11
Ethan had sent Jake a list of the various places where Steve Krauss could be found. The next day, he parked outside Steve’s Colonial-style house in Beverly Hills and dozed in the front seat, slouched out of sight, until the man left for work. He watched him, memorizing his walk, his profile, how he carried himself.
In a word, he looked like an ass. Granted, Jake was probably a little biased. Steve had hurt Olivia badly, so of course he wasn’t a fan of the guy. But even without that connection, he wouldn’t have liked Steve.
He knew his type—based on years of observing vacation skiers at Rocky Peak. He worked hard—but mostly at making “connections.” He was the type who would feel free to hit on any woman at the bar, but would also badmouth those same women if they gave him the cold sho
