Page 44 of Crossing the Line
CHAPTER TEN
Xavier pulled up to the Sinner estate’s gates and prepared to push the opener when his attention was caught by what looked like a wrestling match in progress on the side of the road. He keyed in an alert on the security system app on his phone and jumped out of the SUV.
It looked like two photographers in a half-assed street fight.
“Give it to me!” the rotund one in the headlock screeched.
The second photographer, the taller of the two who weighed half of what the other did, was winning. He clutched a manila envelope high overhead while fighting off the flails of the first man. His camera bag clanked around his legs as he spun around.
“It’s an invasion of privacy,” the tall one yelled.
“Duh! That’s what we do, you fucking moron!” The first photographer was starting to gasp for air.
“Gentlemen.” Xavier had his jacket open, weapon in easy reach.
The taller man froze. He was a lanky six-foot with shaggy light brown hair. He released the other photographer from the headlock and straightened his Avengers t-shirt. “Are you Xavier Saint?” he asked.
Xavier raised an eyebrow. “Who’s asking?”
“I’m Arnie. Some guy just left this here for you.” Arnie held out the envelope. The other photographer took one last wild lunge at it and came up short when Xavier snatched it out of his reach, which wasn’t surprising because one of his arms was in a sling and none of the rest of him looked like it was moving well.
The outside of the envelope did indeed have his name scrawled across it.
“Arnie, you look familiar,” Xavier told him.
“Douchebag Joe and I hang around here a lot,” Arnie said, shooting a look at Joe who was leaning against the side of a Toyota and wheezing. “Hey, don’t dent the fender,” Arnie warned him.
“Fuck you, Arnhole.”
“Ah, the Douchebag Joe who tried to get my client killed,” Xavier said, his tone ice cold.
“Yeah? Well fuck you, too. She almost ran me over. I was just minding my own business,” Joe sputtered. “I should fucking sue. Then I’ll live in this house, and Arnhole here can wait around to take my picture.”
“Yeah, because that would happen,” Arnie rolled his eyes.
“Tell me about the man who dropped this off,” Xavier said, waving the envelope.
“He wasn’t famous,” Joe snapped. “So I don’t give a shit about him. I don’t get paid to—”
“When I want you to talk, I’ll tell you,” Xavier said. He let his jacket gap just enough that Douchebag got a good look at his holster. He turned his attention back to Arnie. “The guy who dropped this off.”
Arnie shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and hunched his shoulders. “Uh. He was about Douchebag’s height but way less fat.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’d guess around one sixty, maybe one seventy. His hair was like a blah brown. He had sunglasses on. But there was nothing special about him. Just kind of ordinary.”
“What was he wearing?”
“Khakis and a t-shirt,” Arnie shrugged.
“What kind of car did he drive?”
Arnie shook his head. “No car. He walked up to the gates, which is weird. This isn’t exactly a foot traffic kind of neighborhood, no sidewalks or anything.”
Xavier pulled up a picture of Ganim on his phone. “This the guy?”
Arnie squinted at the screen. “Yeah, I think that’s him. Hard to tell because of the sunglasses, but I’m pretty sure.”
