Page 63 of Her Ruthless Protector

Cullen nodded.

“Was Kane with him?”

“I can’t get into that. Kane should be back here tomorrow for sure, maybe tonight.”

“Okay, I won’t bust your balls for being an asshole.”

“’Preciate it.” A.J. gave Cullen a half-hearted wave and walked swiftly to her trailer. It seemed like fourteen people stopped her on her way with inane questions. Old Sex Snake was the fifteenth.

“A.J., I want to talk to you about the divorce papers and something else. Do you have just a minute?”

“Not now, Python.” She could see her door. Just fifteen more steps and she’d make it.

He got a hurt expression on his face. “I told you to call me Paul, remember?”

“Paul, I need to do something. I’ll get back to you in a couple of hours.”

“You had time for that Navy SEAL. I just saw you talking to him.” The man’s tone had turned petulant.

“Paul or Python or whatever the hell your name is. I really don’t have time to discuss your personal life at the moment. I will in a couple of hours. So, back off.”

“What if I were to tell you that I saw something suspicious around the press booth the other day? Then would you talk to me?”

That stopped her short. She turned and gave Old Sex Snake her undivided attention. “You mean to tell me, that after everything that has gone on, including someone who is going to probably have trouble walking for the rest of her life, you are just coming forward with pertinent information to this case now?”

Paul took a step backward and A.J. took a step forward. “No, you don’t get to back away from me, old man. What did you see?”

“It was probably nothing,” he whimpered.

A.J. grabbed him by the front of his orange Hawaiian shirt. “So help me God, you talk to me or I’ll have your ass down at the Omani police station. How does that sound? Want to find out what it’s like in a Middle Eastern jail cell for obstructing justice?”

“Hey, I haven’t done anything wrong,” he sniveled.

“Lying to the police, withholding information on a crime, yep, that’s obstruction you dumbshit. At least it is in America. I don’t know what they call it here, but I’m betting they treat it even worse. Probably life in prison.”

A.J. figured it was either really punished or they could give a shit less here in Oman, but all she cared about was putting the fear of God into Python.

“It was one of Amber’s people. It was her publicist, Markson.”

“What’s his first name?” A.J. demanded.

“Markson is her first name,” Python answered. “I don’t know her last name.”

A.J. rolled her eyes. “What makes that suspicious? For God’s sake, a publicist hanging around a press booth is perfectly normal.”

Talk about a nothing burger. Python was useless. She let go of his shirt.

“She was unlocking the doors. I was angry because you must have given her special access to the press that I didn’t have. When I went over to talk to her and find out how she got to go into the press box before they arrived, she shoved something into her purse. It was obvious whatever she put in there had spilled, and it smelled like some kind of paint thinner.”

Python chuckled.

“Bitch ruined a brand-new Gucci bag. She never took her hand out of the purse after she shoved that glue into it. I know it was glue after what happened.”

A.J. grabbed his shirt again, fisting the fabric and staring straight into his beady little eyes. “Again, you didn’t tell this story before, why?”

Python held up his hands, palms outward. “I wanted to be able to use this against her and Amber later in the contest.”

“Someone almost died. Died.” A.J. pushed at him, but he was too big, so he didn’t budge. “I’m going to go get Rashid and you’re going to tell your entire story. Got it?”