“Stephanie.” My voice cracked like gunfire. “Her name is Stephanie.”
A beat of silence. Then Diana continued, softer now.
“Stephanie reported a male intruder gained access to her residence. He… physically assaulted her. The assault was interrupted when her assistant arrived home.”
The world tilted. Not a metaphor. My actual vision pitched sideways.
The runway lights smeared into streaks. My hand shot out to brace against the truck because my knees damn near buckled.
A low roar filled my ears—blood, rage, memory. I wasn’t sure.
“Liam?” Diana asked quietly. “You there?”
I swallowed once. Hard. “How far did it go?”
“According to the report,” she said carefully, “the assault wasinterruptedbefore completion. But Liam… there’s more.”
“Tell me.” My voice didn’t sound human. It sounded like something crawled up from the dark.
“This guy’s been escalating,” she said. “For months. Anonymous letters. Delivered gifts. Photos of her out in public. Photos taken inside her house.”
I stopped walking. Stopped breathing.
“Inside her?—”
“Yes. Her bedroom. Her kitchen. Taken while she slept.”
White noise filled my skull. Why hadn’t she told me it was that bad? When she told me about him months ago, she said her team and security had it handled.
“No DNA,” she continued. “No prints. No usable security footage. Either this guy’s extremely lucky, or?—”
“Or he knows what he’s doing.” My voice was a blade, the words dripping venom.
“Exactly. We’re talking professional counter-forensics. Gloves. Shoe covers. Avoided cameras. He studied her routines. He’s trained, Liam. Really trained.”
My blood went cold.
“Military?” I forced out. “Law enforcement?”
“Could be. Could also be private security. And Liam…” She hesitated. Never a good sign.
“Her security company filed a report two hours ago claiming the breach was due to ‘client negligence.’ They’re positioning her as the problem.”
“Son of a—” I bit off the word, vision flashing white. “She pays them. They were supposed to protect her.”
Iwas supposed to protect her.
I ran a shaking hand through my hair. The metal of my truck door was cool against my forehead. I’d failed again. First Mom, and now Stephy.
“That’s not all.” Diana’s voice flattened. “Her management team has already called LAPD three separate times. They’re pushing to keep the incident quiet. Their priority is minimizing publicity.”
So they were more worried about headlines than her safety. Of course they were.
My rage sharpened, focusing into something surgical, deadly.
“The stalker?” I asked, already heading for the plane again.
“In the wind. No trace. No trail. No ID. LAPD is classifying it low priority.”
