Page 17 of Wicked S.O.B.

Ellen Schultz walks in five minutes later. She’s reed thin and tall, with short, dark brown hair and a weathered face that could have looked attractive if not for the permanent scowl lining her forehead and the complete lack of makeup. Sharp, intelligent brown eyes fix on me as she kicks the door shut.

“Hey. We couldn’t tempt you with our crappy coffee, huh?” Her voice is as authoritative as the no-nonsense gray sweater and utilitarian black pantsuit she’s wearing.

“I’ve had my daily quota. I get jumpy when I over-caffeinate.”

She pulls the chair back, and I catch a glimpse of the badge sitting on her bony hip. “Well, we don’t want you any jumpier than you are now.” She drops the file and the tablet she’s holding on the table and links her fingers on top of them. “Judging by that deer-in-the-headlights look you’re wearing, something else has happened?”

I frown a little at the thought that she can read me so easily. “Uh…”

Her lips move in a parody of a smile. “Don’t feel bad. I worked very hard to pass detective school, Elyse. Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing concrete. I just felt him. Or her. Or them, on the way over here.”

She shakes her head. “I’m willing to bet my badge that this is one person and that he’s male. Have you thought more about who it could be?”

“Yes, but I’m still coming up blank. All the major players in Clay’s circle are behind bars. And I don’t think any of them would do something like this.”

“I agree with you. But what about Clay himself? Does he have anyone he can rope into doing something like this?”

I shake my head. “Earl Gilbert is in jail too. The only other man capable of this is…wasRidge Matthews.”

She sits back, opens the file, and reads the notes. “Earl was the man you thought was your father before you found out your real father was Clay, right?”

Memories of the vicious bastard who gave me his name makes my gut clench in anger. “Yes. He divorced my mother when he found out I wasn’t his.” Which left Mom and me at Clay Getty’s sick, depraved mercy.

“A regular Prince Charming, I’m sure.” Her finger taps on the file as she reads for a minute. “What about this Russian dude, Eddie Krakov? Only one of the dates when you noticed you were being followed coincides with immigration records of his presence in the country, but he was only stateside for three days. Could he have hired someone to follow you?”

I hadn’t thought of Krakov as a suspect. He was the man who won the “auction” Clay staged on who would be the first guy to sleep with me the day after my seventeenth birthday. After that, I became his special girl whenever he visited the Villa. The drug I slipped into his drink the night I killed Ridge and ran away would’ve left him with no memory of what happened that night. But still…could he be holding a grudge a year later?

“He visited the Villa about once a month when he was in California on business. The rest of the time, he’s in Moscow. He’s rich and arrogant, but as far as I could tell, his businesses were legitimate. Plus he travels with bodyguards. I really don’t see him trailing me all over New York City without being spotted.”

“I don’t either, but let’s not rule anything out just yet. Tell me what happened on the way over here,” she says again.

I give her a more detailed account of where and when, and she writes everything down. Then she opens another page in the file, this one containing dozens of mug shots. “I had our tech guys go through CCTV footage in the places you remember sensing this individual following you. I also had a word with our profiler to get an idea of the type of person who would do that. Unfortunately, we’re dealing with a needle-in-a-haystack situation, so you might need a few visits to get through the photos.”

My expression must have altered because her lips pursed in a thin, disapproving line. “It needs to be done, Elyse. From the look on your face, you’re worried about Blackwood, so I’m guessing you still haven’t told him yet?” she asks.

I slowly shake my head. She sighs.

“The longer you leave it, the worse it’ll be when you tell him. I know I got off lightly when he found out I was the one who helped you with the restraining order. He finds out that you and I have kept this from him and it won’t be pretty.”

A fizz of irritation spikes through my anxiety. “Is that why you’re helping me? Because I’m with Quinn?”

Ellen shrugs a thin, unapologetic shoulder. “Frankly? Yes, although I like you a hell of a lot too. What you did for your sister, despite being preyed on by an asswipe like Getty, takes guts. But Blackwood could make my life very difficult, especially if we don’t catch this son of a bitch pretty darn quickly. Besides, this department’s resources can only go so far. He could do a lot to help end this quickly.”

“I’ll tell him soon—you have my word.”

She stares at me for a handful of seconds and then nods. “Good, and when you do, be sure to let him know I’m working my tail off to nail this asshole, would you? On the off chance he’s not inclined to nailmyass to the wall, I could use the brownie points farther down the road.”

“I will.”

She stands and pushes the file and tablet across to me. “I’ll have someone bring you a pen and pad. Take your time; look through the pictures and footage. If anything triggers a memory, jot it down.”

I glance at my watch. I have half an hour, tops, before I need to head back to meet Quinn. “Okay.”

None of the mug shots ring any alarm bells, so I move to the CCTV footage. Even though I know I have nothing to fear now that I’m no longer on the run, my skins crawls a little at how very easy it is to be spied on. I watch myself on camera as I leave Blackwood 99 and head to school, sometimes driven by Lionel, sometimes on foot, and I watch the people around me, tensing every time I spot anyone suspicious looking. But no one in the fifteen clips Ellen has compiled looks familiar. I close the tablet and press my fingers against my eyes.

I know I’m not paranoid, not after sensing my stalker again today.

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