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My eyebrows rise. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
Kingston shrugs. “I am. I’m just not dumb enough to fall for it. So, the next question is, if not Peyton, who else would want to hurt you? It has to be someone who knows you. Knows us. And they knew we’d be at the lake.”
“Wouldn’t that be the entire senior class?”
“Pretty much.” Kingston rubs his jaw, wincing when he gets to a discolored spot.
I reach out and brush my fingers against the slight bruising. “You okay?”
His signature, cocky smile comes into place. "You should see the other guy."
I roll my eyes. “Such a douchey thing to say.”
Kingston places his hand over mine before placing a soft kiss on my knuckles. “You hungry? We can grab a bite before we have to meet John.”
I smile. “Yeah, I could eat.”
He nods. “Then, what are we waiting for?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
JAZZ
“John Peterson, meet Jazz Rivera.”
John stands up and shakes my hand. “Jazz, it’s nice to finally meet you.”
“You, too.”
Kingston and I take a seat on the bench across from the private investigator. I thought meeting at Lake Hollywood Park was a rather odd choice for such a private matter, but now that I'm here, it makes sense. Sure, there are tons of people around, but they're all too busy taking selfies in front of the iconic sign or playing with their dogs to pay us any notice.
Everything about John is nondescript. From his name—if that’s even his real name—to his muddy brown hair, lean build, or the polo/chino combo he’s rocking. He’s not a bad looking guy per se—there’s just nothing about him that stands out. He’s completely forgettable, which I suppose comes in handy when you spy on people for a living.
John slides a small reusable grocery bag across the picnic table. “Everything we talked about is in there.”
Kingston takes the bag and briefly peeks inside. “Including the additional item for Callahan’s office?”
“Yep,” John confirms.
“Same installation instructions?”
John nods. “The main thing you need to worry about is choosing the correct device. The Callahan house and your father’s office have slightly different models. According to the intel you sent me, the equipment in that bag should be identical to the current models within each building.”
“Sounds simple enough,” Kingston says.
“I’m sorry, but what exactly are we talking about here?” I ask. “I feel like you’re talking in code.”
Kingston smiles and holds the bag open, so I can peek inside. "Smoke detectors. They're fully functioning—these just happen to have tiny cameras in them."
“Man, it’s kind of scary it’s this easy to spy on someone,” I muse.
John nods. “It is. That’s why I never travel without a detection device. You’d be surprised how many times I’ve found hidden cameras in hotel rooms.”
My jaw drops. “Seriously? What’s the point
in that?”
"Usually, it's your run-of-the-mill pervert hoping to engage in a little digital voyeurism." He shrugs.
