Page 30 of Chasin’s Surrender

Yeah, we do. But he suspected Nixon wasn’t talking about Genevieve pulling into herself and locking Chasin out.

“And those would be?”

“Case file’s light. Not only that, but shoddy police work.”

“How shoddy?”

“Total shit show. The only report that’s not total crap is the break-in. But that’s only because the fingerprint tech was thorough, as were the crime scene investigators.”

Chasin looked at Genevieve, who’d put a few feet of space between them. He made a decision not to guard her against his reaction or keep information from her. Whatever Bobby’s reasoning for doing so was her business, but Chasin wouldn’t hide anything from her. Not only did she have a right to know what was going on, they needed her to be an active participant.

“You spoke to him, what’s your gut say?”

“He made detective three months before he caught Genevieve’s case. First, I don’t think he’s taking this seriously, considering the last two letters and gifts Bobby turned over weren’t processed, just filed. And he lacks experience, which is why he’s not taking this seriously.”

“Why the hell would they assign a newbie to her case? She’s a celebrity.”

“Her and about fifty other country singers. To them, she’s just another citizen, her celebrity means nothing. Actually, the opposite—she has money and means, she can afford her own security, and unfortunately Loughry—that’s the detective—is looking at this like an annoyance rather than a threat. Though, he did take the break-in a little more seriously. But now that she’s out of his jurisdiction, he sounded relieved.”

“Un-fucking-believable. What’s Bobby say about him?”

“She doesn’t like him—as in, not at all. She says there’s something not right about the man. And that’s a direct quote. The first time he came to the house, he spent more time staring at Genevieve than listening to her explain the situation. After the third time he came out, he spent that visit as an opportunity to catch a glimpse of Genevieve, so Bobby stopped having Genevieve present for the meetings. Which was a good call, but Bobby reports Loughry wasn’t happy about that. As in, at all. He demanded Genevieve’s presence.”

A slither of worry started to twine its way around Chasin’s stomach. He didn’t like any of what Nixon said.

“We need to run a background check on him,” Chasin announced.

“That’s on the top of McKenna’s list for the morning. Something else—the bodyguard that Bobby and Leslie put on Genevieve without her knowledge has done event security for her in the past. His name is Chad Briggs, Leslie’s brother. From what Bobby said, Chad’s former military and works for a lot of Leslie’s clients.”

Chasin took in Genevieve—stiff posture, deep frown, worry clear as day. He needed to end his call so he could reassure her.

“McKenna running Chad, too?” Chasin asked, and Genevieve’s back snapped straight.

“Yeah, right after Loughry.”

“Move Chad up that list. Gotta go brief Genevieve. Call me in the morning.”

“You gonna tell her?”

“I reckon Bobby had her reasons for keeping Genevieve in the dark. I don’t share her opinion. From here on out, Genevieve is kept appraised of everything.”

“I understand what Bobby was trying to do, but I agree with you, Genevieve needs to know what’s going on.”

Chasin was glad his friend agreed, but even if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have hidden anything from Genevieve. And when her frown loosened and her body relaxed, he knew he’d made the right decision.

The woman was stronger than the people around her gave her credit for. There was an underlining sensitivity, but she was no sniveling, spineless twit who needed the people she relied on to treat her as such. Chasin would have no part in that, especially if he wanted to earn her trust—and that was step one.

After that, he’d press for more.

10

It was mid-morning and I was sitting with my laptop on my lap, lounging in the sunroom clicking through emails, procrastinating. I had work to do, but before I locked myself away, I needed to talk to Bobby.

Last night after Chasin briefed me—that’s what he’d called it—he repeated that I was safe and no one could get to me. Weirdly, I felt safe, something I hadn’t experienced in a good long while.

As shitty as the call from Nixon was, it’d gotten me off the hook talking to Chasin about us and what had gone down, so I was grateful. But after Chasin did a walk-through of the house, including the bedroom I was sleeping in, the one where we’d spent hours together exploring every inch of each other’s bodies, he left me to go to bed—alone. Without an alarm and the locks being shit, he was sleeping downstairs on the couch.

I didn’t protest him spending the night, mainly because I wasn’t stupid and knew I needed him there. But I couldn’t deny his presence made me feel better.