Hidden with you, p.5
Hidden With You, page 5
Except after another thirty minutes of burning eyeballs staring at a screen, he still hadn’t found either of the men. He’d risked his job and his reputation by using Stark Security’s access to the data network for the SOC—the Sensitive Operations Command—a black ops organization that answered to the Pentagon. And if anyone there realized that he’d done so without prior authorization—and for his own personal gain—there would be some serious hell to pay.
It would be worth it. If it led to Sandra and Bonnie’s killer, it would be worth any price.
Except, dammit, he’d found nothing.
A wasted risk and a wasted morning. Well, fu—
“Trouble with the database?”
Jasper had been working covert operations almost since he’d been out of nappies. Even so, he jumped a mile at the polite voice behind him. He turned around to find himself facing a lanky man with a bland smile and thick red hair cut so short he looked like a new recruit to the military.
“Trying to dig up some background on a case,” Jasper said. He clicked off his monitor as he spun his chair around. “I’m Jasper Kent. Second day.”
“I know.” The man extended his hand. “Owen Porter. Research and Analysis. I didn’t think you’d been assigned a case yet.”
Jasper laughed, wondering if anyone would notice if he just broke Owen’s neck and shoved him in the office supply closet. Probably.
Instead, he cleared his throat. “Yeah, nothing yet, but I’m looking to impress. Thought I’d see if I could make progress on a dead file. Probably a foolish idea. It’s only day two. I’m sure I’ll get a formal assignment today.”
“Probably,” Owen agreed, grabbing a rolling chair from the nearest desk. He plunked down in it, then rolled closer to Jasper. “But that’s the kind of initiative they appreciate around here. Let me help you.”
“Help?” He forced a smile. “Great. I mean, yeah, that would be great.” Hell, maybe it would be. “But, um, I don’t want to announce that I’m doing this, then have it go nowhere. Not the impressive result I want to present to the boss, you know?”
“Mum’s the word,” Owen said. “Honestly, I’ve spent the last week mapping coordinates so Linda and Winston can track a couple of smugglers across Europe. It’s mind numbing, but I’m supposed to be focused. The thing is, I can only be focused so long before my brain melts. I need a break. You need help. Sounds like a recipe for success to me, and we both have reason to stay quiet.” He flashed a smile. “Trust me when I say it’s no more legit for me to access the SOC database than you without proper authorization on the file. I go in, and we really are in this together.”
“In that case, Owen, by all means. Let’s go to hell together.”
“Come over to my desk,” Owen said. “Nothing suspicious about me on their interface. But right now, about the only thing you should be investigating is—well, I can’t think of anything witty, but do me a solid and pretend.”
“Hell of a sense of humor you’ve got there,” Jasper said, liking Owen more and more. He followed the analyst to his desk, pulled up a chair, and settled in.
By the time the office started to fill up around nine, he had two leads on a bookkeeper named Raleigh who’d recently relocated to the States. Even better, Owen had managed to find a reference to a known assassin who often used the codename Maestro. No location—not yet—but Owen promised to keep working on it.
“Thanks,” Jasper said. “I mean it. I just might end up solving that cold case and impressing the boss.”
Owen nodded slowly. “You just might. Of course, you’ll have something meatier to work on soon, I’m sure. No reason to continue playing with a cold case.”
“I finish what I start.”
Owen leaned back in his chair, those pale blue eyes hard on Jasper. When he spoke, his words said, “Good for you.” His tone and his eyes said, What’s the real story?
Jasper waited for the man to voice that actual question, and when he didn’t, Jasper took a step toward his desk.
“Hang on,” Owen said.
Jasper drew in a breath as he took a quick self-assessment. Only when he was certain he’d give nothing away did he turn back around. “Yeah?”
“There’s overlap, isn’t there?”
“What do you mean?” Jasper asked. He knew exactly what Owen meant.
Owen hesitated before answering, looking around to make sure that no one else was close enough to hear. “Raleigh. The Maestro. There’s overlap with a case you had before. At MI6. The one that got away, and I bet it’s been eating at you. So you pulled a cold case, told me there’s a connection, and now you’re digging in.”
Steady. Steady.
He waited five beats, giving himself time to assess the possible repercussions of each possible answer. Ultimately, he decided on the truth. Or, at least, the version of the truth that Owen had concocted.
“You’re very good at what you do,” Jasper said.
“I’m an analyst. I analyze.”
“And now? Planning a conversation with Ryan?”
“Actually, I’m planning on helping you. Assuming you want my help.”
Jasper hesitated only long enough to really take this guy in. A shotgun assessment, but one in which Owen came out on top. “All right. Good. Thank you.”
Jasper started to turn away again when Owen added, “They putting you up at the Stark Century?”
Jasper nodded. “For the time being.”
“That won’t last forever. Then you either have to foot the bill to live in one of this city’s most expensive hotels, or you find another place to live.”
“I’ve been checking message boards. I’m just looking for a room right now. No lease until I know the city better. Figure out where I want to live, although I’m already partial to the beach.”
“I’ve got a place in Venice. Bedroom, bath, and open area. Great porch.” He nodded at a box of cigars on his desk. San Cristobal Ovations, an excellent brand with a beautiful brightly colored label featuring a parrot.
“Those came yesterday. Smoked them for years, then gave it up, but now I’m thinking a cigar, some whiskey, good conversation. You could come over one evening, check the place out, have a drink.” He shrugged. “I’m new in town, too, so…”
“A cigar and a drink sounds great.”
“Perfect. Second floor of my condo could be all yours. I could use a roommate.”
“Really?” Jasper started to ask why—maybe Owen was just overly friendly, maybe he was lonely, maybe he was gay, but maybe there was something else going on. Before he could frame the question, he was interrupted by Ryan’s voice from across the room.
“Jasper, with me. Grab your coat.”
“Think about it,” Owen said. “We’ll talk later. In the meantime, I’ll keep poking around. Chatter. Dark web. Whatever I can find.”
“Good man,” Jasper said, then snapped his computer off and hurried to follow his boss.
Chapter Seven
A hard rage ripped through Jasper as he clutched the threat—now sealed in a clear plastic envelope—tight in his hand. He felt like a spring, ready to lash out and pummel whoever had sent the vile note. But since that wasn’t possible, he paced the short distance from one side of Zelda Clayton’s living area to the other, trying without success to burn off some of his fury.
When Ryan first told them where they were going, Jasper hadn’t been sure if the assignment would be a nightmare or a dream.
Then Ryan had filled him in on the threatening note. After that, there was no way to categorize this clusterfuck as anything other than a nightmare.
“This is Jasper Kent,” Ryan had said when they’d first arrived, and in that moment, Jasper knew that he should have had at least another hour to prepare. Ten would have been better. Because there was something about this woman. Something that shifted him just a little off-kilter. And damned if he hadn’t felt happy—fucking happy—to be there, even though the only reason he was seeing her again was that someone had threatened her life.
God, he was a prick.
Apparently she hadn’t clued into the full extent of his asshole tendencies, because she’d reached out and taken his hand, hers soft against his calloused palm. “Nice to put a name to the face.”
“You two met at the party?” Ryan asked.
“We chatted briefly,” she said, then offered him a winning smile. “I’d hoped for more, but you know how parties are. I’m so glad to see you now, Mr. Kent. I feel much safer with you—both of you—here.”
“Call me Jasper, please. Mr. Kent makes me sound like my father.” He said the words firmly, wanting to remind himself why he’d walked away.
“All right,” she said. “Call me Zelda.”
He nodded, thankful for the way she was dressed. Sweatpants and a tee—nothing provocative in the least. And her hair hung in two braids over her ears. The style accentuated her eyes, wide mouth, and the smattering of adorable freckles on her nose. The style also made her look about sixteen. Which was just fine, he told himself. He wanted all the reminders he could get of the gap in their ages. Because thinking about that was a hell of a lot better than recalling last night’s dream.
He cleared his throat, then held up the note. The side with the target and the word DEAD was facing him, and an icy fury formed in his veins. “Tell us again how you got this,” he said, working to keep his voice level and businesslike as he faced Zelda. He shot a quick glance toward Ryan, checking to make sure his boss was genuinely cool with Jasper jumping into the thick of it.
On their way over, Ryan had said that he wanted Jasper to take point. “A way for me to get to know your personality in the field with a client.” And wasn’t it just Jasper’s luck that the first client out of the gate was the only woman in years who had truly managed to get under his skin.
“It was in the mail,” Zelda began, explaining how she’d come in to find the mail on her table.
You.
The words from the threat echoed in his head under Zelda’s words.
“There wasn’t postage, but I didn’t think anything of that. Honestly, I’m not even sure I noticed until I saw the note and looked for a return address.”
Dead.
How the hell had someone so easily maneuvered this threat into her home? How was that possible on this huge compound in one of the most expensive and presumably well-protected gated communities in all of the Los Angeles area?
Soon.
He was still trying to wrap his head around the reality of where and how Zelda lived, but he was having a hell of a time. It shouldn’t be this hard. He wasn’t awed by generational wealth or by the trappings of royalty. He’d visited much richer and more luxurious estates. But this private, new money home was palatial, and she didn’t even live in the main house. Instead, it sat empty while she lived in a tiny guest cottage.
The whole situation was odd, and he wanted to unravel the mystery of where she chose to live and sleep as much as the question of who sent the note.
And he wanted to keep Zelda close while doing both.
She was still by the sofa, and he took a step toward her, then paused. He didn’t want to get too close. Didn’t want to risk her or Ryan seeing his thoughts. He might have walked away last night because she was too damn young, but apparently his subconscious was undeterred. His thoughts had stayed on her, only to surface last night in sensual dreams in which he’d touched her, tasted her, filled her. He’d awakened with a rock-hard cock and the taste of her pussy on his lips and—
“—come?”
“What? Sorry?” He jolted back to reality, his entire body on edge, both from the memory and the fear that any part of it had shown on his face. Or anywhere.
“I said that Tricia’s back from the grocery store. I can go ask her about the envelope, and did you want to come?” Her face didn’t change. Not really. But he was certain he saw laughter in her eyes.
He cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders, stalling as he gathered his thoughts. “I’ll want to talk to her, but presumably it was left in the mailbox or at the main gate into the subdivision. So I’ll need to talk to the guard there, too. And look at your security feed. I presume you have cameras at the gate entrances to your property? How big is this place, anyway?”
“Yes to the cameras. And the cottage is only eleven hundred square feet. But the house is twelve thousand. Well, closer to thirteen, but I round down. I mean, the place is freaking huge,” she continued, her tone managing to be both cavalier and awed, and he liked her all the more for it.
“We have ten acres total,” she added. “There’s a pool, a pavilion, a tennis court, a ten-car detached garage, a helipad, a small orchard, and a huge garden with a walking path. Oh, and the koi pond.”
“All enclosed?”
She nodded. “A fence tied into the security system, and a hedgerow. And, yes, cameras.” She shrugged. “You probably could have gotten all that from Zillow, but happy to help.”
He shot a glance at her, then looked back down before she saw his smile. “Like I said, we’ll want the security feed.”
“You can have it,” she assured him. “But I already looked. I can access it all from my laptop. That’s what I was doing before you came.”
“And?” He glanced at Ryan to see if the other man had any comments, but his boss only lifted his phone, then motioned that he was stepping outside.
“Just you and me,” Zelda said once the door closed behind Ryan.
“And we have work to do.”
She took a step toward him. “Listen, Jasper. About last night…”
“We have work to do,” Jasper repeated. “Important work to keep you safe. So tell me what you saw.”
She drew in a breath, as if preparing for a new assault, but then her shoulders relaxed. “Fine. I didn’t see anything, honestly. Nothing odd along our fence line, and the only car that stopped at our drive was the mailman. I couldn’t see what he put into the box, but I can’t imagine he’d deliver something with no postage. Plus, the envelope only had my first name and the street address. No city or zip code.”
Jasper nodded. He’d noticed that as well. “My guess is that someone left it with the guard at the gate to the subdivision, and he brought it to your box himself or had a runner.”
She nodded. “Exactly. I talked to Frank—he mans the gate most days. He said someone gave him the envelope and asked him to put it in our box. He was going to bring it up at the end of his shift, but when Dalton Carrol rode by, he asked him to do it.”
“Dalton Carrol?”
“Next property over. He’s training for some hundred-mile bike ride, so he rides every day. He usually stops and chats with Frank. I guess Frank’s a biking fan, too. Watches the Tour de France and all that.”
“Any bad blood between your family and the Carrols? Property dispute?”
“Nope. Not a thing. I think he just ended up being the delivery guy.” She wrinkled her nose. “He’s going to feel really shitty about that. Do you have to talk to him?”
“We’ll see. What did Frank say?” He wanted to be irritated. To lecture her on the danger of going out in the world to play detective with a death threat hanging over her. And all of that was true. But the irritation was squashed by genuine respect. Whatever else she might be, the woman knew how to take care of herself. And she didn’t spook easily. Probably came from writing thrillers and getting into the heads of her characters.
“Unfortunately, Frank didn’t have a lot to go on,” she continued. “It’s not that uncommon for someone to drop things at the gate house. Invitations, documents that need to be signed or reviewed, even flowers. It’s easier to accept things at the gate and then have a runner take it to the mailbox. Otherwise, they have to vet every delivery person they let pass, and that’s a huge pain.”
She shrugged. “Despite me being the object lesson in exceptions, security really is tight around here. Like stifling tight sometimes.”
“In other words, Frank has nothing useful to tell us.”
“Unfortunately, you’re right.” She turned her head, making her braids swing. “He thinks it was a guy, and he thinks the guy was wearing a ball cap. But he wouldn’t swear to anything.”
“What about the footage at the gate? It’s still possible it was someone who entered the community legitimately. And statistically, most threats come from someone you know.”
“That might be statistically true, but when you factor in the picture, I think it’s someone who only thinks they know me.”
He frowned. “What are you talking about?” he asked, then immediately held up his hand. “Wait. One thing at a time. The gatehouse camera feed. We need to request it.”
She shook her head. “I already reviewed it, too. Frank gave me the log-in. Nada.”
“No cars?”
“Only five cars in the last twenty-four hours that didn’t already have a bar code, and nobody in those vehicles rang a bell with me. I know a few of the others, of course. They’re neighbors. But we already know none of them stopped at our mailbox, driving or on foot.”
She smiled at him, the bright and perky smile he’d seen her flash at the party. “Listen, Jasper, I called you guys because I wanted another opinion, not a full-on Secret Service thing. I mean, surely this isn’t a credible threat, right? I mean, it’s just some asshole playing with me.”
“Why on earth would you immediately jump to that conclusion?” Jasper said, then did a mental rewind. “Wait. What did you mean earlier when you said that the picture means the sender is someone who thinks they know you?”
“It’s just ... Well, I mean they’re using my book.”
“Your book?” He glanced sideways as Ryan re-entered the condo.
“What about your book?” Ryan asked. “And which one?”
“Intercontinental. The first Martin King book. The one they’re making into a movie,” she added for Jasper’s benefit. “Hang on.”
