Daphne follows behind me, her robe haphazardly knotted around her waist with her gun in hand. She shuts the door behind her, keeping Hawkeye’s barking inside the house.
Another scream echoes from the side of the house. Daphne’s elderly neighbor hovers by the trash cans against the fence that separates their house from Daphne’s.
The woman’s eyes fix on us, and she waves us over. “Call the cops!” she shouts.
She’s not running. No, she’s stuck in place. Was someone hurting her?
“What’s wrong?” I call out as I make my way over…
Oh, shit.
As I step closer to the neighbor, it’s clear why she’s screaming
Hidden behind Daphne’s trash cans is a body. Blood pools around a man’s head, his glossy eyes staring at the woman’s bunny slippers in surprise. He’s stripped naked.
“What is it?” Daphne asks from behind me. She steps closer and gasps. The sound pierces my ear. “No.”
“Get inside,” I tell her. Checking over her shoulder, I searched for the Secret Service. Damnit, where was that nosy agent when we needed him? Where the hell is her security?
“Doug,” Daphne says.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m getting the police,” the neighbor says and turns back into her house.
“That’s Doug.” Daphne’s face blanches as she gazes in horror at the corpse by her trash cans. “He’s one of my usual security details. He’s… he’s…” She doesn’t finish.
Daphne jolts sideways and vomits against the gate and onto the neighbor’s petunias. She retches hard until a sob finally makes its way out.
“Who… who could do this?” she gasps before spitting into the grass.
Ghost _M110.
The persona I still haven’t identified. Fuck, if it is him, I’ll burn down the entire damn city to find him and make him pay.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. It’s half a lie, but I don’t need to tell her my theory—that her stalker has upped his game.
“Princess,” I say as I crouch down beside her, keeping her hair away from her mouth in case she’s sick again. “You need to call your Dad. Or the Secret Service. They need to get to the bottom of this.”
Daphne only nods as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She slowly rises to her feet, and I carefully guide her inside. As we enter, the blare of sirens whirs in the distance before red and blue lights flood her street. Police clamber out of their cars, hands poised on their guns as they scan the area.
“Take care of Hawkeye,” I tell her.
“But the cops,” she hisses. “They’ll interrogate you.”
“Well, I’m your boyfriend. They can know the real me.” My eyes flick down to the swell of her breasts, nearly spilling out of her robe, with the tie loosened. “And get dressed. I’ll talk to the cops.”
Daphne nods, not looking at me. She’s gone into a daze, retreating into some corner of her mind where I can’t reach her.
The woman’s in shock. Can’t say I blame her.
I close the front door and make my way down to the front of the lawn. Some of the officers stare at me like I’ve lost my mind. Granted, I’m in my fucking underwear with a corpse ten feet away. One of the officers glances down at my crotch, an appreciative smile twitching on his lips.
At least I’m not sporting a boner. Dead bodies are an effective way of stopping morning wood.
“Officers,” I call out and wave them onto Daphne’s front lawn before pointing to the cans.
Half a dozen of them hustle over as two hulking men in bulletproof vests stomp towards me. “The next-door neighbor found him. She screamed, and it woke us up,” I explain quickly.
