God, he really was beautiful when he smiled.
“I’m curious.” Mostly, she was curious about him.
“It won’t be able to pop out a person’s name, but it can identify patterns of behavior and lead us to the computers used by possible stalkers.”
“Will they know you’re monitoring them?”
“Not at all.” He talked for a time about recorders and validators. “All of the evidence is downloaded to a digital forensics lab for analysis, and the chain of evidence is protected. It’s new technology. We didn’t have anything like this when I first started.”
She watched him while he worked. “Why did you become a detective?”
He seemed to hesitate. “I studied Criminal Justice in college and went to work for the LAPD after graduating. I ended up on their Threat Management Unit, which deals with stalkers and threats against celebrities.”
“That must have been interesting. Did you meet a lot of cool, famous people?”
“I met a lot of famous people.” There was an edge to his voice. “Being famous doesn’t make a person cool.”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” The pain pills had caught up with Sasha now. “I’m going to go upstairs and lie down. I’m so tired.”
But before she could stand up and make her way to her room, she was asleep.
Chapter7
ThinkingMs. Dillon might need his help getting out of the chair, Darius got to his feet, only to find her asleep. For a moment, he stood there, watching her. Her breathing was slow and even, her bruised face peaceful. He knew she was a world-class athlete, yet she looked small, even fragile.
What the hell is wrong with you?
He made it part of his routine to hold himself accountable for his biases, so he wouldn’t lie to himself. He felt drawn to her. There was something about her, something that roused his protective instincts. Hell, yes, she was attractive, but there had to be more to his reaction than that. He’d worked with some of the most beautiful stars in Hollywood and hadn’t felt this way about any of them.
Then again, Sasha—Ms. Dillon—was nothing like them. As far as he could tell, there was no pretense about her, no conceit, no guile. She hadn’t tried to impress him or get him into her bed or asked him to mix her a drink. She didn’t even wear makeup, her small breasts obviously natural, her body slender and strong rather than thin.
Get it together, man.
Surprised by the intensity of his response to her, Darius got back to work, opening programs and logging into her social media. He navigated to her most recent post about her bicycle accident, as she’d called it, and began scrolling through hundreds of comments. Most were positive and supportive, but not all. Some mocked her and gloated over her misfortune, while others were hateful.
Must not be that good of a climber if she falls off her bike. Am I right?
She can still spread her legs. That’s all that matters.
She’s overrated. Everyone in climbing knows that.
It’s a shame she chose climbing over marriage and motherhood. She’s wasting her life. Women aren’t meant to be athletes.
She’d feel better if she sucked my cock.
I bet she made this up because she’s afraid she’ll lose this year.
Darius had never understood the impulse to cut down others on social media. Anonymity seemed to bring out the worst in people, allowing them to hurl obscenities and venom at total strangers without consequences. He began flagging responses so the system could start the long process of pinning down their point of origin. Then he looked for repeated posts from the same account, an indication that someone might have an unhealthy obsession.
A knock came at the front door.
He glanced at Ms. Dillon, who slept on, then rose from the chair, thinking it might be Deputy Marcs back from the MVA in the canyon. He’d never been in the position of answering anyone else’s door on a job like this. The celebrities he’d worked with had staff to do it for them.
He left Ms. Dillon’s office and walked toward the front door to find Megs and Mitch waiting, their arms full. He let them inside.
“Is she sleeping?” Megs whispered.
Darius nodded. “She fell asleep in the big chair in her office.”
