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He spun, doing a slow look around her condo unit as two and two collided with such force that his stomach churned. Of course this place looked familiar. He might’ve paged through her file folder and her blog at the speed of a bullet, but this was her livestudio—the home of Eco-Ella stock photos. Her condo was the basis for several pictures, backgrounds, and videos. Bishop stood in the center of Eco-Ella’s home base, and a big-ass red flag crept higher and higher as he hoped he was wrong. “Hey…”
He checked under her sink. There were two receptacles, clearly labeled RECYCLING and LANDFILL. Inside of both, the trash and recycling had been smashed, compacted, or folded to make them as small as possible. Odd, but inconsequential.
“Crazy,” he mumbled under his breath. “El… Do your fans know that you post pictures and do live video from your place? That this is your actual home?”
She shifted on the couch, pulling her arm free. “Yes. Live the lifestyle. The warriors know.”
He shut the cabinet door. The public had a blueprint of her condo. Did Parker and Rocco know that? Surely someone would’ve mentioned it. Had the FBI realized that? Hadanyoneactually seen what Ella was doing and realized how much information she had provided to the public? Given the level of intel he’d read, even in the file folder he’d glanced through, the answer was no. The police reports, the FBI’s take, everything was very surface level, assuming she was a potent cocktail of celebrity and activist, conjuring up angry fans and small obsessions. Nothing like what might come from this type of access. He could only assume that given this much personal information, the lines quickly blurred between reality and performance, fan and entertainer.
Bishop pulled his phone off his hip and shot Rocco a text message.Eco-Ella shoots video from inside her home. All viewers have an all-access plan of the place.His boss could disseminate that however he saw fit.
Finished perusing her kitchen for anything to drink or snack on, he gave up and returned to the living room. “Let’s chat about the calls. When did they start?”
“The other day.”
“And what did you think the source is?”
“The voice mails said something about—”
“Oh.” He lifted his eyebrows and gave her a look. “There are voice mails?”
“Not stalker related. Tara’s in uber-publicist-handling mode.”
Why hadn’t her publicist roped in Titan or the FBI? “Again, you guys have no idea.”
“Again, I’ve been doing this for years. You’re new to the Eco-Ella scene. It happens. It’s called crazy grassroots people. This is what Tara is paid to do.”
Comical, her calling people crazy, but now wasn’t the time to address that. “Titan can handle the voice mails in question, and we’ll go grab a beer.”
“I deleted them.”
“Right.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, lavender and mint trying like all hell to come to the rescue with a little peace and calm. This time, Bishop inhaled deeply, relying on their soothing scents. He let the breath trail out. “Don’t do that anymore. Okay?”
“Fine.” Ella petted her dog, who’d nestled at her feet instead of looking at Bishop. “Maybe there are new ones since the calls kept coming.”
“I’ll loop Titan in, and they’ll put an end to that in addition to you changing your phone settings. Okay?”
She nodded.
Bishop rubbed his face. “Ella… Is there anything else that maybe you should tell me that you haven’t?”
All of her attention was on her dog. “Not that I can think of.”
Not an overly convincing response. “Great. Well, if something pops up, let me know. Deal?”
She sighed, finally turning to him. The dog crawled into her lap, and the kitten used her talons to crawl up Ella’s skirt. Once both animals were nestled in her lap, she gave them a quick squeeze. “Deal.”
The front door clicked and flew open. “Girl! You would not believe my day!”
Bishop spun at the sound of a man’s voice and reached for his weapon. In ran two fluffy, tiny dogs that were identical to the one in Ella’s lap—and a squirrel. They were all followed by a skinny hipster kid sporting a utility belt of neon-colored dog waste bags.
Bishop’s eyes narrowed on the squirrel, who wore a little tiny harness and leash. Free of the hipster, the rodent scampered into the room and jumped onto Ella.
“Hi, Tiny Tyke!” she squeaked. “Hey, guys!”
The kitten mewed, and Ella let the dogs run amok over her as she carefully petted the squirrel.
“Uh…” If there had been a circus before, this was the very definition of a shit show. There were no words for the fury spinning around him and the questionable sanity of two people who didn’t notice—one who had access to Ella’s place. And Bishop didn’t know who he was.“Hello?”