Page 52 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband

"Andy speaking."

"Andy, it's Dax Kingston. I need a favor."

Andy's a former teammate who retired two years ago and now runs a private security firm. Good guy, discreet, and owes me for covering his gambling debts back when we played together in Toronto.

"Dax! How's Chicago treating you?"

"Like a beautiful woman with trust issues. Listen, I need you to trace a phone number for me. Someone's been making threats, and I want to know who's behind it."

"What kind of threats?"

I give him the basics without mentioning Tessa specifically—just that someone's trying to blackmail me over my personal life.

"Send me the number. I'll see what I can dig up. Might take a day or two."

"I'll pay whatever it costs."

"Don't worry about money. Just promise me you won't do anything stupid while I'm working on this."

"Define stupid."

"Don't hunt down this person yourself and beat them senseless with your hockey stick."

"That's... actually very specific advice."

"I know how you get when someone threatens people you care about. Remember what happened to that reporter who wrote that hit piece about your mom?"

"I didn't touch him."

"No, but you scared him so badly he quit covering hockey entirely. The man switched to writing about gardening."

Fair point. "I'll behave."

"Good. I'll call you as soon as I have something."

After I hang up, I sit there for a few minutes, trying to figure out how the hell my life got so complicated. Three weeks ago, my biggest concern was whether Jamie would remember to pay the electric bill. Now I'm dealing with blackmail threats and trying to protect the woman I'm falling in love with.

Falling in love with.

Fuck. When did that happen?

Actually, I know exactly when it happened.

Andy calls me back six hours later while I'm stress-cleaning my already spotless apartment and trying not to think about how Tessa's probably doing the same thing with her perfectly organized spice rack.

"Got some good news and some bad news," he says without preamble.

"Bad news first. Always."

"Text came from a burner phone purchased with cash at a convenience store on the south side. No cameras, no ID required, basically a dead end for tracking the buyer."

"And the good news?"

"Phone's only been active for three days, only sent that one message, and the purchase pattern suggests amateur hour. This isn't some professional paparazzi operation or organizedharassment campaign. Probably just some opportunistic asshole who saw something and thought they could make a quick buck."

"So we're dealing with a garden-variety blackmailer instead of a mastermind."

"Exactly. Still dangerous, but more likely to go away if ignored or scared off properly."