“I am,” he says. “And as I believe I already explained in rather intimate detail, I don’t intend to stop. Do you have a problem with that, Ms. Fairchild?”
“Only if you’re keeping me out of the loop to do it,” I say. “So what haven’t you told me?”
“Not much,” he says, and I can hear the frustration in his voice that stems from that simple fact.
“Start with the painting. Have you learned anything about who leaked the story that I’m the model? Or that you paid me so much? Because that first letter came about that time, so I don’t think it’s a stretch to assume it’s the same person.”
“I happen to agree with you,” he says. “And the short answer is no, we haven’t found anyone.”
“And the longer answer?”
“Will have to wait.” He points to the broken window and the two men who are passing in front of it. “My team.”
We meet them at the door, but they choose not to come in until after the police arrive. Instead, they go back outside to canvass the area, pull the feed from the newly installed camera, and do whatever it is security guys do when they’re on the case.
“The longer answer?” I press as soon as they’re gone.
“We have a few leads. Arnold—he’s the investigator I keep on retainer—recently got copies of some security footage from an ATM on Fairfax.”
I shake my head, clueless.
“That ATM happens to be across the street from a coffee bar where our intrepid reporter has a habit of meeting with his sources.”
“Wow,” I say, impressed. Damien had identified the original reporter who broadcast the story a while back, but the reporter had refused to reveal his source.
“It’s going to take a while. The camera’s focus is concentrated on a certain perimeter. But Arnold thinks he has a way to pop the focus on the background activity.”
“That will take time,” I agree. “Especially since we don’t know what day he might have met with the source.”
“Unfortunately, you’re right,” Damien says. “But we have a rough time frame, and at the very least he can start pulling prints and getting them to me. With luck, there will be someone I recognize.”
“Shouldn’t I look, too?”
“You should,” he says. “But the odds are good that whoever is doing this is trying to get to me. I have Ryan’s team investigating the players in a few particularly contentious deals I have brewing,” he adds, referring to his security guys.
“Distract you by harassing your girlfriend, and maybe you won’t be such a hard-ass in negotiations?”
“Something like that.”
“It might not be business,” I say. “You’ve slept with a lot of women, Damien. Even if you weren’t serious about them, that doesn’t mean they weren’t serious about you. And one of them might be the jealous type.”
“Agreed. And we’re pursuing that avenue, as well.”
“What about the anonymous letter that came to Stark Tower? Or the text I got in Munich?”
“Nothing yet,” Damien says. “But we haven’t given up.” He glances at his watch, then he pulls out his phone and makes a call. “Anything?” he says, then frowns as the person on the other end speaks. “Good thinking,” he finally says. “That just might work out well for us.”
“That was Ryan,” he says to me after he ends the call. “The cameras at the entrance and the parking garage caught our culprit. Tall, wiry. Completely covered in a black hoodie and sunglasses. Kept his or her head down, but Ethan says the gait looks to be male, and quite possibly a teenager.”
“A teenager? But—”
“I’m guessing someone hired him. Our perp loiters around the convenience store, asks a kid if they’d like to earn a few extra bucks.”
“Oh.” It makes sense.
“Fortunately, there are cameras in strip malls. We might get lucky.”
I nod. It’s a solid plan, but I’m not holding my breath.
“I’m going to assign someone from my security team to you.”
My head snaps up. “The hell you are. I’m not living my life under surveillance.”
“It’s necessary.”
“You don’t have the Secret Service following you around.” It’s one thing to stay with Damien, to take reasonable precautions with my life. It’s something else entirely to suddenly live in a glass jar like a politician or a celebrity.
“I have a team available when I need them. But there’s no indication I’m in danger.”
I start to say that I’m not in danger, either. But considering I’d just agreed to move into Damien’s house because of flying rocks, I can’t really backtrack now. As much as I don’t want some dude in a black suit with an earpiece monitoring my every move, I also don’t want to be stupid about this.
“Nikki,” he says gently. “Do you think I could survive if something happened to you?”
I draw in a breath because I know how he feels. If something happened to Damien, I am certain that I would shrivel up and die.
“All right,” I say. “But not someone who flanks me, and not an obvious tail. But if you want to have someone hang out at the office if I end up renting it, I won’t object. And I’m guessing you already have access to that tracking device we had installed in the car.”
“I could access it,” he says. “But not without some trouble. I’d rather install something I can monitor openly.”