“I’ve got an update for you,” Frank said upon answering Carter’s call. “First, the good news—I was able to get someone in the Internet Crimes Unit to bump things up and trace the emails’ originating IP address. You were right, the emails came from San Francisco, but not from Medero’s home. They came from a coffee shop about a half hour away. It’s not impossible, but the public Wi-Fi makes tying the emails to a specific computer more difficult. That’s your bad news.”
Carter frowned. He had hoped Medero had been stupid enough to send the emails from his house. “But if the shop has a security camera, wouldn’t there at least be footage that coincides with the date and times the emails were sent? We might be able to see if he was in there.”
“Maybe. It’d also depend on how far back they keep their recordings—that stuff eventually gets erased to save on storage space. But as far as the feds doing something like that goes, it’d require man-hours, including obtaining a search warrant. Same goes for getting information from the website about who set up that personal ad, or getting access to Medero’s laptop. Since she wasn’t physically harmed by this jerk-off’s prank, I doubt they’ll make it a priority over cases where real violence occurred. It looks like your friend will have to wait in the queue. I’m sorry I’m not able to be more help.”
Carter tamped down his disappointment. “Thanks, anyway, Frank. I owe you dinner next time you’re in LA.”
He said good-bye and disconnected, his lips set tight. Still, Carter wasn’t ready to give up. Medero had exploited Quinn. He had used her, put her in danger too many times.
They would be headed to San Francisco next week for the hearing. Maybe there was something he could do.
Chapter Thirty-Three
San Francisco, California
“Mr. St. Clair! Look over here!”
“Carter, are you in town for the hearing?”
The flashes from the paparazzi’s cameras were blinding, as obtrusive as the questions being shouted at them. Still, Quinn kept her eyes on Carter’s back as she followed him through the terminal at the San Francisco International Airport. He had been instantly recognized as soon as they had deplaned.
“You look healthy. How’re you feeling, Carter?”
A backpack slung over his left shoulder, he maintained a steady stride, making her thankful for the work they had put in.
“Miss Reese, are you worried about seeing Jake in court?”
Her face grew hot as the photographers’ questions shifted to her. But she schooled her features and kept going, rolling her carry-on behind her. Relief filtered through her when they finally reached the terminal’s sliding electronic doors and were ushered into a waiting limousine by a chauffeur. It was still morning here, the sky gray and a chilly drizzle wetting the asphalt—typical weather for San Francisco in March.
“We have someone claiming the rest of your luggage from the carousel. They’ll bring it in another car,” the chauffeur told them once they were settled. He closed the door, shutting out the din of activity around the vehicle.
“You all right?” Carter asked her as the driver went around to the other side and got in.
Rattled, she blew out a small breath. “How do you do this?”
“You get used to it.” There was a grim twist to his mouth, however. “I’d been expecting this in LA, but not here.”
But the media had been covering them since the photos had come out early last week. The temporary restraining order against Jake had been a matter of public record—it didn’t surprise her that the media had found out about it and the hearing. It only further sensationalized the story.
They rode in silence as the limo left the airport and took the expressway north to the city. Then, as if to ease the tension, Carter asked, “What do you think Doug’s doing right now?”
Quinn couldn’t help but smile. “Probably being run ragged by Emily and Ethan.”
He chuckled, his fingers intertwining with hers. They had left Doug in the care of Mark and Samantha, taking him to the bungalow last night.
Fortunately, their arrival at the hotel was more discreet than at the airport. The four-star hotel was lavishly decorated and featured views of the Embarcadero waterfront. Wrapped in a sweater to ward off the chill, Quinn could see the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge, cloaked in an iron-gray mist, from their private balcony. It felt strange to be back in the city she had called home since her freshman year in college. She thought of her friends from school, her Mission District apartment, the job she’d loved. But knowing Jake’s villa was also a short drive away aroused a sick feeling.
“We’ll have a killer view of the Bay Lights tonight.” Carter had walked onto the balcony and now stood beside her. He squinted at a ferry gliding across the ashen waters.
“This is a beautiful hotel.” Quinn couldn’t imagine what the top-floor suite had cost. It was nearly as elegant as the lobby, filled with antiques, fresh-cut flowers and art.
“Elliott recommended it. They’re big on guest privacy.”
A knock came from outside the suite, and they both went inside. Carter opened the door to a white-uniformed waiter, who rolled in a cart that held a sterling-silver coffee service and two lidded silver trays. He placed all of it on a handsome wood pedestal table.
“I ordered brunch,” Carter said once he’d tipped the waiter at the door. Returning, he removed the lids from the trays. One contained a decadent-looking sourdough French toast, the other a savory mushroom and spinach omelet with fried potatoes. They had taken an early flight from Charleston, and with the time change, it was only midmorning here.
She shook her head. “I can’t eat.”
“Try.” Carter touched her face. “You barely ate anything last night and turned down food service on the plane. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day. You need to keep up your strength.”
The reminder jangled her nerves. They were meeting with the attorney tomorrow morning to go over her statement and prepare for questions. The hearing itself would be at four p.m. Quinn sighed softly. “It wasn’t long ago I was trying to convince you to eat.”
“I’m trying to take care of you. Like you’ve taken care of me.”
Giving in, she sat on one of the slip-covered chairs at the table. Dutifully, she speared a potato with a fork and, putting it in her mouth, began chewing. Despite the tension in her stomach, the food was delicious. Carter poured her tea from the shorter of the two pots that had been delivered. Then, making a cup of coffee for himself, he leaned against a mahogany sideboard that sat in front of floor-to-ceiling windows framed by silk drapes.
“You’re not eating?” Quinn asked around a mouthful of omelet.
“I’ll get around to it.” He sipped his coffee. “But as long as we’re discussing the theme for the day—me taking care of you—I have a gift.”
Swallowing, she put down her fork and touched her napkin to her lips. “That’s not necessary.”
“Too late.” He winked at her over the rim of his china cup. “When you’re finished eating, the limo’s waiting. It’s taking you to Devine Bliss.”
Her chest fluttered in surprise. She knew of the exclusive wellness spa in the city’s tony Pacific Heights neighborhood, but had never been there. She began to protest, but Carter pulled a chair up beside her. “You’re stressed about the hearing, Quinn. I know I pushed you into it. I just didn’t expect the media attention surrounding us. It’s made things worse for you.” He placed his hand over hers on the table and squeezed lightly. “Do this for me? I’ve got the day planned for you, including a masseuse and your own rooftop soaking tub. They also have a yoga studio. I booked you private time with a master instructor—maybe you can learn some new things.” His gaze held hers. “I want to give you a day of peace where none of this can touch you. Let me do this for you?”
Her throat tightened at his thoughtfulness. “You’re not coming with me?”
He shrugged. “A spa day isn’t my thing. I get fussed over enough by Hair and Makeup.”
<
br /> “What will you do all day?”
“Ariel’s got me on some phone interviews with reporters this afternoon. I’m also a little tired from the trip. I’ll probably take a nap.” Standing, he leaned over her and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll see you back here for dinner tonight.”
Picking up a slice of the French toast with his fingers, he bit into it and, still chewing, walked with it into the bedroom.
* * *
Carter entered the busy coffee shop sandwiched between an independent bookstore and an organic dry cleaner, typical of this section of the Nob Hill neighborhood. The aroma of coffee hung in the air, as did the sound of conversation. The shop catered to a diverse group, from young urban professionals to hipsters, and featured eclectic furniture, local artwork for sale and hanging red velvet lamps. As he walked up to the counter, he noticed the prevalence of laptops and other mobile devices in use by the shop’s patrons.
“I’ll have a macchiato,” he said to the barista, a thin-faced girl with a nose ring and a bored expression.
“Which one? We have two specialties…” She halted, her eyes widening in recognition. “Oh, my God. You’re Carter St. Clair!”
He smiled, but remained low-key. “What are the specialties?”
“Caramel and hazelnut. Wes, you have to come out here now!” she yelled to someone in the shop’s rear.
“Caramel,” Carter decided as a slender male in his forties with dark hair and a goatee emerged from the back room.
“Heather, I told you to get those boxes out of the hall. They’re a fire hazard, and if the inspector comes by, we’re screwed.” Based on his authoritative tone, Wes appeared to be the shop’s proprietor, or at least the one in charge. Upon seeing Carter, his mouth dropped open, and he placed a hand over his heart in a dramatic gesture. “Someone catch me. I’m going to faint!”
“Don’t do that,” Carter responded with a smile. Wes reached across the counter and shook his hand.
“Carter St. Clair, here in my shop! I’m a big fan.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you filming a movie around here?”
“No, I’m here for a different reason.” Carter had already noted the security cameras mounted to the shop’s ceiling—one was trained on the front door, the other on the counter.
“Well, despite your recent troubles, you look as good as you do on film. And so tall, too. So many actors turn out to be short in real life.” He continued to look Carter over appraisingly. “If my partner were here, he’d confirm it—you’re at the top of my free-pass list.”
Carter knew what he meant. It was a thing where people, mostly jokingly, created lists of celebrities they would be allowed to have sex with, if given the chance, without their significant other getting upset. Wes gave a taut laugh. “That was TMI, wasn’t it? I run off at the mouth when I’m nervous. I hope I didn’t offend you.”
Carter chuckled. “Hardly. I’m flattered.”
He was aware customers had since looked up from their screens and were staring openly. The barista who had taken his order delivered the drink she had prepared, spilling some of it on the counter as she set it in front of him.
“Sorry.” Coloring fiercely, she grabbed for a napkin.
“No worries.” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet.
“On the house,” Wes insisted. Carter thanked him, put a large bill in the tip jar, anyway, then picked up his drink.
“About that reason I’m here.” Looking at Wes, he lowered his voice. “Believe it or not, it relates to your shop.”
Wes lifted his eyebrows. “Do tell.”
“Could we talk somewhere in private?”
He was ushered to the shop’s rear, where Wes had a surprisingly homey office, complete with a futon and rag rug.
Some two hours later, Carter exited the shop, a cool mist falling around him on the hilly San Francisco street. He felt no guilt using his celebrity—he’d signed autographs, posed for selfies with customers and staff and even video-chatted with Wes’s partner, who was a stockbroker in the financial district. But he had gotten what he wanted: access to the security footage. Frank Holloway hadn’t been able to get the FBI to move faster, but he did get Carter the location of the coffee shop the emails had originated from, as well as the date and times they were sent.
He had gotten lucky the footage hadn’t yet been erased and that the shop’s proprietor was a fan and eager to help him out once he’d explained the situation—no search warrant required. Luckier still, Medero hadn’t used someone else to do his bidding this time. But Carter’s gut had told him the emails’ explicit, sadomasochistic nature was something Medero would get off on.
It had simply been a matter of patience and fast-forwarding on the computer screen in the shop owner’s office. The digital footage was dark and grainy, and Medero had worn a hoodie and sunglasses while inside. And although he had sat out of range of the cameras, it was him coming into the shop, Carter was certain of it. His entries and exits coincided with the timestamps on the emails.
The shop owner had offered to email the footage to Carter. In turn, Carter had forwarded it to Quinn’s attorney from his cell phone.
He had lied to Quinn about his plans for the day, but it had been for a noble cause.
Hailing a cab, he felt a quiet victory.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“You did this, didn’t you?”
Quinn stood with Carter in the stately corridor outside the courtroom. The judge presiding over the hearing was in his chambers, reviewing the security footage from the coffee shop. A surprise to Quinn, it had been submitted by her counsel in support of her statement about the e-Rendezvous incident. While Jake’s attorney had raised objections to the last-minute evidence, the judge had pointed out that this was a hearing, not a trial, and that no one’s liberty was at stake. He would view the footage before deciding on its admissibility.
“I had to do something.” Carter appeared handsome in the same gray suit he had bought for Olivia’s engagement dinner. “The FBI wasn’t going to come through in time for this.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to get your hopes up. I didn’t even know if the coffee shop had security cameras, and if they did, whether they would give me access. The footage also wasn’t that clear. David’s had a digital specialist working to enhance it until just a half hour ago.”
David Geller was Quinn’s attorney. At the moment, he was seated on a nearby bench, briefcase on his lap, going over his notes. Quinn imagined Carter charming his way into possession of the security footage. He’d done it, no doubt, while she had been at the spa. If the judge ruled the footage admissible, it would disprove Jake’s statement that he’d had no involvement.
“I’m not letting him get away with the things he’s done to you.” Jaw squared, Carter pitched his voice low. “Not this time.”
Quinn had the feeling there was more he was protecting her from. “What else don’t I know about?”
His mouth hardened. “The attorney firm has a private investigator on retainer. He’s looking for the banger who crashed into you and assaulted you on the beach. I’ve offered a reward for information leading to him. We’re hoping it might entice someone to give him up.”
Quinn searched his face, a thickness in her throat. “How much are you offering?”
“It doesn’t matter—”
“It does to me. How much?”
“One hundred thousand.”
Her head spun as she saw her debt mounting to him—the attorney fees and now the reward money. “I didn’t ask you to take it this far. Why’re you doing this?”
The faint lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. “Because I care about you, Quinn. Because I want you to be free.”
A court officer swung open the double doors to the courtroom. “Case number three-nineteen is back in session,” he announced into the hall.
Her attorney closed his briefcase and stood. “Let’s go. I’v
e got a good feeling about this.”
Carter’s hand at the small of her back, Quinn walked toward the courtroom. But she halted as Jake turned the corner with his own attorney. She felt the blood drain from her face. But as he passed to enter the courtroom first, she realized his lethal glare was focused more on Carter than on her.
* * *
The restraining order was granted for a period of five years.
The hearing now over, Carter had gone into the men’s restroom, leaving Quinn and her attorney in the clerk’s office, where they were awaiting papers. But as he washed his hands, his chest tingled as Medero’s reflection appeared in the mirror over the basin. He stood about six feet behind him. They were the only two in the room.
Refusing to be intimidated, Carter finished what he was doing and reached for a paper towel from the dispenser.
“That order might keep me away from her.” Medero’s voice was a low growl as he approached. “But it doesn’t say a goddamn thing about you.”
Wadding the towel and throwing it away, Carter turned to him, his posture rigid. “You want to try to kick my ass—go for it. This is as good a place as any.”
Scowling, Medero took another step closer, until they stood nearly nose to nose. “Someone who makes a fortune off that pretty-boy face ought to be more concerned about getting it messed up.”
Carter didn’t flinch under his glare. Medero’s lips slowly thinned into a cold smile.
“You know what? As much as I’d enjoy dropping you, you’re not worth the trouble it’d bring me. You got your restraining order, St. Clair. I know you paid for that big-name lawyer. You might think you’ve won, but think about it. All you got are my sloppy seconds. Remember that every time you fuck her.”
Carter’s hands clenched at his sides. His hatred for Medero burned in his stomach like acid. He itched to tangle with him, no matter the consequences to his health. In his current condition, it wouldn’t be a fair fight, but Carter figured he could get in at least one good hit. But a public scene, the media coverage...they were things neither he nor Quinn needed. Even now, the paps were outside the courthouse. Carter forced himself to remain still as Medero leaned closer.
Low Tide: Rarity Cove Book Two Page 22