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Back at the cars, I held out my hand. “Phone.”
Serena was busy scrolling on it. “Why?”
“I need to check it for threats. We’ve put it off too long.”
She huffed. “There’s nothing on it. If somebody sent me a text saying I was going to die today, I would have noticed.” Back in argumentative mode, she didn’t offer the device.
I wiggled my fingers, and she handed it over. It was locked. “What’s the pin?”
“Zero-four-zero-four.”
“Climb in the car. This will take a minute.”
Once she was safely inside, I went through her voicemails first.
While I checked them, I noticed the two coworkers she’d walked out with drive off. Reading the automated transcriptions was faster than listening to them. Ignoring the ones from her family, I didn’t see anything of interest until I got to one fromGeorge, sent yesterday. Feeling suddenly tense, I turned to her. “George is the guy you used to date?”
She nodded. “Myveryex-boyfriend.”
“I thought you said you hadn’t gotten any threats.”
She shook her head. “I haven’t.”
“He sent you, and I quote, ‘It would be a mistake for both of us if we didn’t get back together.’” That one sent a chill down my spine.
“So?”
“That qualifies as a threat. It’s exactly the kind of message a stalker would send—not too direct or obvious, easy to explain away if he’s confronted, but with a clear undertone of warning.”
“Sorry. I guess since he wasn’t the guy who wanted to barbecue me, I didn’t think it was serious.”
“That was a mistake. How do you spell his last name?”
“Kittleman. Two Ts. But it’s not him.”
I dialed my brother, Jordy, our tech guru. While Lucas, Brett, and I had gone the military route, our nerd brother had decided on the NSA and later CIA.
“Hey, Cobra,” he answered. “What’s up?”
“I need everything you can get on a George Kittleman, two Ts.”
“What city?”
I turned to Serena. “Where does he live?”
“Brentwood.”
I repeated this to Jordy.
“On it.” The line clicked off. He wasn’t big on personal interactions, even with his brothers.
“It wasn’t him,” Serena said. “I would have recognized him for sure.”
“Like I told you, these guys can hire people to do the dirty work.”
She cringed. “I forgot about that.”
If it was Kittleman, this would be a lot harder. Nailing the guy who pulled the strings was always more difficult than catching the actual perp.
