Colton's Secret Bodyguard

“The problem is that the water coming through to the gallery brought down part of the ceiling in the corridor,” Kasey continued. “I can get someone out to do the work, but I’m going to need your signature to authorize it.”

When Bree had set up the gallery, she had taken advice from her uncle Russ about her business systems. He had imposed on her the need to ensure that the financial controls, even in a small business, must be tightly regulated. Kasey could order goods and services, but they had to be authorized by Bree. It was a simple, clear separation of their duties.

“I asked David if it could wait a few days, but he thinks more of the ceiling could fall if it isn’t dealt with right away,” Kasey added. “He even tried to tell me it was a hazard and that, technically, we should close the gallery until it was fixed. I said that you and I are the only ones who use that corridor and, since you aren’t here right now, I was willing to take a chance.”

Bree sighed. “He was probably only thinking of your safety. A chunk of ceiling hitting you on the head wouldn’t be much fun.”

“David worries too much.” Kasey’s tone was dismissive. “But there is another thing. Lucas Brewer has lost the check I gave him as payment for the lighting work he did on the show. I don’t know how many times I’ve told Lucas to switch to electronic transfer, but he insists on doing all his business by cash or check. Anyway, he stopped by and said money is tight, and could I issue him another check as soon as possible. I’ve canceled the original payment, but—”

“You need my signature on the new check.” Bree poured herself a cup of coffee and gazed out the window at the view she had grown to love. This was her safe place, but the gallery was her dream. She had built it up from nothing and made it a success. The feeling that she was being pulled back there against her will saddened her. It was one more example of the damage he had done.

“I wish I didn’t have to disturb your break,” Kasey said.

“It’s not your fault. I’ll see if I can stop by this afternoon.”

As Bree ended the call, she became aware that Jekyll was running back and forth between the kitchen and the front door. “Ah. Sorry about that.”

After unlocking and opening the door to release the dog, she took her coffee outside and sat on the porch step. Jekyll, having taken care of his physical needs, returned to sit beside her.

“I suppose we could try removing the cone,” Bree said. “But as soon as you start biting your butt, it goes back on.”

Jekyll regarded her with an expression of adoration as she cast the cone aside and scratched his neck. A few minutes later, Rylan came to sit beside her.

“What happened?” He quirked a brow at her. “You don’t do early mornings.”

It was a brief reminder of the intimacy they’d lost, and, for a moment, regret surged through her. She saw an answering flicker in his eyes.

“I got a message from Kasey.” She told him the details of her conversation with her assistant.

He pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “So Kasey had a set of keys to your apartment all this time?”

“Yes, but you can’t seriously think...?” She shook her head. “Not Kasey.”

“Why not?” His expression was thoughtful. “Serious question. She doesn’t need to override the security system because she’s in the gallery anyway. Access to those programs advertising the show wasn’t a problem for her. They were right there in her office. She knew where to find your paintings in the basement. And she could have stayed late to rig up the chocolate.”

“I understand that it could have been her, but I can’t believe that she would do those things.” Bree picked up Jekyll and hugged him close. “I’ve always believed the person who sends those emails is a man. I know there is no clue to the author’s identity, it’s just a feeling.”

“Maybe that’s what the sender wants you to think,” Rylan said.

“Your sources didn’t find anything on Kasey,” Bree reminded him.

“They haven’t found anything on anyone. Yet.” He stretched his long legs in front of him. “That doesn’t mean there’s nothing to find. Someone has a reason to target you, Bree. To an outsider, it may appear trivial. For instance, it could be something as minor as you forgot to leave a tip, or you didn’t say hi when you passed him—or her—in the street. But to your perpetrator, it has become the focus of that person’s whole life.”