“I know, Mitch, but it’s like you said…you’ve avoided famous clients so far. The question is, why now?”
I sigh and take a huge swig of my beer. “Personal favor. My cousin is a good friend of a friend of the celebrity.” I wave my hand. “Something like that anyway. I do the criminal investigation and profiling part regularly, but I’ll have to basically be with this guy all the time until I catch the stalker.”
“It’s that bad?”
“Yeah, it’s that bad. The threats have escalated over time from letters to gifts to a dead animal in his hotel room.”
“Holy shit.” CeCe’s mouth drops open.
“I know.”
I think about how Gavin lashed out at being trapped in his house, basically being babysat 24/7 and feel bad for the guy. Then I remember how tense it was watching the Dodgers game the other night and frown.
“What’s that for?”
“Huh? What’s what for?”
“That irritated look on your face?”
“Irritated?” I fumble my fork. “Oh. Yeah. The client is kind of a jerk. I mean… he was the other night. He was literally vibrating with tension. I could tell he was going to do something stupid, you know? Like go out somewhere without protection, stubborn bastard. So I sort of invited myself to stay at his house and watch the Nationals game.”
“I can’t imagine why that would annoy him,” she says drily.
I huff. “I couldn’t just tell the guy he couldn’t go out, Cee. I had to think of something to keep him home.”
“Maybe he doesn’t like baseball,” she offers.
I glare across the table. “It doesn’t matter. He was a standoffish tosser. Barely said two words to me. It was the longest three hours of my life.”
“Hey, at least the Nationals won. And your British is coming out.”
“So not helping, CeCe.”
She grins. “You’re brilliant, Mitch. You’ll catch whoever it is and make your client eternally grateful. He’s probably just being a jerk because he’s stressed out.”
“Don’t defend him, Cee. You’re on my side. Remember? I came here to complain, not garner sympathy for the other guy.”
“Meh,” she brushes me off. “It’ll all work out in the end. Just ignore him. Chalk it up to…I don’t know, Hollywood eccentricities.”
I burst out laughing.
“What?” she questions, smiling.
“That’s exactly what I already told myself.”
CeCe taps the side of her head with a manicured fingernail. “Great minds, Mitch. Great minds.”
* * *
“I don’t like this at all,” Gavin complains for the hundredth time. “It’s stupid.”
I follow closely behind, paying more attention to our surroundings than his diva-like whining.
Hawke, the dark-haired, tattooed band member who seems to be Gavin’s closest friend, speaks up. “Gavin, can’t you just accept it? Please? It will make everything much easier on everyone.”
Gavin grumbles but I can’t make out what he says.
We pile into a stretch limo with Ross Evans, two other employees, and the other two guys in the band, including Adam Reynolds, the one who is now married to Gemma’s friend, Ellie.