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He had to tell her. She’d made it clear she didn’t want to be shielded from the truth.
“So the documents Ahmadi gave us,” he began.
“What about them?”
There was no good way to say it so he took a breath, exhaled, and told her. “He’d hired someone to watch you.”
“What do you mean, to watch me?”
“Based on the dates on the logs, it looks like shortly after Omar warned Cyrus Ahmadi to stay away from you, he hired a private investigator. A local woman out of Harper’s Ferry.”
“What’s her name?”
“Why?” He eyed her curiously.
“Someone’s been spying on me. I’d like to know her name.”
Fair enough, he supposed. “Vera Mullen. Ever heard of her?”
She thought for a moment. “Nope. So this Mullen woman, was she filming me? Taking photos?”
“No. Or at least, there are no pictures or videos of you in the files Ahmadi gave us. There are some photographs of vehicles, taken fairly recently judging by the time stamps.”
“Vehicles. My cars?”
“No.
“Are any of these vehicles black trucks like the one that ran Keisha off the road yesterday?”
“No. Sedans. Dark sedans. Three of them.” He made a mental note to ask Jake if he had an update on the incident involving Leilah’s crew chief.
“So, this private investigator followed me around and reported back to Ahmadi about where I went and what I did?” She vibrated with anger.
“It’s a gross invasion of your privacy. I know it’s disgusting. When we get back to the hotel, I’ll give you the whole file to look through. I didn’t want to blindside you with it, and you deserve to know.”
That earned him a slight smile. “I’m glad you told me. I would have been furious if you hadn’t.” Her smile turned into a fierce frown. “Iamfurious that he was spying on me. Who does that? And what was he hoping to learn?”
“It looks as if the scope of Vera Mullen’s contract was to see if you were dating anyone.” He was careful to keep a neutral tone.
“Oh, and what did she determine?”
Ryan stopped on the pavement and touched her elbow. “Ms. Mullen reported that you did not appear to be involved in a romantic relationship with anyone but that you were spending a lot of time with one of your brother’s friends.”
Amusement danced in her eyes. “Really? Which one?”
He nudged her with his shoulder. “The handsome, smart one.”
“The handsome, smart one—that’s what the private investigator’s report said?”
“The report said the friend was approximately five-feet eleven-inches tall, clean-cut, with dark hair and glasses. Estimated age, mid-thirties. For the record, I’m just a fraction of an inch shy of six feet.”
“Duly noted, short stuff,” the petite firecracker told him with a lilt in her voice. Then she mused, “So, Cyrus Ahmadi knew about us before we did. Ick.”
“Extremely icky,” he agreed.
They resumed walking.
“So you think these dark sedans that have been following me tipped him off that we were in danger? And how does he get from there to you being the actual target?”
