“Chase, do you know how to dance?” Mickey asked.
“I do, but I don’t know how to stepdance.”
“I could teach you, you know.”
He glanced at Rylie and chuckled. She was smirking and wasn’t going to bail him out of this one. “Um . . . I think that’s out of my league, kiddo. I’d probably trip over my feet and knock everyone else over. I’ll leave the stepdancing to you and the other experts. Thanks for offering though.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Very diplomatic,” Rylie said softly.
He nodded as he pulled into the parking lot of Scoops Ice Cream Parlor and found a spot toward the back. They weren’t the only ones from the show who’d decided a cold treat was in order. Several of the dancers, still in their outfits, were heading toward the three walk-up windows with their families. “I have two nieces and three nephews. I learned diplomacy and creative tact are often needed when dealing with kids.”
When they got to the front of the building, they had to stand in line for a few minutes. Mickey talked with some friends, while Rylie said hello to several adults and introduced Chase . . . as a friend.
Oh, hell, no. She was not putting him in the friend zone. Not after he’d been thinking about her all week. It wasn’t as if he’d never dreamed about a woman he was attracted to before, both while awake and asleep, but with Rylie, it was different. While many of his dreams had been of Rylie in his bed, there had been plenty more of him just hanging out with her and Mickey, doing everyday, fun things. He’d started making a mental list of adventures they could all do together, like go to the zoo or fishing in the gulf on his boat.
After they got their ice cream order—Rocky Road for Rylie, chocolate marshmallow for Mickey, and Key Lime for Chase—they found a table that’d just been vacated on the attached patio. Chase was having a great time listening to Mickey and Rylie talk about the show and the upcoming competition, but as he licked his ice cream cone, a tingling grew at the back of his neck. It was a subconscious instinct he’d learned long ago not to ignore. He could feel someone’s eyes upon him and not in a good or indifferent way. Someone was watching him.
Slowly swiveling his head, he took in his surroundings. There were a lot of people around, but no one at the tables or standing in line was paying him any attention, except a few women with sexual interest in their eyes. He kept his gaze moving, not encouraging any of them.
Nobody in the immediate area was causing him any concern, so he searched for anyone not obviously out in the open. He checked the corners, windows, and doorways of the buildings on the block. Once he was certain they were clear, he turned his attention to the parked vehicles in the lot, another one across the street, and along the curbs going in both directions.
Nobody.
Nobody.
There!
Some asshole in a nondescript sedan, parallel parked on the other side of the street, had a fancy camera with a zoom lens pointed right at Chase, Mickey, and Rylie. Had someone from his past come looking for him? It wouldn’t have been the first time.
Chase couldn’t make out the driver’s features between a baseball cap pulled down low over sunglasses. Taking his phone from his pocket, he stood. “I’ll be right back—just need to make a quick phone call. Wait here for me.”
“Okay,” Rylie responded, distractedly, as she handed Mickey some napkins after the girl’s ice cream had dripped on her shirt.
He strode to the sidewalk with his phone to his ear, acting like everything was normal. When he’d gone far enough past the car, he waited until a bus passed, blocking the photographer’s view, and jogged across the street, so he could approach from behind, in the guy’s blind spot. But before Chase could get close enough, the asshole put the car in drive and peeled out down the street, garnering the attention of everyone in the area.
“Fuck,” Chase muttered as he hit a speed dial button on his phone. When the call was answered, he barked, “Gordo, take down this plate.” He rattled it off to his computer tech who was probably still at BHS headquarters. The woman practically lived there. “It’s on a gray, four-door Toyota Corolla, about five or six years old. I want to know everything you can find out about it, the owner, and the damn driver within the hour. Hack into the city’s traffic cameras. It was parked across the street from Scoops Ice Cream on Central Avenue and took off about a minute ago.”
The clatter of fingers typing furiously on a keyboard came over the line. “You got it, boss. Need backup?”
He was about to say no, but then he glanced across the street and saw Rylie and Mickey watching him curiously. Until he knew who that sneaky bastard was and what he’d been up, Chase wasn’t taking any chances. He gave Gordo Rylie’s home address. “I want two teams watching the front and back of her house until further notice. Tell them to be discreet.” He didn’t want to worry Rylie and explain why he was putting a detail on her house until he had more information.
“I’ll let Irv know to get someone out there ASAP. He’s in his office. Anything else?”
“Just get me that intel. I’ll be there soon.”
“I’ll be ready and waiting.”
Chase disconnected the call, certain his employee would have a full dossier on the car’s owner and the driver, if it hadn’t been the same person, by the time he got to the office. When he returned to the table on the patio, Rylie stood. “Is everything okay? Whose car was that?”
Damn, from the worried expression on her face, she’d watched his tactical maneuvers, which is probably how the driver had seen him coming. “I don’t know.” Which was the truth, but then he added a lie. “I thought I recognized the driver as a friend of mine, but I guess I was wrong.”
“Oh, okay . . .” Her response told him she didn’t quite believe him, but he didn’t want to worry her until he had all the details of who the guy was and why he’d been taking pictures of them.
“Listen, I need to drive you back to your car now and then head into work. Unfortunately, in the security business, you’re on call twenty-four seven.” He ruffled Mickey’s hair. “Sorry I have to go, pipsqueak, but I really had a good time at the recital. I was thinking, if the two of you aren’t doing anything tomorrow, would you like to go to the zoo?” Yeah, that was kind of dirty pool, asking that in front of Mickey, but he was willing to take any advantage available to get to know Rylie better. Her daughter had already won his heart, and he didn’t think it would take much for Rylie to do the same. It amazed him they’d only spent a combined few hours together over three separate days, however, it felt like he’d known them a lot longer. The more he got to know them, the more he wanted to take Ian’s advice and see where things went with him and Rylie. Somehow, he had to figure out how to ask her on a date without having Mickey feel left out. The last thing he wanted either of them to think was he was being nice to Mickey just so he could date her mother. “A friend of mine is one of the zookeepers at ZooTampa, and we can take a behind-the-scenes tour that most people don’t get to see.”
“Yay! Can we, Mom? Please?”
She gave Chase a reproachful stare, letting him know she was onto him, but then she surprised him by saying, “Yes, we can. It sounds like the tour will be fun.”
“Oh, it is,” he said, as they started walking toward the parking lot. “I’ve taken my nieces and nephews on it before when they’ve visited. We’ll get to help feed some of the animals. The otters are my favorite.” He grinned and shrugged when Rylie raised her brow at him. “What can I say, they make me laugh.”
“This I have to see—macho Chase Dixon feeding cute, itty-bitty otters.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound so macho when you put it that way.”
When they arrived at the school parking lot, Rylie’s SUV was one of only a few vehicles that’d been left there. The Corolla was nowhere in sight and nothing seemed out of place to Chase. He waited until they pulled out onto the roadway, then followed them. He stayed far enough behind Rylie that, hopefully, she would
n’t notice him, but he needed to make sure they got home okay. Once they were behind locked doors, he’d head to BHS to find out what the fuck was going on.
Chapter Six
Chase strode into BHS’s war-room and took one of the two empty rolling desk chairs at the massive computer console. Brody Evans’s setup over at Trident was jokingly referred to as a compact version of NASA’s control center, and Gordo, not to be outdone, likened hers to NORAD’s at Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado.
“Talk to me, Gordo,” Chase said as Irv quietly entered the room and took the other chair.
“Next time, give me a challenge, will ya? This was a piece of cake. The car is registered to Joey Skaggs, a forty-two-year-old, lowlife PI with questionable work ethics.” The computer tech tapped away on her keyboard, bringing images and data up on one of the multiple huge screens hanging on the wall above her. Four of the images were of a driver’s license, a vehicle registration with the license plate Chase had gotten, a concealed carry permit, and a private investigator’s license, all from the state of Florida. “In my opinion, his photo should appear next to the word ‘skeevy’ in the dictionary with that greasy hair and smirk.” She brought up a screenshot that had obviously come from the city’s traffic cameras. “As you can see, he was also the driver of the vehicle when it passed the traffic cam a block away from Scoops at the same time you called me, so no whining about someone stealing his vehicle.”
“Background?”
“College dropout after one year. Did sixteen months in the Army before getting a medical discharge for chronic asthma. Never got past Private First Class and did his entire tour in supply at Fort Benning. Tried to get on the police department in several cities and towns, including Tampa and St. Pete, and failed to get past the interview and eval process each time. Guess he finally gave up and applied for a PI license. He’s been doing that for the last seventeen years. Files his taxes, claiming a loss every year. Takes on mostly the types of cases we won’t. You know, getting dirt on a cheating spouse or a business competitor—whatever someone’s willing to pay him for. Twice divorced, no kids. Rents an apartment in Tampa. Has had some harassment complaints against him—probably people he was investigating. The charges never resulted in anything more than a few slaps on the wrist. Paid a bunch of parking and traffic tickets on time.
“Where can we find him?”
Gordo pulled a sheet of paper off a nearby printer and handed it to him. “Home and business addresses—both in lower income areas. His home, business, and cell phone numbers are on there, too. No other vehicles are registered to him. If you want his financial info, I’ll need a little more time. His bank is undergoing routine maintenance at the moment, so I can’t access his account. I’ll be able to get in around midnight.”
Nodding, Chase got to his feet. “Do it. I want to know who’s been hiring him—hopefully they didn’t pay in cash. Irv, let’s take a ride and find out why Joey ‘Skeevy’ Skaggs was taking pictures of me, Rylie, and Mickey.”
The computer tech gaped at him. “You were out with the woman who stopped by with her little girl the other day?”
“You’re too nosey for your own good, Gordo,” he responded as he strode out the door. He stopped short. “Who’s on the detail at Rylie’s?”
Irv spoke for the first time since he’d walked into the room. “Tuff brought Meat with him. If he’s walking around the neighborhood with the dog, people will be less suspicious of him. Boots just got there a few minutes ago, too.” Blane “Boots” Nelson was often paired with Tuff, and they made one of BHS’s best two-man teams. Rylie and Mickey were in good hands. “Dusty and Reaper are also on their way.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
Thirty minutes later, they pulled into an older apartment complex, just north of Tampa International Airport. From the look of things—the place hadn’t had any work or updates done since it’d been built sometime in the 1970s. The exterior stucco was crumbling, and the paint on doors and window frames was peeling. The parking area could use a good repaving, too. Most of the vehicles occupying the lot were at least five years old. Joey Skaggs obviously wasn’t making good money as a PI. If he was, his ex-wives must be getting healthy chunks of it.
Irv found a parking spot with easy access to an exit if needed. They’d taken his SUV instead of Chase’s BMW. Both men took in their surroundings before exiting the vehicle. Two older men were sitting on a bench talking and smoking. A nearby jungle gym and swing set were unoccupied at that late hour. On the other side of the parking lot, several teens were involved in a pickup basketball game. Nobody unusual stood out.
Climbing from the SUV, Chase met his right-hand man by the front bumper. He pointed to a gray Corolla parked a few spaces down. “That’s Skaggs’s ride.”
“Want me to tag it?”
Chase thought about it for a moment. He got the feeling Skaggs wasn’t going to be happy to see them and even less happy about giving them the information they wanted. “Do it.”
He waited while Irv grabbed a tracking device from the gear he’d stowed in the rear of the SUV. The man jogged behind the vehicles separating his from Skaggs’s and kneeled down behind the trunk. Moments later he rejoined Chase, pulled out his cell phone, and pressed a speed dial button. When the call went through, he said, “Gordo, activate tracking device number Delta-seven-six-seven-nine-one.”
He disconnected the call and followed as Chase started for the front entrance of the building. It was doubtful Skaggs would be expecting them, and if he decided to run when they knocked on his door, well, he was on the third floor.
Entering the four-story building, the men opted for the stairs—the elevator looked as decrepit as the rest of the building and Chase didn’t trust it not to break down with them in it. Loud music came from an apartment at one end of the hallway, while the unit numbers ran down as they strode toward the other end. Skaggs’s was the second to last door on the left. Irv knocked a few times.
A male voice drifted through the door. “Who is it?”
“Pizza!” Chase responded.
“I didn’t order any pizza!”
“Look, the order says apartment three-oh-three—that’s you.”
“I didn’t order any fucking pizza!”
Irv rolled his eyes and shook his head as Chase pounded harder on the door. “Look, someone from this apartment ordered a pizza. Either you open the door and pay me for it or I’m calling the cops!”
“And I told you I didn’t order—” The door swung open and Skagg’s tirade stopped as he gaped at them. Standing there in a dirty T-shirt, sweatpants, and no socks or shoes, he hesitated a moment too long before trying to slam the door shut, and the two men pushed their way into the apartment.
Irv shut the door as Chase shoved Skaggs into the living room. The man stumbled and ended up on the floor. Chase towered over him, giving him his most menacing glare. “Joey Skaggs, I don’t need to tell you who I am, but you’re going to tell me why you were following me earlier and taking photos. If you don’t, the rest of your evening is not going to be pleasant, I can assure you.”
“I don’t have to tell you shit! Get the fuck out of here!”
“Wrong answer.” Chase reached down and grabbed a handful of the idiot’s hair. Ugh, it was as greasy as Gordo had said.
Ignoring the man’s pain-filled cries and protests, Chase dragged him into a bathroom that hadn’t seen a bottle of Clorox in decades and over to the toilet. “Last chance, Skaggs. Why were you taking pictures of me?”
“Fuck you!”
“You’re not my type.” He propelled the bastard’s head into the toilet, under water. Skaggs thrashed and tried to escape Chase’s grip. After a few seconds, he pulled on the man’s hair, letting him get a few gasping breaths in before pushing him under again. This time, when Chase let him up, he let go of his hair and let him fall, unceremoniously, to the cracked, gray linoleum, which was now slick with water.
As Skaggs coughed and wheezed, Chase stepped over him to
the sink and turned on the faucets. At least there was a bottle of liquid soap on the counter. He washed his hands then thought better of drying them on the dirty towel hanging from a metal ring on the wall. Instead, he shook the water from his hands. “Now, unless you want me to get my hands dirty again, you’ll answer my question. Why were you following me?”
Skaggs turned onto his side and glowered up at Chase and Irv, who was standing in the doorway since the bathroom was too small for all three of them. When he finally spoke, Skaggs’s voice was hoarse and raspy as he gestured toward the toilet. “Was that really necessary?”
Chase raised his brow at the man, then glanced at Irv, who shrugged. “I thought it was an appropriate response to his rudeness.”
“I agree,” Chase countered before giving Skaggs’s thigh a hard nudge. “Now, this is your last chance before I take a dump in the toilet then shove your face in it. Why. Were. You. Following. Me?
“I wasn’t following you, you fucking asshole.”
Chase turned a deaf ear to the insult. He’d been called a lot worse by a lot better. What he’d zeroed in on was the first part of that sentence. A sinking feeling settled in his gut. “If you weren’t following me, then who were you following? Come on, Skaggs. You’re going to give me the answers I want before we leave you here. What condition you’re in at that point depends on you. Start fucking talking and don’t leave anything out.”
Pushing himself up into a sitting position, he leaned back against the tub and coughed a few more times. “I was paid a thousand bucks, upfront, to follow the woman and kid you were with. I was to take pictures and notes on where they went and with who. I’m supposed to get another three thousand when the job is done.”
“Why? Who paid you?”
“I don’t know why. I was told if I asked too many questions, the guy would find someone else to do the job.”
“What guy?”
He shook his head, then wiped his nose with his arm. “He didn’t give me a name. Just showed up at my office and made the offer. Said he’d call me in a few days to arrange a meeting time so I could give him the photos and other information. That’s it, Dixon, I swear. I didn’t know you were involved with her until tonight.”
Blood Bound (Blackhawk Security Book 2) Page 4
