“They’re treating it like a crime?”
“They’re treating it like an escalation of a pattern,” Gage said. “She’ll be able to use it when we find out who it is. Restrainingorder first. Prosecution… You know how she felt about that last time.”
“And we’re dealing with the age-old question that has always tripped her up,” Vivian added. “When does stalking a celebrity become a crime? Until the last few days, asking her to retire didn’t amount to a tenth of the vitriol thrown at her and at most women online. No one on her team would have noticed if the messaging hadn’t been so consistently odd.”
“Odd,” he muttered. “Well, now the line has been crossed. She reasonably fears for her safety. That’s the ticket for a restraining order.” Rhys glanced at Jules, who wanted to do her hair and makeup and make a big fuss for dinner tonight. “She wants to hit the town tonight. Put on a big show with a big middle finger to whoever’s messing with her.”
“Do it,” Gage said.
Rhys scowled. “I’m sorry. What?”
“I agree,” Vivian added. “With everything Dean has learned, it’s clear her stalker isn’t on St. Barts. Keep her with you. In public but away from people. Go out to dinner. Let the paparazzi see you. Let her send a message to whoever’s messing with her, then we’ll have you out on a jet tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah. Don’t tell anyone. Go out. Have fun. Then hightail it off the island when no one’s the wiser.”
Dragging Jules off this island would be impossible. She might ignore a huge problem, but she didn’t run away. She didn’t hide. Jules was a woman who’d faced certain humiliation at the altar and made a calculated decision to walk out, then very publicly enjoy her honeymoon with her bodyguard. “Asking her to leave early will be a problem.”
“You have until after dinner to fix that.”
Rhys snorted.
Silence hung on the line.
“And go where? Back to California, straight into the arms of whoever this is? That’s a shit idea.”
“Good thing we don’t traffic in shit ideas,” Vivian muttered.
“You’re going to have to enlighten me, boss.”
“Head here.”
Here? As in there?“Granite Creek?”
“The last place anyone would look for Jules Lowry. A place where everyone watches out for everyone, yet somehow, no one ever sees a damn thing.”
Rhys turned toward the ladies, who stood at the sliding glass door with their arms crossed, aggravated that he’d left them inside. “We’re going to put that motto to the test.”
“Sounds like fun.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jules laid a wad of bills on the table. The resort might insist on comping everything from her stay to her meals, but she doubted they were as generous with the workforce that kept the place running smoothly.
She plastered an angelic smile on her face, directed her ire toward Rhys, and ignored Abigail. They’d teamed up against her. Jules needed a different approach if she had any chance of spending the next week on her island vacation with Rhys.
They hadn’t even slept together. It was stupid, especially after what had transpired earlier with Chad Montgomery, but that was the first thought she had. A dull ache thudded in her chest. She wasn’t ready for this game with Rhys to end. “In no uncertain terms am I flying to Virginia tonight.”
“Well, you’re not going home,” Rhys countered.
“And you’re not staying here,” Abigail added.
Titan was going to pack her into a lonely safe house filled with granola and board games. Security cameras would follow herevery move. Not to mention Rhys would be on his home turf. He wouldn’t stay with her. They might not even speak of this week ever again. “Then I’ll take my honeymoon-turned-sister-moon-turned-paparazzi-stunt to another island. Or Europe.” He’d have to go with her. Yes, it was a little—or a lot—pathetic, but that was between her and her thoughts. “It might not be all fun in the sun, but I am not hiding.”
“Yeah, you are, sweetness.”
Jules glared at the nickname. Abigail grinned.
