The Mogul and the Muscle - Claire Kingsley Page 0,51
in out of the rain. Nothing looked amiss on her porch. No sign of forced entry here. I did a quick check of the electronic lock, but it seemed to be working fine.
We dripped water on the floor in the entryway. Cameron glanced down at herself and shook her hands, as if it would help. A big guy—although not as big as me—with a Bluewater Security logo on his shirt came down the stairs.
“I’ll go get towels,” Cameron said.
I shook hands with the security guard. He introduced himself as Dante.
“We’ve notified the police,” Dante said. “My guys are checking for how the perp got access, but there’s no obvious sign of a break-in.”
“I’ll check the security footage. Is the house clear?”
Dante nodded. “All clear. Whoever it was got in and got out.”
“Did they take anything?”
“Not that we’ve found so far. But they left something. You just need to see it for yourself.” He gestured toward the stairs.
Cameron came down with an armful of fluffy white towels. She’d slipped a silky pink robe over her wet shirt. I could see water spots starting to spread, but at least the Bluewater security guys weren’t getting an eyeful of Cameron’s amazing rack.
She handed me a towel and I toed off my boots, leaving them near the front door. I followed her upstairs, drying myself as best I could. She patted her long hair with her towel while we walked to her master suite.
Just outside her door, I noticed the faint odor of fish.
“It’s there, on the bed,” she said. “No one’s touched it.”
Her fluffy white comforter was slightly askew, the way it had been when I’d seen it on my first tour of her home. Right in the center of the bed was a red snapper, its reddish scales reflecting the light from the chandelier, its round black eye cold and dead.
She gestured toward the slimy fish. “I can’t decide if the fish is fitting or a total cliché.”
“What?”
She pointed to her hair. “It’s a ginger fish.”
I cracked a little grin. An intruder had been in her house and left a dead fish in her bed, and she could still make a joke about it. That was my girl.
I did a lap around the bed, checking it from every angle. On the far side was a typewritten note on a plain piece of paper, one corner tucked beneath the fish.
The boss but still vulnerable. You got lucky. Next time we won’t miss.
There was nothing funny about that note, nor the fact that whoever had done this had gotten in and out without tripping the alarm or forcing their way in. I checked the doors to her balcony, but they were secure. No sign someone had come in that way.
“You’re sure you locked the door when you went to Luna’s?” I asked.
“Positive,” she said.
Damn it, I should have taken more precautions with her home security. Had her camera feeds sync to my phone. Set up alerts so I’d know when someone unlocked her door. But that kind of coverage hadn’t seemed necessary.
It was now. Whoever did this was escalating.
This move reeked of ego. This wasn’t in a parking garage or on a public street. This wasn’t an email that could have come from anywhere. This was up close and personal. A message delivered not just inside her house, but in her bedroom. In one of her most personal, private spaces. I’d never even been inside this room before. Just looked in from the doorway on my first visit.
And it confirmed that none of this was random.
“Ms. Whitbury?” Dante’s voice came from the hall. “The police are here.”
I took pictures with my phone while Cameron talked to the police. Then she and I waited in the kitchen while they searched her house, including all the outside areas. The Bluewater security guards stayed to help, but none of them found any signs of entry, forced or otherwise.
The police cars in front of her house had drawn attention. Cameron’s friends burst inside in a flurry of fuzzy robes, yoga clothes, and velour tracksuits. They were dry—apparently the rainstorm had passed—and they attacked her with hugs and offers of comfort food and alcoholic beverages.
Nicholas and Inda returned from their date, shocked and worried. Emily offered them one of her guest houses for the night so they wouldn’t have to deal with the chaos.
“Derek and I are going to see what we can do about keeping this out of the media,” Emily said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”