Off Limits
"Thomas said you caught him. Who is he? Why is he doing this to me?"
For a long moment, the only sound in the salon was the rhythmic, soft scraping of the cotton pad against his skin. Peter remained entirely still, his chest rising and falling beneath his wet white shirt, his gaze boring into the top of my head.
"He is an operator," Peter finally said, his voice dropping into a dark, velvety octave that seemed to absorb the ambient light of the room. "An elite dark-web proxy specialist. He didn't possess the erratic, emotional psychology of an obsessed fan or an angry acquaintance, Phoebe. He was hired. He was executing a high-value contract."