Resist (Sphere of Irony 3)

“And you spent a total of ten minutes with the man.” I knew I shouldn’t have told her about that disaster of a meeting. “Give the guy a break. He’s traumatized.”

“Stop trying to profile him, Sasha. Even I didn’t spend enough time with the guy to make an attempt.” I turn onto the 110 and immediately hit bumper-to-bumper traffic.

“I’m not,” she responds innocently.

“Then stop trying to profile me.” Traffic crawls along at a snail’s pace. I reach over and crank up the a/c. The car suddenly feels stiflingly hot. Or it could be the suit I’m wearing. I tug at the collar, trying without success to loosen the tie. I despise these things.

“I wouldn’t dream of doing that, Hale. But if you want some insight—”

“I’ll ask for it. Listen, Sasha, I gotta go. I’m almost there.”

I turn off the exit for the beach and make my way through the slightly less packed, but still infuriatingly slow traffic that leads to Huntington Beach.

“Fine. I’m here if you ever want to dig deep into that brain of yours, Hale.” Sasha laughs, but I know she’s serious. Her sharp eyes and ears miss nothing. Like she said, she probably knows things about me that I don’t even know.

“Right, Sasha. Bye.”

I parallel park in the miniscule driveway of an enormous white concrete and glass modern home.

“Bye!”

I disconnect the call and sit in the idling car for a few minutes, attempting to dry the layer of sweat that formed during the stressful drive. I nearly convince myself it was the traffic and not Gavin Walker that has me as tense as a prisoner on his way to the electric chair. After reading the file and the threats, Ross confirmed that Gavin is in fact gay, which isn’t known publically. Somehow, that knowledge makes my errant thoughts even more uncomfortable.

Screw it. I turn the car off and hop out, faking the attitude I need to get through this. I’ve come face to face with some of the sickest, most twisted serial killers known to man. I can manage to work with one slightly off-kilter, stunningly gorgeous, gay guitarist.

I step onto a tiny front walk, which is only steps from the street where cars pass and people walk by. Score one point in the column of ‘things that will make it more difficult to keep my client safe’.

Glancing around, I see that the homes are a stone’s throw from each other, with windows looking straight into the neighbor’s house. Another point deducted.

There are tiny alleyways between each building, including one on either side of Gavin’s. Someone could potentially jump the pathetically short fence and hide. I sigh and rub the back of my sweaty neck. Yet another point deducted.

Standing in front of the door, which is thick, solid looking, and has no window—score a point in my favor—I blow out a long breath. A quick run of my hands through my hair and a check that my suit isn’t a wrinkled mess and I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I reach out and knock.

A loud clatter from somewhere inside has me instinctively reaching for the Glock I carry in a holster on the waistband of my pants. Thankfully, I don’t pull my weapon because the door opens to reveal an angry, barefoot Gavin Walker.

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.”