Read Locked In (Locked in Love) (Volume One): An Alpha Billionaire Romance for Free Online Page B

Those are your foundations. Splurge on them. Take care of them. Because they are your bread and butter.
     
    Most of my work is done on the internet now. Social media, emails-- this is where the gold is. Where people have been. Who they’re with. All right there on the screen. Anyone can find it, but I don’t mind that people want to pay me for something extra.
     
    Extra is photographs. Hard evidence you can hold in your hand, even if more often than not it’s the shit you never wanted to believe is true. But I go to great lengths to get those photos, which means high-tech lenses and film.
     
    It’ll be worth it after this job. I’ll sneak my card to some folks and soon I’ll be rolling in gigs.
     
    A simple search brings up Jameson’s picture. Ugh. He’s got an image search worse than a celebrity’s. In each picture he’s ridiculously handsome. His jaw was made for the camera lense, seeming to jut at just the right angle.
     
    There are many photos of him at event much like the one he’s hosting. All over the world, the wealthy and the royal partying and spending exorbitant amounts of money for trinkets and art that I didn’t understand. Several photos didn’t show him alone-- he had a different girl on his arm in many.
     
    I clicked the image search shut. It wasn’t that I was jealous over seeing him with other women. Tall, thin, model-like women. They could have him. That was why.
     
    A little more digging pulled up his company and its subsidiaries. She found addresses in North Carolina, New York, Hong Kong, Berlin… but these were factories and research facilities. Training grounds for his employees.
     
    The last one made her frown. His security details were top of the line. Many of them ex-military, they were renowned for their top-of-the-line skills in protection.
     
    Something the RPD is not .
     
    It was a good police force. But it was just that-- a public force, stretched thin, with too little resources and a variety of tasks on their plates. Robberies, fraud, and freaking jaywalking to murders and drug running.
     
    What did Locke want them for, really?
     
    None of the addresses I find are residential. His auction event would definitely be at his home. Next I search for property he owns, his banks, and any real estate interest related to his name. This is a little more fruitful.
     
    There are several within an hour of where I live. I can only assume he lives close enough to Raleigh to make the Police Force here his best option for whatever it is Locke has up his sleeve.
     
    The search engine has this nifty satellite imaging. I pinpoint the addresses on a map and zoom, zoom… zoom.
     
    Huh.
     
    The three locations I have are, well, not what I would expect a man like Locke to own. One is a small utilities building next to a large power line strand. Another is a trailer in a county not known for being where the rich tend to dally. The final image shows nothing. Just land, but no buildings in sight.
     
    Huh .
     
    I get a legal pad out and write the three addresses down, anyway. Might as well start a file on Jameson Locke. He might be my employer, but he was also my case; he’d said so himself. I jot down the headquarters of his business. Turns out he owns an entire block of buildings in the always-changing downtown area. His business is situated off Fayetteville Street Mall. Fancy.
     
    My fingers fly over my keyboard as I try shifting the parameters of my search. Over and over I find more information on his business. Speculation on his personal life (playboy, go figure). Everything but his home address and--
     
    Oh, what have we here?
     
    His family. Everyone has family somewhere on the internet. Unless you’re in the witness protection program, there’s a high school record or a parking ticket or, in this case, an obituary that links you.
     
    I’m now reading the obituary for James Locke, Senior. Moved here from England with his wife and son, he was a master locksmith. It makes me