“You left the foster system at fifteen, is that correct?”
“That was when I joined my billet family. That’s a place you move to when you play hockey in a new town and you leave your home.”
“Can you tell me more about the billet parents?”
“Parent singular, Mamma P. She’s Kyle Pressgrove’s mom. He’s a hockey player for the Detroit Arsenal, and his brother is Bobby.” I saw him smile, but must have imagined it because he was all too quickly back to focusing on the matter in hand. I added the address of the place that Mamma P still lived at, and it was only as he completed the details in the book that I felt a tug in my chest. “All of this that is happening to me? It won’t affect Mamma P, will it? Is she in danger, should I be doing something to—?”
“We’ll add her to the list, and Kyle and Bobby.”
“The list of what? Not suspects. Shit, don’t start painting everyone with the same brush.”
“Not suspects, as people of interest that we will look out for.”
“Will the Dragons pay for security for her and Bobby? If they don’t, I can. I mean, should I get someone to look out for them?” Everything was spiraling out of control as if suddenly the few things that had happened to me were now this huge mess where everyone I loved was in the worst danger.
“Protection isn’t just for you. It’s for the team, your family, friends. I’m on it, okay?” He sounded so damn reassuring, and for a moment, I relaxed. “As to your Spotify password for the music?” He finally turned the page and scribbled four words, turning the notebook to face me. “Does the password appear on this list?”
I peered at the four words and realized that yes, the password was at the top.
“How did you know that?”
“It’s the name of your dog when you were ten, plus your jersey number. Sorry to say, but it’s kind of obvious.”
“Well, shit.” Then it hit me that I hadn’t ever told anyone the name of my dog, “But I didn’t tell you that, I never…”
“It’s out on the net for anyone to read,” he said.
Realization flooded when he stared at me then and gave me the time to work through everything in my head. “Shit, I have told people, way back, my rookie year, we did an event with a local dog sanctuary.”
“That’s the problem. Information is all out there if you know where to look, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure things out. You probably have a complicated password for online banking because in your eyes that is serious, but for something like music, or for locking your phone, maybe you’re less worried.”
“So, you’re saying that anyone out there could sign into my music account just by guessing my password?”
“Yep.”
“Ah, but, what about my email address, they wouldn’t have that,” I said with triumph.
“Statistically, I can guess at G.Howell at Gmail, or GJHowell, or maybe Hooly and the year you were born, possibly a Dragons email address? Take any of the email providers, keep going, and you can get in. There’s software out there that can run hundreds of permutations and leave you exposed to a lot more than just someone switching your music out. Give me your phone.”
I pulled it out, feeling stupid, and oddly vulnerable.
He took it from me, and in seconds he had it unlocked.
“But it only opens to my face,” I protested quickly, because come on, this shit was ridiculous. I was a hockey player, not a goddamn security genius, but everyone knew that an iPhone like mine was secure.
“And if your face isn’t picked up, you can default to type in six numbers. I guessed at your jersey number repeated three times.”
I held out my hand for the phone. “Lucky guess,” I muttered and resolved to change all my passwords and email addresses everywhere.
“Deamax will have a team at the arena, but I’ve been tasked with your specific protection. Unless, of course, you have an issue with that?”
He stared at me with those intense, dark eyes and waited for me to answer, almost as if I had a choice in the matter. The Dragons employed me, and this mess was making me a liability, and I had zero input on any of this.
“No issues.”
He closed the notebook and pocketed the pen. “Good. I’ll be with you at all times.”
“Wait. What? All times?”
“Until the current threat is neutralized, yes.” He leaned toward me and frowned. “You don’t look happy about that.”
“I’m not, I mean my apartment isn’t huge—”
“It has three bedrooms, four baths—”
“Jesus,” I snapped. “Is there anything you don’t already know?”
“I didn’t know your dog’s name this time last week,” he deadpanned. “Getting back to this, we need to run risk assessments on any work or personal appearances to reschedule them for a more appropriate time.”
“What do you mean rescheduling? You can’t reschedule the freaking NHL.”
“That would be way more dramatic than is warranted,” he said, and his calm appraisal of everything was wearing my patience down. “Team events that fall outside of the games themselves are a concern, including any personal appearances which will need to be rescheduled.”
“I’m not changing—”
He held up a hand. “This is how it works, Mr. Howell. I’m not here to debate with you about what you will and won’t do. This is not a movie, and I’m not Kevin Costner. The Dragons have employed me as your protection officer, so you do as I say, you don’t wander off, you don’t take unnecessary risks, and you listen to my advice. I will accompany you at all times, and you will do as instructed, and as a result, I will keep you safe. Do we have a problem here?”
Oh god, yes, we had a problem. Someone was out there messing with my life, changing my music, sending me dead birds, flowers for funerals, and telling me I didn’t have long left. So yes, the problem was bigger than me, and I hated the lack of control. I didn’t want Jason in my personal space at all times, and I didn’t need him laughing at me because I used the wrong fucking password. Resentment and self-pity built inside me, and then that became anger, which swiftly became resignation. And through all of this thinking and analyzing, and running the gamut of emotions, he watched me without expression. In my gut, I thought he was waiting for me to tell him to fuck off out of my life, but underneath the strong-willed hockey player, I was freaked out, and my gut told me that something had to be done.
After a pause I let out a huff, so that he knew I was pissed and that I was done with all of this. “No problem.”
He nodded and turned the page of his notebook again. “Significant others?”
“No.”
“Sex tapes?”
Just when I thought we’d reached an understanding about the kind of person I was, he asked me that? “What the hell?”
“These are things I need to know in advance. If anything is floating around out there, that could be a cause for what is happening to you now? A sex tape is just one thing. What about a wronged lover? An admirer who has taken things too far? A hockey player who has issues with you? A man or woman scorned?” He raised that damn eyebrow again.