Page 59 of Fabulous Filthy Friend

If they somehow figured out my real name, it wouldn’t take much to find me. A simple Google search would bring up the firm’s website and an entire profile on me. And our parking spaces down here are labeled with our names, so it wouldn’t take any real planning to try to locate my vehicle.

The slashed tires could be written off as anything. A disgruntled former employee. A pissed-off client who lost money in the crash. Maybe even somebody who hates BMW owners because they think they’re rich pricks. Which I definitely am not. If I were rich, I wouldn’t need to be HRD4U.

I didn’t worry too much about that because I had written it off as some weird fluke. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before, and there was no reason to think it was something to actually worry about. No real direct threat, at least.

But this is a very specific message. One directed at a very particular part of my life.

Shit.

I rub the back of my neck. As far as I know, no one else knows about what I do…except Father Lafayette, and I doubt he’s coming all the way down here to my parking structure to desecrate my car in hopes that I’ll reform my sinful ways.

“Kinda strange—first the tires and now this.” Dan comes to stand beside me. “Any idea who did it?”

“Not a fucking clue.”

All I do know is something is definitely up.

I reach out, run my fingers through the glossy red marring my car, bring it to my nose, and sniff it. “At least it’s paint and not blood.”

Dan chuckles, but the humor doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m serious, man. What are you gonna do? Somebody seems pretty pissed at you.”

I sigh and nod while rubbing the paint between my fingers. “Yeah. They do.”

But it’s not like I can report this to the cops. If I file a police report and tell them that I think it was one of my viewers, I’d be outing myself to the entire Redondo Beach Police Department—at best—and at worst, somebody else could get a hold of the police report and make it public. Considering what a small town and tight-knit community we are, this information would spread like wildfire once someone knows.

I can’t risk that. “I’ll check with building security to see if they have any cameras that caught anything suspicious.” I turn and check our parking level. “I don’t see any down here. I think they may just be at the entrance and exit.”

Dan scans the area and nods. “And they did it early enough that no one coming out for lunch would catch them. Pretty smart, actually.”

That’s what worries me.

This isn’t random.

And it’s related to a part of my life that must stay private.

I need to be more careful and double-check all the safeguards I have in place for my identity—the company name and PO box tied to the website, the voice distortion software. And I have to review every live video I’ve ever done and every single photo I’ve ever posted to make sure nothing inadvertently ID’d me.

But I know there isn’t. I’m meticulously careful about this.

Still, I need to check.

I pull my phone out of my pocket. But for right now, I need to find a detailing service that can come clean up my car.

Dan sighs and stares at the angry message. “So, I guess you’re not going to lunch?”

I shake my head. “Sorry. Suddenly lost my appetite. And hey…”

He turns to me with an eyebrow raised.

“Please don’t say anything about this to Rach if you talk to her. I don’t want to worry her.”

* * *

RACHEL

The seven Chinese takeout containers lie open on my counter, and I stare down at my empty plate, smeared with various remnants of the deliciousness now sitting like lead in my stomach.

As always, I ordered way too much food.

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