Chasin's Surrender (Gemini Group Book 5) Page 4

  I knew I was glaring. It was rude, but I didn’t give a shit. I was tired of him snapping at me.

  “Well, excuse me, Chasin. I thought he meant personal visitors. Someone coming to see me.”

  “Did any of these people talk to you?” Nixon inquired.

  “A woman named Lori poked her head into the room I was in, introduced herself, and told me she was there to clean and they’d be out of the house in a few hours.”

  “They?” Alec cut in.

  “I guess her cleaning crew. I didn’t actually see them. And she didn’t say goodbye when she left.”

  “And the groceries?”

  “I didn’t see who delivered them.”

  Alec frowned and stared at me disbelievingly. “Where were you when all of this was going on?”

  “On the second floor. I was writing.”

  “This happens,” Bobby sighed. “When Vivi gets lost in her music she’s totally out of it. Life goes on around her and she’s oblivious. I bet she didn’t even hear the vacuum running and that could’ve been happening right next to her.”

  All of that was true but Bobby made it sound like I was a total nitwit.

  “I had the door closed.” I tried to lamely defend myself.

  “We need the name of the cleaning service, lawn care, and delivery service,” Alec told me.

  “I’ll get you the names from her uncle,” Bobby answered for me.

  When had this become my life? When had I lost control over the simplest of tasks like answering for myself?

  “I’ll call my uncle this afternoon and get you the names,” I rejoined the conversation. “But just so you know, I’ll be telling him to cancel the food delivery. I can do my own grocery shopping. And while I’m staying there, he doesn’t need the cleaning service to come in. Though I can’t do the yard work, so I’ll ask him to keep the gardener.”

  “Vivi, I leave to go back to Oak Hill in two days,” Bobby reminded me of something I knew.

  “So?”

  “That means I won’t be here to go shopping for you.”

  Pain I knew my friend didn’t mean to inflict crawled down my throat and settled in my stomach. Embarrassment bloomed and a bitter chill washed over me.

  Alec, Nixon, and Chasin must’ve thought I was a spoiled bitch who made her assistant get groceries for her.

  That wasn’t me. Though it seemed that was who I’d turned into.

  “I can get my own groceries, Bobby,” I muttered.

  “I know you can. God, Vivi, why do you sound like I kicked your puppy? What I’m saying is, I won’t be here to go out and stock the fridge so you can stay safely inside away from people recognizing you. It’s not like you can just waltz around, perusing the cracker aisle. That shit will be on the internet in two-point-five seconds and your secret hideaway will quickly become not-so-secret.”

  Damn. She was right.

  “Fine, I’ll keep the deliveries,” I gave in.

  “Cancel the delivery service,” Chasin instructed. “We’ll deliver what you need.”

  “That’s not necessary,” I rushed out.

  “Actually, it is. The fewer people who have access to you, the better. Anything you need, I’ll bring over. We’ll also need a list of people who will have contact with Genevieve. People from the label, managers, friends, anyone like that. Once they’re cleared, we’ll give you word and they can resume business. Until that happens, no one is to have direct contact with her.”

  Bobby was nodding like she was fully on board with this craziness.

  “Don’t you think that’s overkill? No one on my team would hurt me.”

  “They wouldn’t?” Chasin grunted. “And you know this how?”

  “Because they’re good people. I’ve worked with them a long time. They like me. And seriously, they’re being cautious, that’s why they want to hire you. So it doesn’t make any sense that one of them would want to hurt me.”

  “Vivi, he’s right. Everyone should be vetted.”

  “Why, Bobby? Why now is everyone in such an uproar? The presents and letters have been coming for a long time. We all know this person knows where I live. It’s creepy, it sucks, but damn, they’re letters and trinkets. I would like for them to stop. I don’t like knowing something new is gonna show up and creep me out, but, Jesus, this is totally crazy.”

  Bobby’s face paled. She looked at Nixon, then back to me and I knew, fucking knew, she was holding something back. Something that was going to freak me out and piss me off.

  “Just tell me, Bobby. What happened?”

  Then it dawned on me. When I’d told Bobby I was going to go to my uncle’s to get away from the distractions of letters I’d long ago stopped reading, and the packages that had started coming more frequently, she’d agreed—immediately. Then my manager, agent, and label all thought it was a terrific idea. Even the woman in charge of publicity, Colleen, thought it was good, and she was never happy when I locked myself away. She liked me front and center and in the headlines. Yet, she’d spun a story and hadn’t argued.

  And they were the ones who had strongly suggested it was time for me to get a bodyguard, to which I begrudgingly agreed just so they’d leave me alone and I could work.

  A bodyguard—not a full-on private team of investigators.

  The police were already involved; every new item was turned over to the detective working the case.

  “Bobby,” I prompted.

  “Okay, okay, don’t be mad.”

  That was never a good way to start any conversation, so I braced. Unfortunately, in the end, I shouldn’t have braced—I should’ve battened down the hatches and moved to my make-believe island where I was going to live alone and be a hermit. Because never in my life had I ever been so scared.

  “We found stuff in your dressing rooms. And, um, in your bedroom.”

  “My bedroom?” I croaked. “That’s why you changed the locks and the alarm code?”

  “Yeah,” she whispered.

  “What’d you find?”

  “Vivi—”

  “What the fuck did you find?” I shouted.

  “A picture of you. From a concert. It…um…the angle looked like it was taken from the front row. And there was other…stuff. Vivi, please, trust me this is necessary. We need Gemini Group—”

  “Trust you?” I seethed. “Someone was in my bedroom, Bobby. My room. Mine. And you didn’t tell me. Fuck, someone was in my house. What else?”

  Bobby’s eyes skidded around the table before they came back to me. In a hoarse, weak voice, one I’d never heard her use, she muttered, “Your panties. They had…um…you know…ejaculate on them.”

  I shot to my feet so fast my head spun. The chair tipped over, hitting the floor with a loud bang. There was commotion around me but I was too disgusted and angry—and did I say, disgusted—to pay attention to what was happening.

  “Someone jerked off in my fucking bed and you let me sleep in there after that?” I screamed. “I slept in there! Someone was in my house and you let me go back there. In. My. Bed.”

  “Vivi—”

  That was all I heard because suddenly my face hit a wall of muscle, strong arms wrapped around me, and I wanted to disappear so badly I pressed myself close to Chasin, praying my body would fuse with his and I’d vanish.

  Then I wasn’t standing. Chasin swept me up in his arms. I should’ve fought. I should’ve demanded he put me down and take his hands off of me, but I didn’t.

  I couldn’t.

  I was in shock. Emotionally destroyed. And so thoroughly creeped out I was on the verge of going berserk. I was also trembling. No, I was shaking so hard my teeth were rattling. So I didn’t fight Chasin. Not when he climbed a set of stairs. Not when he pushed into an office, slammed the door, walked across the room, and sat us down in a chair.

  It groaned under our weight. I ignored that, too, the possibility of it giving out from under us, and instead I shoved my face further into his neck and burrowed deeper.

  I
knew I shouldn’t have wondered if my life could get any worse.

  5

  Chasin had never seen a woman so undone.

  And that was saying something considering Chasin had been in the room when his buddy’s wife, Kennedy, had found out someone had planted cameras in her house. Those cameras had captured her and Jameson together—private moments that no one should’ve ever seen.

  Chasin had also been with Weston when they’d rescued his wife, Silver, from the hull of a boat after she’d been captured and handcuffed to a pipe.

  And he’d seen the aftermath of Nixon’s wife, McKenna, being beaten to shit.

  All three strong women, all three undone after their situations. None of them as bad as the woman in Chasin’s arms.

  He was unsure what to say so he kept quiet and held Genevieve, something he never thought he’d get to do again. And as fucked as the reason why—the news her friend had delivered— was, he couldn’t deny holding her felt good.

  After a week of mentally chastising himself for not being able to stop thinking about her, he was free to remember the hours they’d spent together and not do it in anger.

  He’d overreacted.

  He’d been wrong.

  He’d said shit that was uncool and he planned on rectifying that as soon as it was appropriate to do so. But even he knew that time was not after she’d learned some sick fuck had been in her home, in her bed, and had jerked off using her panties as a come rag.

  That shit was beyond the beyond. So goddamned disgusting, he understood why she was shaking in his arms.

  Chasin also planned on having words with Bobby. In his mind, there was no reason good enough to have kept that shit a secret. If nothing else, Genevieve was right, her friend had allowed her to sleep in a bed where a psychopath had pleasured himself looking at a picture of Genevieve.

  Fucking goddamn.

  The mere thought of that sent Chasin into a rage.

  “I’m selling my house,” she announced.

  He couldn’t blame her for never wanting to go back there but now was not the time to make any decisions. Chasin didn’t tell her that, instead he remained silent.

  “They let me…” Genevieve trailed off and Chasin felt his heart constrict. “I slept there. And they all let me. The people I trust. They all knew and still let me crawl into my bed thinking I was safe there, that no one and nothing could touch me. I was free to be me in my house. I didn’t have to be what everyone thinks I am. And he was in there. They didn’t tell me.”

  Free to be me?

  “Babe, why aren’t you free to be you?”

  “Because no one wants Genevieve. They want Vivi. They want the star. No one wants just me. That’s all they care about—more Vivi, more music, more records to sell, more venues to fill, more purses to buy, and trips to take. Genevieve doesn’t do that. Vivi does.”

  Chasin hated that she talked about herself like she was two different people.

  The fuck of it was, from what little he knew he reckoned she was right, but she was also wrong. Genevieve Ellison was Vivi Rush. But it didn’t matter what name they used, she was their cash cow.

  On that thought, his anger ratcheted up and he held her tighter.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Chasin called out.

  Nixon poked his head in, took in Chasin and Genevieve, and wisely didn’t comment on their position. Instead, he announced, “Bobby gave Alec a list of people who are likely to be in touch with Genevieve, so we don’t disrupt her life. He and McKenna are starting on those now.”

  McKenna wasn’t only Nixon’s wife, she also worked for Gemini Group. The woman was scary smart, and behind a keyboard, she made magic happen.

  “I’ll call my uncle and get you those names,” Genevieve said and tried to scramble off his lap. “Chasin, let me go.”

  “In a minute.”

  “I need to—”

  “In a minute, Genevieve.”

  Golden eyes sparked, and damn if Chasin didn’t like the fire he saw. So much better than the pain, but more than that, he simply liked her looking at him.

  “I’ll wait downstairs.” Nixon shut the door behind him. Genevieve remained stiff but didn’t try to move.

  Chasin’s hand moved to her face, his palm grazed her soft cheek. Genevieve went from stiff to solid but he ignored the change. His hand glided into her hair, and as the silky strands slid between his fingers, for the first time in a week he could breathe without a stabbing pain in his lungs.

  “I’m sorry.” He heard the swift intake, felt her chest expand, and watched as her eyes gentled, but she gave him nothing else.

  Just a tiny crack in her armor.

  That was all he needed.

  “I was a dick and jumped the gun. I should’ve asked—”

  “You already said that,” Genevieve snapped, and the little bit of softness he’d gained turned hard. No, it turned into pain.

  “Said what?”

  “Nothing. Let me up.”

  “Babe, we gotta talk about this.”

  “Seriously? You wanna talk about this now?” Genevieve asked incredulously, and shifted again. “Let me up.”

  “Shit timing, I know. But we have to clear the air.”

  “No, we don’t. I have to call my uncle. Deal with Bobby, Melissa, and Leslie. Then I have to call a real estate agent and put my house on the market. When I’m done doing that, I need to find a book on how to grow your own food, and find an island. Selling my house won’t suck, I hate that place anyway. Moving to a deserted island so I can live in seclusion for the rest of my life won’t suck, either. But you know what will? If I starve to death. So let me up, so I can make my calls, find my books, and start learning how to live off the land so I don’t die.”

  Chasin’s hand untangled from her hair and slid down to the back of her neck. and he squeezed. “You’re not gonna die, babe.”

  “I will if you don’t let me up so I can—”

  “I’ll let you up after we talk.”

  “Fine. You wanna talk? We had a good time, then you left. End of story.”

  “We’re nowhere near the end of our story, Genevieve.”

  She gave him wide eyes before they narrowed into golden slits. He knew it was the wrong time to push, knew he was a dick for doing it, but he wasn’t going to let up. He wasn’t letting it go until she forgave him. That made him a dick, too.

  “I don’t need this right now,” she said and clenched her jaw. “In case you missed it, I already have a stalker.”

  “I didn’t miss shit, and neither did you.” Genevieve jerked back, Chasin’s grip tightened, and he leaned forward. “This isn’t gonna work unless we find a way to move on.”

  “What’s not gonna work?”

  “Me protecting you.”

  “You?” she yelped, clearly unhappy with the news he would be her bodyguard.

  “Me,” he confirmed.

  “Why can’t Nixon do it? Or Alec?”

  Chasin tamped down the irrational annoyance at hearing Genevieve ask why his friends wouldn’t be guarding her. There were so many reasons why that wouldn’t be happening. Whys and wherefores she wasn’t ready to learn, mainly because they’d freak her out. And she was right, she didn’t need more piled on her plate. But they did need to get a few things straight.

  “First, because Nix and Alec are already working cases. Second being I handle all close cover work. That means I’m your shadow. You go nowhere without me. You’re not alone in your house, in your car, you don’t answer the door, you don’t look out the windows, you don’t go outside to move dock furniture, you don’t go out on the boat. You do nothing without me stuck close.”

  “Stuck close?” she muttered.

  “Like glue.”

  “So I’m your prisoner?”

  “No, babe, what you are is safe.”

  Genevieve was back to trembling. Something Chasin liked a whole lot when she was under him with his hands and mouth on her doing things
that were worthy of a tremble. What he didn’t like was her sitting stiff on his lap, overwhelmed and not in a good way, shaking because she had some asshole terrorizing her life. “We’re gonna catch him. Until that happens, you’re untouchable. Now, we need to sort this shit out between me and you.”

  Since Chasin had her close he didn’t miss it—that spark of pain. The one that pierced his chest the first time he saw it and every time thereafter. The pain he’d put there because he was a jackass.

  “I can’t,” Genevieve whispered.

  There was a pleading in her tone, one that was not imploring him to stop, but begging him. One he couldn’t ignore.

  “All right, honey, how ‘bout this? We finish up here, let McKenna and the guys get to work, then we’ll head to your house. You can get settled and I’ll do a walk around the house and we’ll talk later.”

  “Chasin—”

  “Talk now or later? But, Genevieve, we will be talking.”

  “Later.”

  Thought so.

  Chasin smiled and kissed her forehead. He couldn’t say she’d welcomed his lips on her but she hadn’t pulled away.

  6

  One could say, my day hadn’t gone as planned.

  If someone would’ve told me I was going to find myself in Chasin’s lap I would’ve laughed myself stupid.

  If someone would’ve told me Chasin would be in my house, roaming around like he owned it, I would’ve told them they were insane because that was never going to happen.

  Yet, there Chasin was, giving Nixon a tour. One Nixon didn’t need because he’d been in my uncle’s house before. After Nixon told me he’d grown up in Cliff City, this didn’t surprise me. Even though the residence was privately owned, it was on the National Register of Historic Places, therefore my family had always opened the house for tours. Not to mention my uncle, and my granddad before him, held an annual Fourth of July party—over the years they’d welcomed the town and had hosted the governor.

  So Nixon having been in the house didn’t surprise me. What did was the way Chasin had moved through the rooms like he’d been there hundreds of times and not just for a couple of days. I wasn’t sure what to make of his obvious observation skills so I decided to shove those thoughts aside and not deal with Chasin—at all.