Page 17 of The Bombshell and the Bodyguard
A blanket covered his face, but a few strands of blond hair peeked out. On the pillow next to him was an enlarged photo of Jessica’s face from a spread in Vanity Fair.
“This is weird,” the newly arrived detective said. “Some kind of fantasy role-play? But it could be helpful. I can’t believe he left it behind.”
I nodded in agreement. “It’s definitely a lucky break. I must have surprised him by entering the house. My guess is that he’d set these things down while dealing with the security guard in the foyer.”
“Maybe he dropped them in the struggle?”
“I didn’t see any signs of a struggle. I’ll bet toxicology will find Rohypnol in those coffee cups.”
“You think the rope was for the guard too?”
I matched the officer’s grim expression. “No. I don’t.”
“Yeah, me either.”
“From the looks of those photos, he’s been getting bolder and bolder, working his way toward a bigger event,” I said. “I think he’s been amping himself up to take her—and that he’d decided last night was the night.”
“Any thoughts on who it could be?” the detective asked.
“No, I just took over her security today. My people are speaking with her former company to see if they have any likely suspects. In the meantime, I’m going to send her somewhere safe with my best guy.”
“Where’s safe? This stalker seems to have a bead on all her movements.”
“That’s why she’s going to make an unexpected one,” I said.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, I was standing outside the door of Gray Lupine’s townhouse in Eastport Bay’s Harbor district.
The briny smell of ocean air soothed my agitated senses but did nothing to lessen my impatience.
I raised my hand to knock again just as Gray yanked open the door.
“What is it? What’s happening?” My buddy’s usually neat hair was in disarray, sticking up all over his head. He wore only a pair of long shorts, his dark eyes bleary.
Without a shirt, the network of tattoos stretching across his chest and shoulders was visible in the low lamplight. He’d gotten in late from a gig on the West Coast and had probably only gone to bed an hour or two earlier.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course. I love company at four-thirty a.m.” Gray said in a surly tone. “Feels like the good old days. Are we gonna pay a surprise visit to the Taliban or something?”
“No but youaregonna have to get dressed and pack—you’re going away for a while.”
“What? Where? I thought you wanted me on the Hood project. You said it was priority number one.”
“Yeah, well there’s a new priority. Jessica Bailey was nearly abducted tonight, and you’re going to get her out of town and stay with her until we find the guy who’s after her.”
All traces of grogginess cleared from Gray’s eyes. “The pop star? You serious?”
“Always am. He broke into her house on Atlantic Avenue tonight—had roofies, rope, and a camera—the works. I’m pretty sure he was still there when I got there, but he slipped away.”
Gray whistled. “Wow. What alerted you? An alarm? I thought she turned down the deal to take over her security.”
“She did. She called me when the alarm went off.”
Gray gave me a funny look but only said, “I see.”
I carried on, all business. “I spoke to the pilot. It’s wheels up at nine a.m. so you’re gonna need to pack fast and then meet with Frasier to go over the Hood project details. He’ll be taking over while you’re gone.”
