In La Quinta, Brianna Ortega hesitated in her home as she heard a knock on the door. When she finally opened it, she thought someone was breaking in, claiming that “a black man with dreadlocks jumped over the yard fence,” as detailed in court documents.

It turned out to be Deputy Eric Piscaterra, a 29-year-old officer with whom Ortega had crossed paths before. Court records reveal this was not the first unexpected visit; he had shown up at her house without official purpose multiple times over the summer.

Piscaterra commented during one encounter, “You look beautiful without makeup,” which Ortega described as out of place. She felt uneasy as he was supposed to be looking for a suspect. According to her lawsuit, this was the fourth instance of Piscaterra contacting her without a valid reason.

Ortega further revealed a text exchange where the lieutenant had inappropriately propositioned her, and she had rebuffed him each time.

Last year, Piscaterra faced seven counts for misusing law enforcement databases to access Ortega’s information. Unfortunately, instead of finding resolution, Ortega felt that the court proceedings prolonged her anxiety. Terrified, she chose not to testify against him, and in July, all charges were reduced to misdemeanors. He pleaded guilty but avoided any prison time, receiving probation instead.

In a further twist, Ortega filed a federal civil rights lawsuit against Riverside County Sheriff Chad Bianco, who is eyeing a gubernatorial bid in 2026.

Reflecting on Piscaterra’s misdemeanor conviction, Ortega expressed disappointment, stating, “Nothing will change… if this lawsuit helps, I’d file it.”

Piscaterra, through his attorney, declined to comment. Meanwhile, a sheriff’s spokesperson noted his resignation last October after a five-year tenure, with his certification to work as a police officer in California currently suspended.

Ortega recalled first meeting Piscaterra at a family event in Coachella last September. She didn’t exchange numbers with him, but a few months later, she started receiving texts from an unknown source claiming to be her “personal officer.” Being a fitness influencer with a decent following on social media, she initially dismissed the messages as typical flirtation.

In January 2024, Piscaterra searched her name through both California’s law enforcement systems and other databases, as outlined in court documents. Ortega felt this was how he tracked her down.

A month later, he showed up at her house while she was working, questioning her mother about her whereabouts, which unsettled her family.

Feeling uneasy about his access and authority as a police officer, she said, “Of course, he knows where I live.”

In desperation, Ortega later approached Piscaterra for help when her sister was a victim of an assault, but instead of support, he asked for selfies and mentioned going to the gym together. This led her to change her phone number.

Over the following months, Piscaterra’s interest in Ortega escalated to what she termed an “obsession.” He continued to monitor her using law enforcement resources, looking up her details multiple times. One of the last interactions involved him showing up shortly after she returned from a trip.

Feeling trapped, Ortega even recorded a conversation with Piscaterra in her living room. She described the encounter as “confusing, scary, and uncomfortable,” especially when he inquired for her new contact information.

After she firmly told him not to contact her again, Piscaterra persisted, texting her about how “cool” her children were.

Following her complaint to the Sheriff’s Office, an internal investigation concluded that Piscaterra had improperly accessed her information several times. Court documents indicated no legitimate law enforcement-related call had prompted his visits.

Prosecutors filed felony charges against him, but Ortega felt too intimidated to testify, fearing retaliation. During a July hearing, Piscaterra pleaded to reduce his charges, which caused further frustration for Ortega.

A judge noted there wasn’t substantial evidence of wrongdoing from Piscaterra and ultimately gave him probation and community service instead of harsher punishment, a decision that left Ortega feeling even more betrayed.

The ordeal has led to a profound shift in Ortega’s perception of law enforcement. Once viewing police as protectors, she now feels insecure and anxious, constantly looking over her shoulder when seeing patrol cars. “It’s a betrayal of trust… Who do you call when the police are the problem?” questioned her lawyer, highlighting the fear Ortega now lives with daily.