“I don’t think it was a thief,” she replied. Walking over to Marissa’s room and seeing it in order—relative order, as Marissa tended to let her laundry lie about her room—confirmed her suspicion. “The guy knew I was a reporter.”
“He said something to you?”
“Something along the lines of, ‘well, it’s the reporter.’”
“Did the guy say anything else?”
She shook her head.
“We’ve seen an uptick in the number of threats to journalists in the past few years. Which news outlet do you work for?”
The officers asked her several more questions, including whether or not the Tribune had received any threats. They also asked her for a description of the intruder. When Marissa arrived shortly after, they questioned her as well.
“It does seem like a guy was targeting you,” Officer Nguyen said to Kimani. “We could dust for prints, but if you’re pretty certain he was wearing gloves, we won’t waste our time.”
“He was covered from head to toe,” she replied. Only the little bit of skin she had seen through the eyeholes of the ski mask had clued her in that the intruder was likely white, possibly Latino.
After the police officers left, Kim turned to a visibly shaken Marissa. “I’ll see if I can go in to work late tomorrow and clean everything up. You okay?”
“I’m wishing I hadn’t given up smoking,” Marissa said with a nervous laugh. “Is it reasonable that I’m, like, totally freaked out?”
“I’m freaked out, too.”
“I almost want to go to The Lair. I need something to calm me down, and the wine cooler in the fridge isn’t going to cut it.”
“Is The Lair open at this time of night?”
“It’s open till two in the morning. You never know when you might need a late night flogging. You should come.”
Kim stiffened. The only person who had ever flogged her was Ben. She couldn’t imagine receiving a flogging from anyone else, especially a stranger.
“It’s a lot healthier than smoking or drinking,” Marissa coaxed.
“Thanks for the invite, but I want to at least put all my clothes back in their drawers. Maybe next time.”
Marissa raised her brows. “That’s the first time you’ve been receptive to going to The Lair. I’m gonna hold you to it.”
Kimani hesitated, but going to a BDSM club with Marissa was the least of her worries. She hadn’t wanted to worry Marissa about the note, but
she had to believe that and the break-in were connected. What would Jake want with her laptop? Was he worried that she had incriminating photos of him? But he had to know anything she had, like the recordings she had on her pens, would have been turned over to the District Attorney’s Office.
Maybe he broke in to her home just to harass her? At first she had considered that the intruder himself was Jake, but the former was too thin. And it fit that Jake would have someone else do the dirty work for him. A judge had also placed a restraining order on him. He wasn’t supposed to go within a hundred feet of her.
Recalling the grip on her arm by the intruder, Kimani shuddered. She was sure he had intended to pull her into the house, but she didn’t want to think about what he might have done after that. She made a mental note to buy one of the bolt locks Mrs. Sanchez had on her door.
Chapter Six
“Uhsnei Hiej,” swore Bataar, holding the side of his face where Ben’s fist had landed. Somehow Ben had felled the large man. “What was that for?”
Ignoring the gasps and gawks from people passing by them on the sidewalk and a woman telling her husband to call the police, Ben stared at the head of his security detail. “You’re fired. I’ll let you throw the next punch, but then you’re getting your arse kicked.”
“She wasn’t hurt,” Bataar insisted. “My guy was there. Moe prevented anything more from happening.”
Ben drew in a breath to lower his blood pressure as he took in what Bataar said.
“And he stuck around the rest of the night to make sure the guy didn’t return,” Bataar continued. “I’ve got the new guy, Bill, on the next shift, so she’s covered twenty-four hours a day.”
Ben took in another long breath. The rational side of him advised against firing Bataar, as he was unlikely to find a more loyal and effective bodyguard, someone willing to take a kick to the head whenever his employer wanted to blow off steam, but his anger wanted a punching bag at the moment.