The Complete Rockstar Series

“When was the last time you had a shower?” She asks, her pert little nose wrinkling up in distaste.

“Bloody hell, Sasha, I don’t have a clue,” I growl.

“Sorry, continue.” Sasha gives me a contrite look.

I reluctantly explain what Grant did to me, the teasing, the flirting, and the eventual betrayal. Her eyes get larger and larger as I divulge my relationship with my ex-partner.

“What a piece of shit!” she exclaims, her pretty mouth curled into a snarl. “I always knew there was something fucked up about him. I could never get him to trip up in front of me.”

I shrug. “It was over a year ago, Sasha. What does it matter?”

“Mitch, you know that finger they found backstage in Gavin’s dressing room?” she asks.

I wrinkle my brow, “Yes. What about it?” My brain is struggling to make any connections that might include Sasha.

“It matched up to the victim of a serial killer the taskforce has been tracking.”

I’m stunned into silence. When I finally speak, my tone is hesitant. “That’s Van Zandt’s case.” I don’t know the agent well, but I’m grateful to have someone competent searching for Gavin’s stalker—the man who shot me, the sick, twisted human being who brought us together only to tear us apart with a single bullet. Yet I’m also paralyzed by fear. The stalker isn’t just a stalker. He’s a murderer, and an active one at that.

Faint memories of the case fill my mind. The bodies, stripped naked, their left ring finger snipped off postmortem. All men, some gay, some straight, but all of them similar in appearance—tall, blonde, blue eyed… like Gavin.

“Yes, Mitch. It is Van Zandt’s case, but they assigned him a new partner after you left last year. That’s why I’ve been trying to reach you. His partner is Grant.”

74

Gavin

It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the waves are glistening, people are walking the beach, dipping their feet in the water and enjoying the weather.

I’m wearing my swim trunks, scowling at nothing in particular. I got up early with the intention of getting some surfing in before the crowds become large. Yet here I am hours later, sitting on the beach next to my board, not having gone anywhere near the water.

Some young men are playing Frisbee nearby, laughing and joking around. Even the sight of their tanned and toned bodies does nothing to lift my dark mood.

A pink Frisbee hits the sand nearby. I could get up and throw it back, but my disposition is too shitty to care. One of the men trots over to retrieve it. Before he can reach the bright disc, a member of the Bigfoot squad intercepts him, trying to keep him away.

“For fucks sake,” I snap. “Let the guy get his Frisbee.”

Sasquatch scowls, but backs up, apparently realizing that a dude wearing nothing but a tight red speedo isn’t likely to be hiding a weapon.

The man snatches up his Frisbee and grins. “Wanna play?”

His eyes sparkle and it’s as if I’m punched in the gut. I suck in a ragged breath. Grey, his eyes are grey. With the tousle of dark hair the man reminds me of Mitch. They don’t look much alike otherwise, but it hurts all the same.

“No thanks,” I murmur, attempting a smile.

“You’re Gavin Walker,” he observes.

“Yeah.”

“That’s cool.” Confirmation of my identity brings a change in the man’s demeanor. “I’m Chase.” Those grey eyes drop to scan my bare chest and he bites his lower lip.

Hell, I’m being cruised on the beach in front of my house. Not the first time, but probably the first time I haven’t welcomed it. Though, a good hard fuck would get Mitch out of my head, right?

Chase is hot, with a perfect six-pack and a seductive smirk. I’m seriously considering his silent offer when a voice calls out from the direction of my house.

“Mr. Walker!”

Christ. It’s the Feebs. Agent Halifax to be precise. Cringing, I look over my shoulder, praying his partner is with him.