The Mogul and the Muscle: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(45)

“It’s there, on the bed,” she said. “No one’s touched it.”

Her fluffy white comforter was slightly askew, the way it had been when I’d seen it on my first tour of her home. Right in the center of the bed was a red snapper, its reddish scales reflecting the light from the chandelier, its round black eye cold and dead.

She gestured toward the slimy fish. “I can’t decide if the fish is fitting or a total cliché.”

“What?”

She pointed to her hair. “It’s a ginger fish.”

I cracked a little grin. An intruder had been in her house and left a dead fish in her bed, and she could still make a joke about it. That was my girl.

I did a lap around the bed, checking it from every angle. On the far side was a typewritten note on a plain piece of paper, one corner tucked beneath the fish.



The boss but still vulnerable. You got lucky. Next time we won’t miss.



There was nothing funny about that note, nor the fact that whoever had done this had gotten in and out without tripping the alarm or forcing their way in. I checked the doors to her balcony, but they were secure. No sign someone had come in that way.

“You’re sure you locked the door when you went to Luna’s?” I asked.

“Positive,” she said.

Damn it, I should have taken more precautions with her home security. Had her camera feeds sync to my phone. Set up alerts so I’d know when someone unlocked her door. But that kind of coverage hadn’t seemed necessary.

It was now. Whoever did this was escalating.

This move reeked of ego. This wasn’t in a parking garage or on a public street. This wasn’t an email that could have come from anywhere. This was up close and personal. A message delivered not just inside her house, but in her bedroom. In one of her most personal, private spaces. I’d never even been inside this room before. Just looked in from the doorway on my first visit.

And it confirmed that none of this was random.

“Ms. Whitbury?” Dante’s voice came from the hall. “The police are here.”

I took pictures with my phone while Cameron talked to the police. Then she and I waited in the kitchen while they searched her house, including all the outside areas. The Bluewater security guards stayed to help, but none of them found any signs of entry, forced or otherwise.

The police cars in front of her house had drawn attention. Cameron’s friends burst inside in a flurry of fuzzy robes, yoga clothes, and velour tracksuits. They were dry—apparently the rainstorm had passed—and they attacked her with hugs and offers of comfort food and alcoholic beverages.

Nicholas and Inda returned from their date, shocked and worried. Emily offered them one of her guest houses for the night so they wouldn’t have to deal with the chaos.

“Derek and I are going to see what we can do about keeping this out of the media,” Emily said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Cameron’s hair was bedraggled, curling haphazardly as it dried. Her clothes were still damp, her wet shirt having long since soaked through her robe. I was surprised she wasn’t shivering. But she still gave her friend a calm smile.

“I’m sure.”

Emily squeezed her arm. Her eyes darted to me, then back to Cameron. “Let us know if you need anything.”

“I will. Thanks, Em.”

Take care of her, Emily mouthed at me silently, then left with Nicholas and Inda.

A woman in her late sixties with a bob of sleek silver hair and dark-rimmed glasses wandered in. She was dressed in a peach tracksuit and what looked like a fortune in diamonds glittered on her ears, around her neck, and on most of her fingers.

“Oh no,” Cameron muttered.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” Luna asked.

“It’s Mrs. Vanderveld,” Cameron said. “If she’s poking around, the rest of the WWs won’t be far behind.”

“We’re on it,” Luna said. “Hey Daisy, we need to do some crowd control.”

Luna and Daisy moved to intercept the woman, their arms out as if they were either going to hug her or attempt to corral her. I had a feeling it was both.

I leaned closer to Cameron. “What does WWs mean?”

“The WWs are the Wealthy Widows. It’s a group of women who live in Bluewater’s condo building. They’re lovely, but very nosy. I just can’t deal with them tonight.”

Dante rushed past, grumbling about the growing number of golf carts showing up outside.

The police finished their search and asked Cameron a few more questions. I told them I’d get them a copy of the security footage. They said they’d be in touch if they found anything.

The Bluewater security guards successfully shooed away the residents who’d started congregating outside. Finally, all was quiet.

Cameron lowered herself onto the step at the bottom of her wide staircase. The entryway fountain trickled, the water meandering around the palm trees that grew through the specially-cut holes in the floor. I sat down next to her and she plucked my shirt.

“You’re still damp.”

“So are you.”

She let out a long breath. “Did someone really leave a fish on my bed?”

“Yes.”

“What the fuck.” She rubbed her hands up and down her face. “Who does that?”