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“I told you. I didn’t like thinking about you getting hurt.”
“So you wiped him out?”
“Not exactly. I left one account available to him and I really hope he decides to use it.” Because it would be the beginning of the end for him and that day couldn’t come soon enough for me. As soon as I could stop worrying about Vigo Rizzoli, I could put my focus back where it belonged.
On Governor Blaise.
***
After spending the morning digging deep into any journalists and paparazzi who’d ever reported on Blaise, I’d learned a lot about Roger Stanhope Blaise in the past six hours. He was a hometown Florida boy who ignored his small town, working class background and married up to a Connecticut blue blood who loved the Florida sun. Unfortunately, the rumors of Roger’s affinity for younger girls had plagued him since the early days of his political career. Well, unfortunate for him because I found it quite fortuitous.
The one good thing about the paparazzi was that you could count on them to be as mercenary as possible. Cash was king and fortunately for both of us, I had plenty of it. And there was one guy, a real greaseball with a mullet and a penchant for acid wash jeans. Terry Murphy. He somehow got all the goods, which meant he was the man I needed to see.
That and he was totally old school. Kept his photos offline. All the way the fuck offline.
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this, Vivi.” Jag sat in the driver’s seat because, heaven forbid, a man actually ever placed his butt in the passenger seat. Even though it was my car, I relented. Driving wasn’t all that fun and driving in Los Angeles was the worst fucking thing ever.
“Because you know I’m right. This Terry dude is cautious. Too cautious for someone who takes the same damn photos of twenty-five other guys every time he snaps an image.” It didn’t make sense unless he had more. “The few non-celeb images to his credit were of Blaise. It’s a lead, Jag. The only one I’ve got.”
He sighed and smacked the steering wheel. “Dammit, Vivi this guy could be crazy!”
“And you’re coming with me. We’re both armed and possess above average intelligence, I think we’ll be all right.”
Jag nodded and rested a hand on my thigh. “I have no doubt about that Vivi, but that doesn’t mean we need to go in there guns blazing. And by we, I mean you.”
“I don’t even have a gun, just my blade. I’m just going to ask him a few questions and offer him some money for his research.”
“Money for research? Another fake identity. Are you sure you’re not the spy, Vivi?” His mouth was set in a grim line but there was a spark of humor in his deep brown eyes.
“Believe me, I’m sure about that. But there was a time in my life when I had a stalker, only he had skills to rival my own.” I hated talking about it because it was the only other time in my adult life that I felt helpless. Not in control. “You know those big hackathons where the government and private corporations go in search of the best hackers in the world and throw money at them?”
“I’m familiar,” he said with a chuckle that made me smile.
“Well he was there too, apparently. I barely even remember him because I just wanted to get in, get some contacts and get gone. But he saw me and wanted me and from there it went pretty fucking crazy. Calls at all hours, deliveries of flowers and jewelry and even lingerie. Then the asshole hacked into my webcam. Thank God he didn’t see anything. I’m not that stupid.”
“What happened? Did you kill him?”
I flashed a proud smile and rolled my eyes. “Unfortunately I didn’t, but I did have several seasoned IDs at my disposal and that helped keep me a step or two ahead.”
“And what was this asshole’s name?” His big hands wrapped around the steering wheel tight enough to break it.
“Charles or Chaz or something. I don’t even think we were formally introduced, just some weirdo who was fixated on me.”
“And what happened to him?”
“Let’s just say that you shouldn’t stalk people when you’re embezzling from your clients.” After all the drama it ended with a whimper and not a bang. Thank fuck. “But the IDs took a lot of time and I refuse to let them go to waste.”
“Makes sense. Let me guess, you don’t leave home without them?”
“No, home is usually where most bad shit goes down. Anyway it’s behind me. Now tell me why you’re still dangerously single Jag.”
“Dangerously?”
“Considering how many women you’re surrounded by, you’d have to actively try not to get involved. That equals dangerously single, okay maybe compulsively single. How’s that?” I knew most guys weren’t too eager to couple up and sleep with just one woman, but Jag seemed like the kind of guy made for a one-woman relationship.
“I guess I kind of am. Coupled up,” he clarified without looking at me. The jerk. He knew exactly how his words sounded but refused to clarify until we’d gone about ten miles. “You’re living with me and sleeping with me, plus we’re on a road trip, which is basically a vacation. That’s more serious than I’ve ever gotten with any woman.”
His words shouldn’t have made me feel such a sense of relief, but they did. “Me too,” I admitted quietly, feeling uncertain at my own brief display of vulnerability. Since I was thirteen, I learned to keep my own counsel. If I didn’t divulge my secrets and weaknesses to the world, they couldn’t be used against me.
