Page 85 of Wild Idol

“Sure, but I can’t do anything without consulting my people. You know how it is. As you said, one can’t be too careful these days. Could end up in a database.” Sable was no dummy. But I had a strong suspicion that we weren’t speaking to Sable. She said, “With the way technology is going, they could start making clones. Can you imagine? Celebrity clones grown in labs at an accelerated pace, sold as sex slaves to perverted fans?”

“Could be a strange future indeed,” I said.

“Look, I’ve got to run. I need to start getting ready, but please keep in touch. I’m desperate to find out who was behind the wheel. It’s like one of those true crime shows, and I’m totally hooked.”

“We’ll definitely be in touch,” I assured.

JD and I gave each other a knowing glance. The security guard opened the door for us and escorted us inside.

As we stepped into the living room, I asked, “Did Everett hire you?”

He nodded as we slow-walked across toward the foyer.

“How long have you known Everett?”

“I’ve provided security services for him on a contract basis here and there.”

“Security services?”

He didn’t elaborate.

“What’s your name?”

“Kade.”

“Are you the only one on shift?”

“For the time being. Everett feels the threat level is low.”

“You take all your orders from Everett?”

Kade didn’t like my questions. That was obvious. “I work for Miss Fox.”

By that time, we were at the front door.

“Has Everett ever asked you to do anything unethical?”

His brow wrinkled as he feigned confusion. “No. Nor would I do anything unethical.”

“Were you working for Everett the night of the incident?” I asked casually.

He stared at me for a long moment. “I told you, I just recently took a full-time position here.”

“Yes, but the contract work…”

He opened the front door for us. “Good day, gentlemen.”

I forced a smile before stepping outdoors.

As we walked back to the Porsche, Jack said. “That’s Emily Fowler by the pool. No doubt in my mind. And that son-of-a-bitch is shady as hell. Security services, my ass. That guy’s a killer, doing Everett’s dirty work.”

“You might be right.”

“I know damn good and well, I’m right.” We climbed into the car, and Jack continued. “You know, there’s one way to prove that’s Emily Fowler. Didn’t her best friend say she’s got a tattoo in her bikini area?”

“Yes, she did.”

“I was looking, but I’d like to look closer,” he said with a grin. “I’m willing to take one for the team.”