Kim makes a strangled noise in her throat. “That shithead is Wyatt Westland.”
“The asshole you have to put up with during your month off?” I say, stunned. “The jerk who called you Scarface?”
“Yes.” Her jaw tightens.
“You didn’t tell me he was your new next-door neighbor!” Poor Kim. It must suck to live next to a bully from her past.
“Because he’s going to move soon! He sold some fancy-schmancy photo app patents to Sweet Darlings Inc. for a lot of money. And what do newly minted billionaires do with their new cash?” She snaps her fingers. “Spend it! He’s bound to upgrade his car, his home and his furniture. Which means he’s going to be gone—to some overpriced, eye-gougingly gaudy mansion located someplace very far from here. This is just him slumming until he finds something ‘better.’”
“Wow.” She’s probably right. I’ve read about lottery winners spending money like crazy. Why would this Wyatt guy be any different?
“He’s already sending his kid to private school. So soon I’ll have a nice, normal, non-douchebag neighbor.”
“Hey, do you think he abuses his cat?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“The cat doesn’t seem to like him much. She was complaining when he took her away.”
“Oh.” Kim shrugs. “Princess loves me more than him or his daughter for some reason.” She smirks. “Probably because even an animal with a brain the size of a walnut knows I’m not a dick.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Evie
Kim slows down as we drive the long, quiet road and approach the wrought-iron fence around the mansion. The design is complex and elaborate, and I’m pretty sure any determined crazy could drive through it with an SUV or a truck, but Nate told me that even a flimsy barrier tends to discourage people from approaching.
The car stops at the gate. I turn to tell Kim the security code to put into the number pad, then stop as a man moves slowly toward her side of the car.
He doesn’t look like a vagrant or loiterer. He’s in his mid- to late fifties, with his stubble half white and half light brown. The skin’s tanned and weathered, and his shirt and jeans are both old and faded. The sneakers on him are black-gone-gray and as weathered as his skin. There’s a firm purpose to his gait, and in his steady, clear gaze. He knocks on Kim’s window.
She lowers it, just enough to talk, but not enough for him to stick his fingers in. “Look, we have no cash, and the owner won’t be back for a while,” she says.
“I’m not looking for cash. I was wondering if you know when Evie Sterling is coming back. You might know her, if you’re working here.”
I snort-laugh at the man’s assumption, until it suddenly registers that he’s looking for me, not Nate.
I shift until I can peer at him better. “What do you need to see her for?” Maybe it’s about one of the medical centers. But then, why not just go to one directly, or come to the office?
He dips his head and stares at me hard. Then he puts a hand over his mouth for a moment and starts blinking hard and fast. “Oh my God. It’s you,” he says finally, his voice thick. “You’re more beautiful in person than in the pictures.”
His over-the-top reaction makes my face hot, and I squirm in the passenger seat. I’m not anything special, and I resent the fact that strangers can now recognize me because of the tabloids.
“I’m Bradley Brown,” he says.
For a moment, I can’t even speak. It’s as though somebody dropped a bomb in my psyche. It’s like all my birthday and Christmas wishes came true.
“I just…” He wipes at his eyes. “It’s enough to know you’re okay. I didn’t mean to… Sorry.” He starts to turn away as though realizing he’s revealed too much.
I jump out of the car.
“Don’t!” Kim says, getting out of the car herself.
I put a hand up toward her, then call, “Stop!” I start after him, with Kim following half a step back.
He keeps walking, and I pick up the pace. Kim reaches for me.
“What if he’s a kidnapper?” she says. “Do you know what you’re worth to criminals now?”