The Complete Rockstar Series

He checks behind me, sticking his head out to look both ways before pulling it back inside. He hasn’t said a single word. He hasn’t invited me in either.

Great. Is he one of those eccentric Hollywood weirdoes?

“Um, hello?” I say, clearing my throat.

Gavin blinks a few times then his skin flushes crimson. He shoves a hand in his pocket. “Sorry. Come in.”

Gavin steps aside, letting me into what I can see is a very spacious modern home. Nearly the entire place is made of glass. Another point gone.

My academy training kicks in and I scan the entire room, first cataloguing every exit. The first floor is mostly one giant space, so there aren’t many hiding places. There are two doors leading to other rooms or closets, and a flight of stairs leading up. The room has a comfortable seating area on the end closest to the front door, a gleaming stainless steel and white kitchen at the end in the back of the house.

Three surfboards lean against a wall near the kitchen. It’s completely open concept, so I can see the entire length of the house to the beach that lies beyond. It’s beautiful, but it’s the paved path filled with people walking and jogging, and the beachful of sunbathers that has my full attention.

This house is the least secure place I’ve ever been. I haven’t even seen any security monitoring the grounds. The house says a lot about the man who owns it. He wants to be exposed. Likely is tired of hiding who he is. Interesting.

“Thanks for coming.”

I nod. “Not a problem. I do have quite a few questions for you.” I hold up the file from the other day and waggle it. I’ll address my security concerns later.

“Yeah.” Gavin studies the ground. “Sorry about the other day. I’m not usually so…I mean, I didn’t plan on running out of the meeting.” His eyes find mine, clear and blue and intelligent. Those sculpted cheekbones turn pink again. “What I’m saying is I’m not a complete flake. I’m just…freaked out by this.”

“Not a problem,” I maintain. I avert my gaze and clear my throat again. “Maybe we could sit?” Using the folder, I point towards the kitchen table.

“Sure. Are you thirsty?” Gavin glides into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator, holding it out.

“I’m good for now.” Fascinated, I watch as he scurries around the kitchen, opening the water, taking a sip, screwing the cap back on, then fiddling with it between his long, slender fingers.

“Coffee?” he asks.

I laugh to put him at ease even though I’m anything but. “No, honestly I’m fine. Do you want to sit?” I move towards the table.

Whispering so low I have trouble hearing him, Gavin admits, “I got another one today.”

“What?” Spinning around, I face him.

“Another letter. Over there.” Gavin uses his chin to point towards the large granite topped island. “I didn’t open it.” I notice him thrust his hand back into his pocket.

I slip back into my role as Agent Hale, any remaining hesitation I have about the case disappears in an instant. Gavin looks petrified. It upsets me to think that he’s been so terrorized he doesn’t feel safe in his own home.

“Good, good. You shouldn’t touch it.” I cross over to where the letter sits—white and stark against the black stone countertop.

“I didn’t. I mean…I did touch it initially. I took it from my assistant before I knew what it was. She touched it too.”

I whirl back around to look at him again. “Wait a minute. Did it come to you here?”

Gavin’s hands twist and untwist the cap to his water. “No. To my P.O. Box.”

“Okay, good. So he most likely doesn’t know your home address.”

Whoever is doing this is good. Too good. According to the file, the police didn’t find a single fingerprint on the letter from the hotel, the gifts, or other recent items. The postal code on the letters is always different, which means they know not to use the same post office every time. The letters are typed, not handwritten, using a generic font and a generic brand of paper.

“Is your P.O. Box listed?” I ask, leaning on the countertop opposite Gavin.

He thunks the bottle down next to him. Some of the water splashes out in a fountain, splattering onto the counter and the front of his shirt.

“It’s the one my fan mail goes to!” he yells, shocking me with his outburst. “This is fucking out of control! I want this sick piece of shit stopped! I can’t live like this!”

Gavin’s fists clench and his body twitches with both fear and anger.