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“Great. I’ll be right back with drinks and snacks.”
The second the door closes I jump up and run for the bathroom, stripping off my clothes as I reach over and turn on the shower.
If I’m going to last all night drinking and staring at Mitch Hale, my own living, breathing Johnny Utah, I’m going to have to jerk off before he gets back.
I end up jerking off twice.
Mitch
I shove back from my desk, growling in frustration. Nothing about this case makes sense. Whoever is stalking Gavin Walker is either a genius or a complete schizophrenic. He—and I’m simply running on the assumption that it’s a he—never uses the same postal code twice to send things, hasn’t left a single print or fiber behind, knows how to not only find the band’s hotel, but also Gavin’s specific room number and break in without being detected. Plus, items have mysteriously ended up in Gavin’s dressing room at different concert venues and at the recording studio.
The person behind this is clever and resourceful. That makes the job much more difficult.
Pulling a hand down my face, I sigh. Tomorrow, I start spending every minute of every day with Gavin, pretending to be part of his management team. That means a suit and tie. Every. Damn. Day. My eye twitches and I practically choke thinking about it.
The best way to find this creep is to look for him in plain sight. This isn’t the kind of case I can solve by sitting in front of a computer. A psycho like this needs contact with his victim, no matter how indirect. Eventually, he’ll expose himself and I need to be there when he comes around in order to catch him. Any bodyguards will have to blend in as well, as part of the entourage.
I have to spend all my time with Gavin, and after the other night, I found out that he is a complete and total asshole. He’s good-looking and intriguing and smells good, but an asshole nonetheless.
I snatch up my phone and dial the only friend I have in California.
“Mitch? Hey, sweetie.”
“CeCe, you got a minute?”
I can hear papers rustling on her end of the line.
“I’m at work right now and I’ll probably be working through lunch. How about dinner?”
A muffled male voice says something in the background.
“Sure. The Pointe? My treat.” CeCe can never resist the incredible seafood at her favorite restaurant.
“Hmmm, you must need a favor,” she laughs. “Seven o’clock okay?”
“See you then.”
“Bye, Mitch.”
I check my phone and see it’s only ten-thirty. That gives me plenty of time for a long workout. Instead of going downstairs to my home gym, I head to a nearby tactical training center so I can brush up on my very rusty combat skills. For some reason, I have a feeling I’ll need them.
* * *
“Mitch!”
I stand up as a tall, beautiful blonde woman crosses the patio to my table.
“CeCe, you look great.”
>
She wraps me up in a big, fruit-scented hug.
“You too, hot stuff,” she quips with a grin.
I pull out her chair and help her get settled.
“How’s work?” I ask.
