Page 34 of Blurred Lines

“You’re sure he’s the guy?” Dawson asked.

“Ninety percent.”

Markus Steeger lived in a small detached home in Hermosa Beach that, according to the property records Cris’s investigator had unearthed this afternoon, the man had inherited from his mom. The instant Cris had laid eyes on Markus yesterday, the pieces had slotted into place. The man had the right physical attributes, including the distinctive trio of moles on his left hand. He spent time around Lauren. And when she was engrossed in her work, he watched her with a focus bordering on obsession, chewing his nails absentmindedly as he did so. Mario had been closer than she’d ever suspected.

Cristian had planned to visit Markus’s home alone tonight, once Lauren was safely accompanied by Dawson and Violet and some dude named Lucas. But when Dawson had asked earlier how the search for Lauren’s stalker was going, Cris had opted not to lie to him. Dawson protected Lauren like a sister, and a lie would breach the fragile trust Dawson had shown in him as the newcomer to their little group.

So Cris had told the truth, and when he’d summarised the details of his search for Mario, Dawson had insisted on accompanying him for this evening’s excursion.

If Violet had been dating anyone but Dawson Masters, former Navy SEAL and all-around legend, Cris would have risked the man’s future ire and fibbed, but Dawson could actually be helpful tonight. Cris knew him only by reputation, but that reputation was formidable. He’d been a part of numerous overseas operations, including one that had rescued a friend of Cris’s from a hostage situation in Syria. Plus he’d broken Senator Presley’s nose. There wasn’t a member of military personnel, alive or dead, who didn’t think that particular member of the Senate Armed Services Committee was a prick. Presley and his cronies had pushed through so many cost-cutting bills, it was a miracle marines weren’t going into battle armed with catapults. The bureaucratic wrangling had been a major factor in Cris’s decision not to stick around and finish his twenty years.

But he respected Masters, and from what he’d seen of the guy so far, he liked him too.

“No lights,” Dawson observed.

The street outside Steeger’s home was quiet, and the two men had crept into the yard under cover of darkness. The subterfuge took Cris back to his military days, when he’d snuck up on the enemy with only one goal—get them before they get you. Tonight’s task would be easier, but the goal was no less important. At one time, he’d fought for his country, and now he fought for the woman he loved.

“Can’t hear a dog either,” he whispered to Dawson.

After Cris had tailed Steeger home from the café this morning, he’d walked past the house twice, then he’d climbed the hill behind the property and watched the place for an hour. Steeger had been twitchy in Café au LA, constantly checking the door until he came to the conclusion that Lauren wasn’t going to show up. Then he’d drained his coffee and left. Cris had monitored him from the dive bar opposite, sitting among the day drinkers who couldn’t function without alcohol pulsing through their veins. How Steeger had happened across Lauren was still a mystery, but his fixation wasn’t. Lauren was an unwitting temptress.

Perhaps Steeger had dropped in for lunch at the café one day the same way Cris had? Or maybe he’d spotted her on the street and followed her? Whatever, his infatuation stopped right now.

The house was run-down, the yard overgrown, and the roof in desperate need of repair. Bad for Steeger, good for Cris and Dawson. There were no security lights, and there didn’t appear to be an alarm system. With any luck, the locks would be shit too.

“I’m gonna take a closer look,” Cris said.

They’d already discussed the logistics, and both men wore earpieces—civilian models rather than military, but they’d get the job done. Now Cris called Dawson, who was the designated lookout seeing as Cris had significantly more experience at breaking and entering than he’d ever admit. His past was well-hidden, thanks to his father, who’d acted not out of altruism but because he didn’t want his name sullied by a son with a criminal record. Reputation had been important to Matt Garza. Captain Rybecki of the LAPD found himself with a lifetime membership at the Canyon Hills Golf Club, and all records of Cris’s single arrest had been quietly lost well over a decade ago. In return for the clean-up job, Cris had agreed to join the military to “learn some discipline.”

Was Cris ashamed of his past? No. His motives had been well-founded, even if his actions were illegal. The gang he’d been a member of, the Robin Hoods, had spent their free time relieving the rich of their trinkets and redistributing their wealth to the poor. Who the fuck needed solid gold bathroom fittings anyway?

These days, he mostly adhered to the law, and he redistributed wealth in a different way. Well-heeled folks threw money at Planet Health, and he gave half of his annual income to charity. That still left him with more money than he’d ever spend, but now that he had Lauren, he’d make sure she was taken care of. Not with diamonds and rubies but with love and financial security.

Cris had never forgotten how to pick a lock, probably because he still practised regularly, and he made short work of Markus Steeger’s back door. The kitchen was a mess of dirty dishes—housekeeping clearly wasn’t the asshole’s strong point—and the place reeked of stale Chinese food. Something small skittered across the floor. A mouse? A cockroach? Cris turned on a flashlight, keeping the beam low, which gave him enough light to see by. And holy fuck, he hit pay dirt in the master bedroom. The space was a shrine to Lauren. Her face was everywhere. Steeger had printed every photograph of her ever uploaded to the internet and stuck them to his walls, and he’d snapped some of his own too. There she was in Café au LA, preoccupied with whatever she was writing in her book of dirty secrets.

The most recent photos were on the right-hand side of the room, and they were also the most disturbing. Her face had been cropped out and stuck onto porn scenes, Steeger’s too. Many of the images were truly disgusting, the women chained and bloody.

“Incoming,” Dawson said.

“Is it him?”

“Ten seconds… Yes. Get out.”

“No way. This asshole is sprung. He’s sick in the fucking head, and he needs to be taught a lesson.”

The cops wouldn’t do it. A stalking conviction was unlikely, seeing as Lauren thought she was friends with the guy. He’d get a slap on the wrist, nothing more. Cris could sue the ass off him in civil court for the dick pics, but Lauren would have to testify, and he didn’t want to put her through that. Plus there was no guarantee of success. People slipped through the cracks—Cris knew that from personal experience. Cops could be bought. What if Steeger wasn’t appropriately deterred? Even if he left Lauren alone, there was the risk he might fixate on a different woman, and the cycle would start again. No, Steeger needed the ever-loving fuck scared out of him. And Cris was the man to do it.

“He’s approaching the door.”

Good.

Cris waited in the shadows and took a steadying breath as the key rattled in the lock. Lauren had been damn close with her assessment of Mr. Hotly—he had fought MMA in his spare time, at least until Planet Health took off and his spare time dwindled to nothing for several years.

When Steeger stepped through the door, Cris propelled him forward into the wall opposite. Oorah. There was a satisfying crack as the drywall gave way.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He spun Steeger around and followed up with a knee to the balls and six quick jabs to the stomach, then stepped to the side as the man threw up. Dawson appeared and pulled a face as he skirted the pool of vomit.

---