“What’s the point of that? It would take a lot longer.”
I shrugged. It really didn’t make much sense. Violating her privacy was violating her privacy whichever way I looked at it. I gave a deep sigh. “Just give him my number and let me talk to him, okay?”
“Sure…thanks for the wakeup call.”
I clicked off and tried to muster the energy to get up and go shower and get ready for another day. We had a conference call with the insurance company at eight. Since they were on East Coast time, we had to start early.
Like a zombie that had stepped right out of my game, I fumbled through my morning and was on my third cup of coffee by the time the call started.
Sure enough, they wanted to settle and according to my lawyer, there was not one goddamn thing I could do about it. A settlement package was being prepared even as we spoke.
By ten o’clock, the New York guys had to go to lunch and I sat in my office, face in my hands, trying to figure out where to go from here. They basically had my balls in a vise and if I deviated from their plan, they’d pull their coverage and I’d be fully liable for the amount of the lawsuit and all legal fees associated with it. And even though I stood a good chance to ultimately win a court case, I’d still lose because the costs involved would be very steep.
I’d called over to marketing to make sure Emilia hadn’t come in to work and was assured that she’d stayed home. I texted her a quick note asking if she was okay.
She answered that she was feeling better and was going to spend the evening with her mom. She asked if she could come over to my place tomorrow.
I curbed the ever-present irritation at the thought of not being able to see her every day, and I agreed.
During the early afternoon, I got a call on the cell from a number I didn’t recognize. I answered on the chance that it was Jordan’s man. When he introduced himself, I asked him about his experience and told him what I wanted him to accomplish.
He asked me basics about her—name, age, address, physical description, what type of car she drove. With each detail I divulged, I felt dirty. I felt like a stalker, like I was betraying her privacy on so many levels.
But those questions just kept nagging at me. What was going on with her? Why was she acting so weird? Why had she really moved out? Was it only because of our game of chicken or was there something else? Was there someone else?
God, there’d better not be someone else or I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions. The thought of some other man with her made me so crazy with rage that I couldn’t even allow myself to contemplate it.
“I want low-level surveillance. No shadowing her.” I couldn’t chance that she’d somehow find out and though Jordan had assured me that this guy was good, I wasn’t going to risk it.
“You say she’s in a condo? How many units in the complex? And is she living alone or with someone?”
“Uh, at least a hundred units. She has a roommate.”
“So some of the normal low-level surveillance techniques probably won’t be effective, like looking through mail or garbage and the like. It’s going to take some time if you don’t want her followed.”
I paused, stared at the wall. “Can you look into phone records, bank payments, that sort of thing?”
“There’s also other online stuff—social media, for example.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I’ve got that covered myself. Dig around and see what you can find out. If it ends up taking too long, I’ll make the call on whether to start having her followed.”
“Sounds good. I’ll keep you posted with updates on what I find. Text messages okay or would you prefer e-mail?”
“Text is fine.”
I ended the call and stared into space for a long moment. I’d been glued to her blog and every comment for days. There was nothing there. And her Twitter account and Facebook page were equally devoid of personal information—even the usual tiny tidbits she was comfortable giving, like complaining about having a cold or moaning about the weather—not that we had weather to moan about in Southern California. But it was almost meticulously devoid of anything personal. As if she was hiding something.
She’d found out long ago that I was a regular reader of her blog. It hadn’t affected how she wrote—even about Draco games—until now. Now it was sterilized of anything personal. There was no longer much Girl Geek in the Girl Geek blog.
With each question that came up, that old fear grew stronger. I couldn’t lose her. I wouldn’t.
Chapter Nine