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"What shit?" Zion asks.
"Cameras. She has a stalker. He's been leaving her fucked up little gifts."
"How fucked up?" Zayne wants to know.
I pull up the poem on my phone and toss it to him before striding to the supply closet to grab a couple security cameras to hang around her apartment. The complex probably won't allow me to hang any around outside, but no one said I couldn't put them up inside her place in case anyone breaks in. I'm also going to rig one up to hide by her front door somehow. Maybe in a plant or something inconspicuous. She's on the first floor so she has an outside entrance to her apartment.
I also grab alarms for all of the windows. Home security systems are great, but the reality is that they're ineffective when used alone. Most monitoring companies just don't give a shit. Half of the time, they don't even have updated contact information for their clients. They collect their fees, call in alarms to the PD, and call it a day. It's not enough, especially when the PD is tied up on other calls. It may be an hour before anyone is able to respond to an alarm call. Motherfuckers with bad intentions know this. They've done it long enough to be aware they've got time to get in, grab shit, and get out.
But if you make enough noise, someone notices. Window alarms like these make a whole helluva lot of noise if they're set off. It's usually enough to scare off anyone trying to break in, especially in areas like apartment complexes where they're more likely to be caught.
If this motherfucker wants to get in, he's going to have to work for it.
"Jesus Christ," Zayne breathes after reading the poem. "That's fucked."
"That's not even the worst of it. He left a dead songbird at her front door a few days ago. Wrapped it up in a gift box with a bow on it."
"Fucking hell," Zion mutters. "And you left her alone?"
"Nah. She's at the studio, surrounded by her band and producers. She'll be there all day. They're working on her first album." Wild horses wouldn't have dragged me from that studio if I thought she was in any danger. But the studio is closed, meaning no one without authorization is getting in. Kenna knows not to even step foot outside without me. She's as safe as she can be without me breathing down her neck.
And right now, she doesn't need me breathing down her neck. She needs to do her job, and I need to do mine. She needs to know that she can trust me not to drop the ball just because we're mixing business and pleasure. This is foreign territory for both of us, but she's the one taking a big leap of faith here. Not just because she's afraid of things ending badly, but because this is her career and her future at stake. If I fuck up, it's her life on the line.
That's not a risk I'm willing to take with her. My job isn't just protecting her. It's protecting everything she's worked to accomplish. She has to know not only that she's safe, but that everything she's worked for matters to me. She hasn't sacrificed as much as she has just to watch it slip through her fingers now because I wasn't careful enough or didn't take it seriously enough. Women are asked to choose between love and their careers all the time. I won't be the motherfucker forcing her to make the same choice. She will have both.
Love. Jesus. Is that really what I want from her? Her heart?
Is it even a question? Fuck yeah, that's what I want. I won't settle for anything less.
"Any suspects?"
"Not yet. I just took the case yesterday."
"Mmhmm. And I know how you operate," Zion says, leaning against the wall beside the closet. "You've got a sixth sense for shit like this."
"I'm not sure if it's her manager or a fan," I mutter.
"It's usually a fan."
"You haven't seen the way her manager looks at her."
"He's fucking her?"
"He's not fucking her," I growl, narrowing my eyes at Zayne.
He and Zion share a telling look. I don't say a word. We'll have a conversation eventually, but not today. Right now, I want to keep what's happening between me and Kenna just between the two of us. It's ours. No one else has a place or a say in it, not even my brothers.
"So he wants to fuck her," Zayne says after a moment.
I shoot him a death glare. "He's not fucking her. Doesn't matter what he wants. She's not interested."
"Okay then," he says, looking at me like I've lost my damn mind. Shit, maybe I have. Hell if I know. But I don't want to think about another man putting his hands on her. I don't want to even think about one considering putting his hands on her. The fact that her prick of a manager wants to sleep with her pisses me off.
But does it make him guilty of anything more than being an asshole who preys on his clients? I don't know. The jury is still out on that one.
"I need you to look into him for me," I order Zion. "See what you can dig up."
"Send me what you've got on him and I'll take a look," my younger brother agrees.
