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“Have you arrested him?”
“We’re still looking for him. Have you received any threats, Mr. Hartley?”
“No,” Rob says. Lines form on his forehead, thinking.
“Can you think of anyone who might want to harm you besides Aidan Rolland? Could it be a grudge-holding employee? Or is there a business deal or activity that maybe one of your rivals is looking to interrupt?”
“I can’t think of anything.”
“Miss Cannizzaro, can you think of anyone? Maybe another ex who might be jealous of Mr. Hartley?”
“No. It’s got to be Aidan. He’s been paying this guy!”
“We don’t know that yet. However, we’re almost certain this is the same man who sent you the bloody doll head.” The sergeant points at the photo of the hooded man, emphasizing her statement.
“He was following me yesterday,” I say. “I tried to chase him, but there was a guy riding a Harley, stopping me from getting to him. That Harley rider could have been Aidan.”
“Did you report that?”
“No.”
“Did you get the license plate number?”
“No.”
“Where did this happen?”
“On a side street off Wilshire Boulevard. North Palm Drive, I think.”
“You need to report these things, Miss Cannizzaro. For your own safety, and your partner’s,” warns Sergeant Garcia.
Rob shifts his shoulder toward me slightly, protectively. “Sergeant, she’s telling you now. I’d just had an accident at the time, and my girlfriend had a lot on her mind. Please don’t blame her.”
“I understand, Mr. Hartley. I’m not blaming anyone.” She inhales. “Anyway, leave it to us. We’ll investigate. In the meantime, I’ll get my men to keep an eye on this office, and your home. I presume Miss Cannizzaro will stay with you?”
“Definitely.” Rob looks at me, and I curve into him.
“Can you get the Santa Maria police to keep an eye on my mother?” I ask.
Sergeant Garcia thinks, and then she nods. “I’ll arrange it for you.” Then, she and her team leave.
Kylie, who seems to have been calm and collected all this time, comes to Rob looking shattered. By now we’ve told her that her ‘idol’ is my violent ex. “I’m so sorry, Rob, Amber. I didn’t know…”
“Kylie, it’s not your fault,” Rob says.
“And I was smitten, like that Mr. Smith was the best thing since Michael Fassbender.” Her Irish accent sounds thicker when she’s angry. “I wish that arsehole was here. I would’ve hit his head with that silver tray!”
The woman instantly breaks the tenseness in the room.
“You did well today,” Rob says to his assistant. “Why don’t you go home?”
“You’ll be alright?”
“Of course. Go.”
Rob wraps himself around me, as if I’ve been bundled with a layer of down. “You okay, Amber-Rose?”
I nod into his chest. “I don’t want to admit this, but I’m scared.”
