet on someone else's string. But you don't want to fuck with me, that much I can promise you. Because I can know everything about you if I need to. I can know where you went to school, who signs your checks, and the address of your mommy's house you probably live in. I can know everyone you've received cash from, and if any of it seems a little…off, I can know if anyone has ever paid you to write a friendly article or completely trash someone, and I can take all of that and send it toyourboss because I have a feelingthat'sagainst some kind of journalist code." I tip my head at him. "And then I can have that information sent to every news outlet in America."

"Are you threatening me?"

I shake my head. "I'm just telling you what can happen if you don't leave Ava alone and if you don't tell me who told you where she was tonight."

The asshole smiles, stepping back. "See you later, Jaime," he says, opening the door to his car, sliding in, and starting the engine.

I stand, arms crossed on my chest watching the journalist as he drives away in a car his salary definitely shouldn't afford before turning and going back into the house and straight to Ava, who is standing with Janine in the foyer.

"Did you post where we were tonight?" I ask.

"What?"

I step into her space, putting one hand on her chin gently and forcing her to look at me.

"Social media. Did you post anywhere about where we would be? Or have you posted anything at all since we got here?" I take a moment before I add, "I won't be mad, I just need to know."

"No," she whispers. "No. I left my phone in the hotel and totally forgot about it. I remember thinking it was funny because it's usually attached to my hip, but…" She wets her lips, and I step away, moving toward the door to go back outside. "Jaime, what's going on? You're freaking me out."

With that and the waver in her words, I turn back around and get in her space again, this time tugging her into me. "Everything is okay." My hand goes to her cheek, cradling it and forcing her to look at me. "Everything is going to be just fine, I promise. You and me? We're good, Ava," I whisper against her lips before kissing them softly in reassurance. When she nods, her eyes looking slightly less concerned, I step back and head to the door once more.

As I step out, I hear Janine squeal, "God, I love this for him!" before Ava giggles as the door slams behind me, a small consolation to hear that noise.

"Tracker," Hank says through a tight jaw, standing near the SUV, a small black rectangle in his hand.

"What?"

"A tracker was on the car. Looks custom, looks expensive. Is the car a rental?" I sigh, looking at my feet and cursing low with a shake of my head. "Let me guess: it's yours."

I look up and nod. It's my SUV, and I know damn well that before we left Jersey, there was absolutely not a tracker on it.

So when was it added?

"Call Miles. Give him everything you can off this tracker, then that fuckwad's info. I got the license plate number. You said he's a journalist?"

I nod, already scrolling to find Miles's number. "A tabloid rag, but a journalist all the same. He's been at a few of the events, and every article he writes, he bashes Ava."

"You think there's something more there."

"I know it," I say, as I hit Miles's number and bring it to my ear.

It's going to be a long fucking night.

FORTY-FIVE

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