“It’s not me,” I snarl and whip the covers back from Faulkner’s face. “Crawford, what is he even doing here? How are you even in my hotel?”
“I hacked your system.” Faulkner is smug.
“Little shit. Stay out of the minibar.”
Faulkner doesn’t break eye contact with me as he slides across the carpet and grabs a Coke and bag of peanuts out of the minibar.
“I need you to help me find her stalker,” I tell Crawford.
He grunts and stands up. “Lucky for you,” he smirks, “I already know who he is.”
“You do? Great. I’m going to call Hudson Wynter and have him send Talbot out to snipe him.”
“I’m looking right at him.” Crawford stares.
“Whitman’s been stalking her?” I’m confused.
“No, you idiot. You’re the stalker.”
“I’m not leaving threatening notes. Someone is after her. She’s in danger.”
“Agreed. Can we Baker Act him yet? I want that football team,” Faulkner snickers.
“No. Fuck you. Crawford, I’m hiring you to catch this guy.”
“No can do. I’m booked up, going back to New York.” Crawford hitches up his pants.
“Please!” I wail. “I’m your little brother.”
“You are so mentally unstable.”
“Super Bowl tickets. I promise.” I clasp my hands on my knees.
“Done.”
I cross my heart.
“And my usual payment?”
“Double done. Let’s go catch this fucker.”
“I’ve gotta behonest—”
“I don’t show up at your job and slap the dicks out of your mouth,” Crawford says as he peers through the binoculars.
We’ve been watching Winnie’s house for hours. “I’m bored.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have hacked her camera system, then we could just see who’s in the house.”
We can’t, of course, check the cameras because I begged Whitman to write a script to override them.
“Dumbass. Should have had him save the footage somewhere else,” Crawford tells me.
“I didn’t think Winnie would have multiple stalkers. Now how do I find the man after Winnie?”
“We wait. We watch.”
“Can we order pizza?” Faulkner whines. “Do you think she’ll let me use the bathroom if I tell her I’m your brother?”
