Page 16 of The Bombshell and the Bodyguard
Taking Jessica’s arm, I turned her toward the kitchen. “Want some water or something? You should probably have some.”
Hopefully she hadn’t seen it too.
The coil of paracord—sometimes used to bind or choke victims—lying near the spot where the unconscious security guard had lain at the base of the stairs. There was also a digital camera.
I exchanged a significant glance with one of the officers before guiding Jessica away from the disturbing sight. I’d tell her about it eventually, but for right now I didn’t want her to be any more frightened than necessary.
After a few minutes, the female officer joined us in the kitchen. She was holding the camera in her gloved hands.
“Miss Bailey, would you mind taking a look at this?”
“At what?”
The officer held out the camera with its display screen facing Jessica. “Do you recognize anything in these photos? It looks like some of them might have been taken inside the house.”
While I watched from over Jessica’s shoulder, the officer scrolled through the camera’s photo inventory with a gloved fingertip. I heard Jessica’s breath fracture.
“Yes. That’s my home gym. And the last one was the sunroom. But these were taken during the daytime.” Glancing up at the officer she asked, “What does that mean? Was he in the house already when I got here today?”
“He could have been here on a previous day, casing the place,” the woman suggested. “It looks like he is a cat burglar, because the other photos are from different houses.”
She stopped scrolling and dropped the camera to her side.
Jessica let out a gasp, reaching for the device. “Wait—let me see it again. Go back.”
Her body started quaking so hard I could feel it from my stance behind her. Her voice shook as well.
“That’s... that’s my house in Malibu. And that one’s from my place in Aspen. These are all frominsidemy houses. Oh my God, this one’s from my apartment in Manhattan. It has a twenty-four-hour doorman and needs a special elevator key to access. How did he get these? When was heinsideall my houses?”
Now she turned her head and looked up at me, her green eyes wide with panic. “Wilder?”
Obviously she expected me to have some answers. I didn’t. But I was sure as fuck going to get some.
I turned her to face me and gripped her shoulders lightly. “Don’t worry. We’ll find out, and we’re going to get this guy. I know people in each of those places, and I’ll get someone on it right away.”
“But how does he know so much about me? What is he doing in my homes? What does he want?” Her voice seemed to go up an octave with each successive question.
I cupped one of her cheeks in my hand. “I don’t know, hummingbird. We’ll figure it out. And in the meantime, I don’t want you to worry. You’re going to be safe.”
“How can you say that?” she asked. “How do you know?”
“Because my firm is taking over your security.”
Chapter Six
My Own Personal Hell
Wilder
With all the celebrity clients I dealt with, I’d seen numerous stalker cases, and I knew the difference between a minor threat and a major one.
This guy was off the charts.
After Jessica had left with Hap and Rachel—with a two-man detail I’d assigned to protect them until I joined them myself for the night—I went through the rest of the camera’s contents with the police detectives.
There were more interior shots of Jessica’s properties. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The one that chilled me to the bone was a selfie of the stalker in Jessica’s bed with his head resting on her pillow.
