He sighed. “I think we have work to do.”
“You’re in love, Carter. Admit it. Or at least you’re in lust.”
“You’ve got an overactive imagination.”
“You son of a bitch,” she said, but she was smiling. “I thought you were above this sort of thing.”
None of us is immune, he thought, and walked back to his desk. “The lady’s got a problem,” he said, showing BJ the second note. “Someone’s definitely stalking her, and I thought you could work some of your computer/Internet magic and help me find the son of a bitch.”
“Gladly,” BJ agreed. “I’m still working on a list of people who rent her movies, but I can check the Web as well.”
“Good,” he said, before realizing she’d dropped by his office unsummoned. “Was there something you wanted?”
“Not me. It’s the press. They’re clamoring for a statement.”
“They can take it up with the OSP.”
“Yeah, that’s what they’ve been told, but a few aren’t taking ‘no’ for an answer. The most stubborn one is Roxie Olmstead, the local reporter for the Banner. She wants an interview with you. Caught up with me on the street, knows I work with you, and blah, blah, blah, could she have an exclusive interview.”
He remembered her from an earlier case. Pretty. Petite. Persistent. Pain in the butt. “You told her to get in line, right?”
“I told her I had absolutely no influence over you. She’d have to try and reach you herself.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Just wanted to give you a heads-up.”
“Thanks.” He reached for his phone.
“It’s hell to be popular,” BJ said, and started to leave.
You got that right, he thought, but held his tongue as he called Montinello and sent him over to Jenna Hughes’s ranch. He doubted they’d find any fingerprints, but then again, who knew? Maybe they’d get lucky. Nonetheless, BJ’s observations hit too close to home. What the devil was he doing fantasizing about Jenna Hughes? Christ Jesus, he was more of a fool than he’d ever admit.
“A bodyguard? Are you serious?” Cassie stopped opening the boxes labeled Christmas Decorations and stared at her mother in horror. “You’re going to have some stranger come live with us? No way. No friggin’ way.”
“He’ll stay in the studio behind the garage.” Jenna was adamant. Ever since finding the second note, she’d been on edge. Jumpy. Out of her mind with fear. The usual noises of the house bothered her, and she was forever double-checking the locks. She’d picked up shotgun shells from the sporting goods store, but hadn’t yet loaded the old gun.
Allie unwrapped a crystal ornament in the shape of a snowman. “You could hire Mr. Settler.”
“Save me,” Cassie whispered.
“No, really. He sometimes does detective work.”
“Is that right?” Jenna asked.
“Mm-hmm.” Allie set the ornament on the table, where it reflected the reddish glow from the fire burning on the other side of the room.
“Did he tell you that?” Cassie demanded.
“Dani did.”
“Dani tells stories to anyone gullible enough to listen.”
“It’s true. I saw his gun.”
“What?” Jenna was slitting open the plastic tape on another box, but she looked up sharply. “What were you doing snooping through Mr. Settler’s things?”
“I wasn’t. He was wearing it. In a shoulder holster. I saw it under his jacket.”