“It looks like initials or maybe some kind of logo or emblem,” TJ says, peering over my shoulder. “There’s nothing on the emails, but the note tacked to his tire has something scribbled here,” he points to the corner of the paper.
I squint, wanting it to help make things clearer. “That’s so tiny. Do you really think it’s the same thing?”
None of this makes sense, and things are heating up. Spraying Cole’s car in the middle of a parking garage took guts. It was calculated and bold. Whoever did it knew he’d be there,ensured there weren’t cameras, and even stuck around to see Cole’s reaction.
Tracker rests back in his chair, sliding one hand behind his head. “So, you’ve crossed out his aunt and uncle, his chef, and the Stingrays’s personnel assigned to him. Do you think this is outside the organization?”
I plop down in the chair on the other side of his desk, physically and emotionally exhausted.
“Cole filled me in on the bad blood between his dad and uncle, but he hasn’t had contact with them in over three years. I can’t find anything that links them to these threats. The chef is in a long-term relationship, has a clean record, and no motive.”
I roll my neck, hoping to relieve some of the pain. “Whoever this is…they’re getting ballsy. The paint was dry, so they waited around to see his reaction or for us to get close enough to do further damage.”
“You think the car was a decoy?” Track asks.
I shrug, rubbing circles on my temple. “None of this is adding up. Even these notes and the attacks don’t seem to be relaying the same message.”
“You don’t think it’s the PR chick?” TJ asks. “She was there last night.”
“She’s stage-five-clinger obsessed and might have their children’s names picked out, but I don’t get ‘if I can’t have him, no one will’ vibes.” I blow out a breath. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have someone dig further to see what they can find.”
“So, the new guy. The business partner. He’s our main suspect?” Tracker asks. “He had access to the car, approached him as a diversion, and has a motive.”
I try to think it through, but my brain is in overdrive. I tighten my ponytail around the tangled mess.
I threw on clothes this morning in just enough time to get Cole to the practice facility, purposely leaving little time to discuss what happened last night.
Cole’s frustrated and confused. Hell, so am I. I was terrified to go to the event with him. But throughout the evening, he took all my nerves and strangled them one by one with his calm, confident, breathtaking-smiling ways. Then, we danced. I stood in the middle of the room, his gentle arms around me as he rocked us back and forth. And it wasn’t terrible. It wasn’t terrible at all.
I slump into the chair further, reeling my brain back in. I need to figure out who’s doing this, not dissect how it felt to be surrounded by him and try to understand what that feeling meant.
I rub at the agitation growing in my chest. “He was an arrogant ass to confront Cole, but to tell him he’ll collect “someday,” and vandalize his car in the same night?” I try to make sense of this guy going from hiding to being so bold.
“Why didn’t Cole tell us about him before?” There’s a level of irritation to Track’s question, and for some reason, my spine stiffens in defense.
“He didn’t think about it.” That came out way snappier than I intended.
One of Track’s graying eyebrows arches upward, barely, but I see it.
Shit.
I dial it back. “It’s been two years, and they were never partners. It was a bad deal, and he walked away from it before anything was signed.”
“Are you running a report on him?” TJ steps forward, pulling Jared’s picture from the desk.
Track nods. “Yeah, my guy said he’d put a rush on it.”
TJ inspects the pictures of Cole’s car and the notes. “JR are his initials. Think that could be what the symbol is, or what about the logo for whatever he was trying to sell?”
I shake my head. “I checked that. Doesn’t look anything like that mark.”
Van appears in the doorway with a drink carrier full of coffee and her large designer purse slung over her shoulder. “What mark?” She squeezes past TJ and sets the coffee on the corner of the desk.
Track and I reach for a cup while TJ tosses the pictures on the desk.
“This.” I straighten the evidence and point to the small symbol as Van leans closer. “What does that look like to you?”
She studies them for thirty seconds, her eyes moving back and forth over the pictures. “Definitely looks like the same thing, but I’m not sure what it is exactly.”
