Page 26 of Rival for Rent

“We’re doing everything we can,” Branscombe began, but Myers waved her off before she could finish.

“No, no, it’s alright, Amy,” he said. “They have a right to ask. And if someone’s gonna yell, it should be at me.” He looked from Mason to me and spread his hands. “You’re right to be frustrated. Itisfrustrating. Believe me, I get it. There are so many cases where I wish people had come to us sooner—where I think we could’ve stopped it. And here you are, doing everything right, and we’re telling you we can’t help you. I get it. It sucks.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t object.

“The truth is,” Myers went on, “unless Mr. Jacinto can point us in the direction of someone who might have a grudge, it’s hard to catch a person before they’ve committed a crime.”

“Stalking and harassing someoneisa crime,” Mason pointed out.

“Sure. But you know what I mean. The net we’d have to cast? A needle in a haystack would be easier.”

Mason turned to me. “You really can’t think of anyone who might be behind this?”

I spread my hands helplessly. “I can’t. I don’t go around trying to make enemies, you know.”

“You can still look into hate groups in the city, can’t you?” Mason asked Myers. “See what people are saying online? Maybe it’s not someone who knows Kai personally. Maybe they’re fixated on him because he’s providing the most financial support for the center.”

“And what, they think he should be spending his charitable donations somewhere else?” Myers said. “It’s some random nutjob who hates GLBQ people? I’m not sure how likely that is.”

“LGBTQIA2S,” I corrected him automatically. “Or at least say LGBTQ+.”

Yeah, it was a mouthful, but it mattered. Especially with Mason sitting next to me. Especially since the Butterfly Center had grown out of Wardrobes for the Win. I wasn’t going to throw trans people under the bus. Also, if we were being honest, GLBQ sounded like barbecue, and now I wanted ribs.

Myers nodded, but I had the sense he wanted to roll his eyes. “Okay. It’s still more likely it’s someone you know, though. But you can rest assured, Officer Branscombe is checking those groups online. We’re doing everything in our power to keep this situation from getting worse.”

Five minutes later, Mason and I were standing outside the station under the glow of a streetlamp. The boxy gray building loomed behind us. The air was warm, and the scent of pizza drifted from around the corner. It reminded me I hadn’t eaten in what felt like days. For a second, I almost asked Mason if he wanted to grab a slice, but the mental image of him recoiling from me earlier flashed through my head. He’d probably explode if I suggested sharing a table.

Still, I couldn’t help asking, “Why didn’t you tell them I’d hired you as a bodyguard?”

“You seemed embarrassed about it,” Mason said with a shrug. “Plus, sometimes cops get weird about other people stepping on their turf. I didn’t want them stonewalling us because they thought I was trying to show them up.”

I wrinkled my nose. “How do you know so much about cops?”

“I don’t really. It’s just a personality type you see a lot in—” He cut himself off. “Doesn’t matter. But you should have abodyguard. You weren’t stupid for wanting one in the first place. I don’t care if it’s not me, but you should get someone.”

He was glaring at me again, like sheer force of will might be enough to make me agree with him.

“Yeah, yeah.” I pulled out my phone. Bella would be waiting at home. “I will.”

“Kai, I mean it.” Mason touched my shoulder, and I glanced up, startled. “You need someone. This is serious.”

“I know,” I said, a little too vehemently. “Trust me, you don’t have to convince me.”

“Then why do I feel like I do? Why do I feel like you’re going to go home and shrug this off and try to go back to normal?”

Because that’s exactly what I’d planned on doing?

I didn’t say it, of course. I didn’t want to get into how exhausting it was to live every day like someone might be waiting to finish what they’d started. I could call another bodyguard tomorrow. Tonight, I just wanted to go home.

I turned towards my car.

“Here, give me that,” Mason said, and before I could react, he plucked my phone out of my hand.

“What the fuck?” I said, but he was already typing.

He opened my messaging app and started a new thread, entering a phone number I didn’t recognize. Then he typed, ‘Hi,’ and hit send before handing the phone back to me. Our fingers brushed, and I swore I felt a jolt of electricity run through my hand.

“There,” he said. “That’s my number. I can’t make you take this seriously, but at least you have it. Just in case.”

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