When Kiley first stayed at the house in Mount Charleston with Zaid and me, I told Zaid that she was hacking his security system. Instead of retaliation, he had offered her a job. But after that, we couldn’t be amiable, no matter how hard we tried. If I considered Zaid a father figure, Kiley was the sibling rivalry I never had. She could be grating.
“It’s Hazel,” I paused, “She’s been receiving anonymous messages that have been increasingly aggressive.”
Her voice perked up. “Hazel Maben?”
“Yes.”
So she knew Hazel. Most members of the Afterglow knew Eric’s followers by name. And when it came to the followers that were brave enough to cross over the boundary into our territory, they kept a watchful eye on them. Even now, with Eric gone.
Hazel was no exception to that rule. A few people knew it was pure circumstance that had led to Dean’s death. But that fact didn’t matter to most. Including the stalker.
“Is that a problem?” I asked.
“I don’t care who you’re obsessing over,” Kiley laughed. “Hazel is the same as any person with a past.”
That was right. Kiley had her own past that haunted her. It was how she had first met Zaid.
“So tell me,” Kiley said. “What’s the plan?”
I filled her in on the messages, reading the verbatim copies of the notes, and agreed to send her the pictures and the tracking device information as well. “I’ve made a list of names,” I said. “People at the Afterglow the night she received the picture in the club. Our assailant was there. Or someone associated with them.” I looked at the computer, scrutinizing the picture of that night, looking for clues. “You and Lily are in the background.”
“Seriously? You think we give a crap about Hazel?”
She was missing the point. “You were there. You saw whoever took the picture.”
“I’m not a damn idiot,” she said. “I was screwing with you. How many names?”
I counted quickly. “Nineteen.”
“Nineteen?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Double the price and it’s not.”
Fine. Whatever it took to get the information. “Pay special attention to Christine Harris and Oliver Mitchell,” I said.
“Aye aye, captain,” she said and hung up.
***
Back at the apartment, Hazel was sitting at the kitchen counter, her feet propped on the neighboring stool, texting. Short shorts did a poor job of hiding her legs, purple marks striping her thighs. She wore my marks proudly. And that filled me with pride too.
But it wasn’t time for that.
“You’re finally back,” she said. She sat up, resting her elbows on the counter. “Did you enjoy the class?”
That was right. Today would have been a lecture for the rock and roll class. “I was at the office.”
“I didn’t know you had a day job,” she said. I didn’t, nor was it a traditional office, but a computer closet in a dungeon. But we could forget those details for now. “How was it?”
She leaned forward, waiting for my answer. There was no sarcasm in her voice. She cared?
Her phone rattled on the counter. She smiled seeing the sender’s name and opened it.
“Who are you texting?” I asked.
“Christine,” she said. Or Renee Harris, I thought. “We’re talking about her new job. She’s working on Fremont Street. At one of those bartending flair gigs.”
