Model Bodyguard (Haven Investigations Book 2)

by Lissa Kasey

  “Anyone you’d put on the suspect list?” I asked Kisten directly as I headed toward the location.

  “His family. Any one of them. Just pick one.”

  “But he’s the reason they’re living the high life,” I commented.

  “They don’t see it that way. You should hear the shit they were saying to him before he finished this new album. If I talked that way to someone in my family, I’d be shown the back of their hand at best. Disowned at worst.” He shook his head, but didn’t take his eyes off his phone. “I send my mom money, but she’s never demanded I take care of her. Jacob’s family demands things.”

  “Like?” I prompted.

  “Cars, vacations, money, parties.”

  Jacob still stared out the window vacantly, almost completely still, and weirdly quiet.

  “And he gives them whatever they ask for?”

  “Mostly. He won’t buy them like planes or anything. And they all have to work. But some of the jobs are bullshit jobs. He could get people who were more trustworthy and better at their job for less money than he pays his siblings.”

  “But he’s being nice by taking care of his family.”

  I had to glance up into the rear view mirror to see Kisten shrug. “I think they all use his kink as an excuse to keep him on a short leash.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “He takes care of them and they don’t go blabbing. All of his PAs sign disclosure agreements. Hell, most of his employees do at this point. There are thousands of them on file. Anyone who leaks something can and will be sued for mountains of money they don’t have. The attorneys belong to the record label so they aren’t even so much about Jacob’s money as they are about his reputation. What tarnishes him, tarnishes the label. They are very insistent about keeping the taboo stuff quiet.”

  “But his family doesn’t have the same agreement with him,” I clarified.

  “Correct. Jacob has tried to enforce it with them a time or two but something always happens to brush it aside.”

  “Like these articles slandering him?”

  Kisten was quiet for a minute, then finally said, “Yes. I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way before. But each time the disclosure issues have come up, there’s another lawsuit that appears. Stuff that mostly gets paid off or the opposite party drops the charges, but I can think of at least three occasions that has happened.”

  So really there was no other choice, was there? It had to be someone in Jacob’s family. Or at least part of his immediate staff like Kisten was. No one else could get close enough. Or maybe they just weren’t afraid of being sued. I’d have to discuss options with Ollie and see if he thought just focusing on the family would shorten our list enough to actually nail this bastard.

  Chapter Eleven

  JACOB GLARED at the handicap tag I put over the mirror in my car as I motioned them out. “How can you be handicapped and guard me?”

  I gave him a pleasant smile. “I can beat the shit out of anyone who comes your way, but ask me to chase them down and you’re better off with Ollie. He could probably outrun a cheetah.” I could run if I needed to, but I’d pay for it later with volumes of pain. The handicap tag was legit. Most of the time I didn’t need it. Some days were just worse than others. Those were the days I usually wished they’d just taken the leg rather than let me live with the patch job they’d done to keep me together.

  I waved at the door to the underground entry, which was heavily monitored. They’d even been very thorough at the gate before letting us in. Much better security than Jacob had at home. “Plus we’re right where we need to be: in a well-lit area near the entryway.”

  Kisten headed toward the entrance, and I followed behind Jacob, watching the garage for any movement. We were at the door and inside in seconds. Kisten went to the desk to let them know we were here. I heard the receptionist say we’d be escorted up via the elevator. Elevators were always bad for bodyguards. A box with no way out could become a death trap.

  I took a deep breath, trying to center my paranoia. This wasn’t a war zone. Yes, Jacob was in danger, but so far no one had really tried to hurt him. There was no reason to believe there would be gunmen waiting outside an elevator for him in a secure building like this. Still, before we got in the elevator I made them stop it so I could check it for devices. Once inside I shoved Jacob to the back, Kisten in front of him and me as the first line of defense. Our escort was an unarmed security guard who really only seemed present to push buttons for us. I sighed.

  “Why is Kisten in front of me?” Jacob asked. He’d been silent most of the trip so far, so hearing his voice suddenly startled me a little.

  “In case the doors open and someone starts shooting.”

  Jacob gasped. “He could be killed!”

  “And so could you. Hopefully, if the door opens and we have a crazy gunman standing there, he pauses at not seeing you first.”

  “That doesn’t sound very likely,” Jacob protested.

  I shrugged. “Actually it’s more reality than not. If they are looking for you specifically and don’t find you right away, it takes them a few seconds to process and decide how to react. Those few seconds are all I need.”

  Kisten blinked at me with wide eyes, glancing back at Jacob, who slunk farther into the corner. Maybe Kisten didn’t like the idea of being used as a meat shield, but since he was all I had, I’d hope for misdirection if things led to that. I was pretty sure I could get a shot off before someone fired at us, but I was also pretty certain no one was going to be trying, at least in here.

  The door to the elevator slid open. Our escort gave me a sideways look but said nothing. The elevator opened to what looked like a high-end studio, but as with the floor we’d entered on, there was almost no one around. The guard held the door for us, but as soon as we were out of the elevator, he got back in, leaving us to return to the reception area.

  A woman approached us, and Kisten rushed to greet her. Apparently, she was the assistant to whoever the host was that was interviewing Jacob. She led us back to a room that was to be Jacob’s dressing room and left us with a comment that she’d be letting the hair and makeup folks know he was there. He, as in Jacob. I didn’t exist. Though I suppose that was normal for muscle.

  Jacob threw himself into the chair in front of the mirror, sprawling out like he was readying for a nap instead of a grueling session of being primped. Kisten rattled off his upcoming schedule, like either of us was listening. I took a chance to scan the room, searching closets and the bathroom, stepping out for a moment to check the nearest rooms for windows, entries, and possible escape routes. We were eleven stories up. The stairway was only a few feet from the elevator we’d exited but had a sign that stated the doors within the stairway to each floor were locked, only to be opened by keycard, with the exception of the ground level. So you could go down all the way to the bottom and out, but not down to the next floor without keycard access.

  His dressing room was free of windows and little more than a private box, both of which were likely to keep possible paparazzi from taking pictures via nearby buildings or helicopters. It was nowhere near as elaborate as I’d expected it to be. But maybe since he’d been out of the limelight awhile, he didn’t rate a better opening interview? Ollie knew a lot more about publicity than I did. Maybe whatever they were doing was strategic to building the hype before his big album release. It wasn’t really my job to know, but I was curious.

  The rooms closest to Jacob’s appeared to be empty. His hair and makeup people arrived. Kisten cleared them, but I searched them for weapons anyway. After letting them in, I watched them for a few minutes, looking for any signs of suspicious behavior. Both appeared at ease and very efficient. Neither spoke much to Jacob or Kisten, but rather chattered with each other. Jacob was just a doll they worked on, immobile and uninterested. Odd, since Ollie was always engaged with his hair and makeup people. They joked with him, teased him, asked him about his life. He was more than just a payi
ng job. The differences were really beginning to come through loud and clear. Jacob just had very little interest in other people. Born that way or traits learned? Either way, I couldn’t imagine how Jacob had ever cowed Ollie into submission. But I could see how other people would find Jacob an easy mark. He really didn’t know how people functioned. Did he really care about anyone?

  It was odd to see him go from the average guy to a glam superstar. Lots of makeup and hairspray, gel, and discussion about lighting options were bantered about. He became stunning while they worked, but oddly lifeless, empty.

  I studied the relationship between Jacob and Kisten again. The comfort level. Kisten was the only one who spoke to Jacob and got a response more than a grunt or a wave of his hand. But while they seemed to know each other intimately, it really didn’t seem sexual. Neither’s gaze lingered on the other in anything other than a casually assessing manner. Maybe that’s why they worked so well together.

  Kisten paced the room, making notes on his phone and occasionally throwing a comment Jacob’s way. Jacob was mostly silent. I was informed by Kisten that wardrobe would be arriving soon, and they’d likely have a bag of clothes with them. I nodded and stepped out of the room to wait.

  My earpiece buzzed with a phone call. It was Ollie. “Hey,” I told him, happy to hear his voice. “You didn’t bring the cat to the office again, did you?”

  “Of course. He loves Tomas. I think we should add him to our business cards. Haven Investigations, Oliver Petroskovic, Kade Alme, and Newton the cat.”

  I shook my head. Somehow the cat was becoming a sidekick. “I draw the line at you buying one of those little motorcycles with a sidecar for him to ride around in.”

  “That would be so cool! I bet I could find him a helmet and a kitty leather jacket.”

  “No,” I reasserted. “He’s a cat. You’ll give him a heart attack.”

  He sighed dramatically. “You’re no fun.”

  “I’m lots of fun. You said so last night.”

  “Evil,” he grumbled.

  “I promise a repeat performance soon.”

  He sighed sweetly. “Okay.”

  I grinned into the phone.

  “You’ve had a busy morning,” he told me. “Detective Rush called the office to let me know to remind you to bring the rock star to him once the interview is over.”

  It had been a sobering morning. I pulled out my phone and forwarded the pictures I’d taken of the backseat of Jacob’s limo and all images Kisten had taken. “What do you think of those?”

  He was quiet a minute. “Weird. And creepy. What’s with the toys?”

  “No idea. Jacob said he sometimes keeps gifts from fans, but that would be an odd choice. He had a box of stuff. Torn-up stuffed animals and more creepy messages. Thinks it’s just some kids hating on him for being famous.”

  “Kids would troll him on social media, not waste their time and money dropping off nasty gifts.”

  “Agreed.” The hall was still clear and there was almost no noise, but maybe that was really good insulation. Distantly, I could hear a handful of people talking about cameras and sound. There was over an hour before the interview was to begin. “Was Kisten the assistant who—”

  Ollie cut me off, “Kisten? No. He’s still around?”

  “How well do you know him?”

  Ollie’s sigh was long and loud. “We never got along.”

  “Why?” I persisted. Kisten seemed fairly levelheaded so far. What could he possibly have against Ollie?

  “He thinks I give gay men a bad name.”

  “Say what?”

  “’Cause I’m fem. You know how it works,” he said quietly. “Gay men unite is an oxymoron if you throw a fem boy like me in there.”

  It was my turn to sigh since it was true. I’d seen it a thousand times myself at bars, clubs, restaurants, Pride, and even some of Ollie’s shoots that I’d been privileged enough to attend. I couldn’t even count the number of guys who looked me over, then dared to ask why I wanted some tinkerbell when I could have any guy I wanted. Never mind that they had a uniform fetish and could tell I was ex-military. Or maybe it was the tats that drew them. Somehow I was a man and Ollie wasn’t. Which made no sense to me at all. We both had dicks. He was a hell of a lot less domestic than I was. Could be a downright slob at home, but yeah he used makeup sometimes. His clothes were cut to fit and flirt. Mine were now too, which I guess just made me metrosexual or whatever.

  Ollie was what he was, and it wasn’t an act or a game. He just was. I didn’t really think of it as feminine so much as just less fake. He never had the need to pound his chest and proclaim he was tougher than anyone else. He could shoot a gun, twist himself up like a pretzel in yoga poses, and probably lift close to his own body weight while standing on his head, and he’d started martial arts classes a few months back at my persistence. Nothing about Ollie was weak or shameful.

  He wasn’t a girl. Not that being a girl would have been wrong other than the fact I had a thing for dick. He was just unapologetic for not allowing the world to stuff him into other people’s standards. I liked women just fine. Even admired their curves like an artist would a famous painting. The female form was lovely in design, but in a nonsexual way. However, take some of the aspects of standard female clothing like lace hose or silk undies and put them on a man, and bam, instant hard-on. So yeah, maybe I had my kink. Would I still love Ollie if he didn’t wear pretty, lacy things? Yeah. Love was more than just the outer package, and I’d never been looking for just a hookup with him. I’d been crazy about him since the first time I’d read Alice in Wonderland to him and he’d protested some of the less logical aspects of the story. Even as a kid, his brain ran constantly on super-smart mode. Gay men everywhere should have been proud he was among their ranks.

  “He doesn’t strike me as really butch himself.”

  “He’s not.”

  I told him about the disclosure agreements Kisten had brought up. “But how trustworthy is he?”

  “Like is he leaking stories about Jacob’s proclivities to the media? Probably not. He’d have all the inside details. Why jeopardize what he has? I know Jacob pays him a small fortune. And why only share some?”

  “Blackmail,” I said. “We need to talk to the family since they’re the only ones without the disclosure agreements in place. I also have some financial stuff for you. It’s in paper form. Probably easier if I give it to you to scan. Might be able to get it digital from the accountant, who is apparently Emily’s husband, Levi.”

  “Yeah. He was the head accountant years back too.” Ollie sounded much calmer than he’d been the past day or so. Maybe the distance from Jacob really was helping. “He was never a fan of Jacob and me dating. He always complained that Jacob spent too much money on me. Only the stuff Jacob bought me was always for the bedroom, not out in public, if you know what I mean.”

  I did. “Jacob’s been paying over a million a year in blackmail.”

  Ollie swore. “Are you shitting me?”

  “No.”

  He swore again. He was one of the few men I knew who really did swear like a sailor. Since he spoke several languages, often the cursing crossed over. Though he could swear all night at me in French and I’d probably still be turned on.

  “Says it’s to keep his deepest darkest secret out of the papers.” I didn’t mention that Jacob admitted he treated his lovers little more than slaves whether they wanted it or not. “How are things going with the reporters?”

  Ollie was silent for a minute, ignoring my question. “Kade…,” he said after a time.

  “Not over the phone,” I told him. “You and he are over. It’s you and me now. Remember that.”

  “No matter what?” He sounded hesitant. Worried. Again I wanted to punch Jacob.

  “No matter what.”

  He let out a long breath. “I have interviews with two of the reporters this afternoon. Meeting one in less than an hour actually. But I found out something interesting about
them. They have a private blog site that feeds them information. They have to log in with passwords and intense encrypting to get to information about who, what, and where.”

  “You’re already in the site?”

  He snorted. “Of course. Who do you think you’re talking to? I followed the IP addresses of one of the reporters. Tracked him to the site, hacked in, and found a treasure trove of all the dark and nasty things a person could hope to make up about a celebrity. Of course this is all devoted to Jacob. It’s like some weird tribute page of damning info.”

  “Can we track the source? Who made the page?”

  “Already working on it. So far it’s a lot of dummy companies. Fronts and umbrella corporations that are sending me in circles. Offshore tax shelter corporations who have fake people leading them. It will take time to dig more out of that. But I bet those blackmail payments are going to the same place.”

  “I bet you’re right,” I said. “Seeing anything that looks like a connection between the threats and the articles?”

  “Not on my end. But I’ve been focusing on tracking down the sources. I’ve had Tomas on the phone all morning, already talking to the potential victims of Jacob’s supposed crimes. Pretty much everyone says they were just a fan who got a picture and an autograph. A few admitted to having sex with him, but it was a one-off and they weren’t interested in anything more. It’s also all very vanilla. But he’s only gotten through a dozen or so names of over four hundred.”

  I whistled.

  “And that’s only for the last year. I had to narrow it down.”

  “I still say we need to put his family under a microscope.”

  “He’s very protective of them,” Ollie said. “I don’t know why, but he just always has been. We fought about it a lot.”

  “I get that, but it’s either we do this all the way or drop it completely. I can’t ignore what’s right in front of my face because he doesn’t like it. If it really is someone in his family he needs to know.”