Читать книгу Bodyguard Reunion - Beverly Long - Страница 10

Chapter 1

Royce Morgan stood under the hot water and let his tired muscles simply enjoy. He’d spent the last six days providing security for people who had too much money and too few manners, on a mountain in Wyoming, wearing skis, with daydreams of a warm fire and bourbon the only thing keeping him sane.

He was grateful to be back in Vegas where a brutal February day was forty-five degrees.

He dumped some shampoo in his hand, scrubbed his very short hair and stuck his head under the spray to wash it out. When he was done, he realized his cell phone was ringing. Reluctantly he shut off the shower, shoved the sliding door open, and grabbed for a towel and the phone in one swipe.

“I am not late,” he answered, looking at the number.

“Not yet,” Trey said.

His business partner believed that arriving any later than an hour early was the height of slothfulness. “Listen,” Royce said. “I almost froze my ass off out there.”

“Lose any fingers or other important appendages?” Trey asked.

Royce looked down at his naked self. “Everything seems to be attached.”

“Good to know. Be an interesting worker’s comp claim.”

“Don’t I know it.” In addition to a full caseload, Royce handled the finance and risk management for Wingman Security. Made sure everybody got paid, that the bills didn’t stack up and that their assets were protected.

He put the phone on speaker and set it down so that he could dry himself off.

“Look,” Trey said, “we got an inquiry on the voice mail. Some guy who needs protection for a company executive. He wants a callback first thing this morning.”

Royce wasn’t usually responsible for contracting new business. That was Rico’s domain, but since Rico and Seth, the third and fourth men of the four-man partnership, were currently enjoying themselves on a beach in Mexico, that left him and Trey to pinch hit. Trey had evidently decided it was Royce’s turn at bat. “What’s the number?”

Trey rattled it off and Royce used his finger to write it on the fogged-up mirror. “Got it.”

“Remember that I’m tied up with the Anderson project for another two weeks,” Trey said.

“Understood,” Royce said. Trey was part of a team watching the private airfield of Billy-Bob Anderson, an eccentric billionaire from Maine who spent the winter in Vegas. He flew his own experimental aircraft and worried incessantly that everyone from Russia to Elvis’s ghost was intent upon copying his design. His plane was under twenty-four-hour guard.

That was probably the only reason that Trey hadn’t taken the call himself. “I’ll let you know once I talk to the guy.” He clicked off and took a second to enter the number into his phone.

Wingman didn’t take every job that came their way. It was probably what had allowed them in four years to build a very successful niche security business. However, executive protection was in their wheelhouse, so Royce was hopeful.

He walked naked into his kitchen and poured a cup of freshly made coffee that he’d had the good sense to start before getting in the shower. He stood at the counter, sipping gratefully.

Then he pushed Send on his phone and listened to it ring. He figured it was just about to go to voice mail when it was answered. “Hello,” a man said.

“This is Royce Morgan. I’m returning the message you left at Wingman Security.”

“Oh, thank God,” the man said.

Whatever the issue, this guy was rattled. Royce straightened up and set down his coffee cup. “How can I help you?” he asked.

“I’m Barry Wood, the chairman of the board of Miatroth. We’re a pharmaceutical firm and the CEO of our company needs security.”

Drug companies. Lots of people hated them. Thought they were screwing the consumer with inflated prices. “Where are you located?” Royce asked. They primarily worked in the western portion of the United States.

“New York City,” the man said.

Royce felt a pang in his middle. He took a quick sip of coffee. He hadn’t set foot east of the Mississippi River for over eight years. He didn’t even like to fly over the Atlantic coast. Too many memories. Too many regrets.

“I’m not sure why you’ve contacted Wingman Security,” Royce said. “We’re located in Vegas.”

“Our CEO is attending a conference there.”

“When?”

“Right now. And last night, there was some trouble. Can you meet us at the Periwinkle Hotel?”

Swanky place that stood out in a world of lavishness. “I can be there in a half hour.”

“Excellent. Suite 1402. We’ll be expecting you.”

Royce finished getting dressed, pulling on dark slacks, a blue button-down long-sleeved shirt and a sport coat. Then it was into his BMW. Reluctantly, he kept the top up, hoping that by noon it would be plenty warm enough to drive around with it down.

The Periwinkle was a mammoth structure of stone and glass with a few thousand tons of iron thrown in. At least forty stories, with a corner location, it had a presence on the Vegas Strip. They had staff parking cars, opening doors, offering water and dark chocolate, and pushing elevator buttons. That was all before he reached the main lobby on the third floor. Once there, he switched elevators and pushed the button for the fourteenth floor.

The carpet was thick and quiet as he walked down the hall. He rapped on the door and waited. And waited. He knocked again. He pulled his phone, looked at his recently called numbers and was just about to press Send when the door swung open.

A thin man, maybe early sixties, stood on the other side. He wore a dark suit, and with his pasty complexion, almost screamed “Undertaker.” He was wringing his hands.

“Mr. Wood?” Royce asked. “I’m Royce Morgan.”

“Thank you for coming,” the man said.

“I thought for a minute that you might have changed your mind when the door didn’t get answered.”

“I...I was talking with JC,” Barry Wood said. “To be perfectly honest, she’s being a good sport about this but I’m confident that she’s not overly enthusiastic about us arranging for security.”

She. Royce looked over the man’s shoulder. The suite was big, probably over two thousand square feet if the bedrooms, which he couldn’t see, were in proportion to the living room and dining area that he could. There was leather furniture the color of butternut squash and a glass-topped table that had a massive iron base. Two of the six chairs at the table were pulled out, as if they’d recently been sat in. On the table was a manila folder with papers inside.

Had his knock sent the client scurrying off to her bedroom? “Define not overly enthusiastic.”

“Resigned to the inevitable.” He led Royce into the suite. “She had to make a quick phone call. It will just be a minute. Have a seat,” he added, waving toward the leather couch.

Royce sat.

“Can I get you some coffee?” Barry asked.

Royce shook his head. It was likely that he wasn’t going to be here long enough to drink it. In addition to turning down jobs that weren’t right for them, they generally declined to offer security to those not really wanting it. It just never worked out well. A good security plan required cooperation between the person providing it and the person benefiting from it. “Can you tell me what has happened?” he asked.

“Yesterday was the first day of the conference. We got in around noon. JC took a few people out to dinner. It was just four blocks so they walked. They were returning to the hotel, and were very close, when she was almost struck by a car.”

“How’d that happen?”

“They were on the sidewalk and the car careened toward them before suddenly straightening out and speeding off.”

“She wasn’t hurt?”

“Well, one leg is scraped and bruised. She had to leap out of the way and unfortunately encountered a piece of rough stone that decorates the corners of this hotel. But other than that, she’s fine. Lucky.”

“What did the police say?”

“Nothing. We made a report once she was back inside but the only description we have is that the car was a black sedan. There’s probably thousands of them in Vegas.”

“How do you know that it was JC that the vehicle was aiming for? You said that she was with several others.”

“We can’t know for sure. But since she has been getting death threats in the mail, it’s our best guess.”

“Death threat, Barry,” a voice said from the hallway. “Let’s not exaggerate the...”

Royce didn’t hear the end of the sentence because his damn ears were ringing. He knew that voice. He’d heard that voice in his dreams for years.

He turned fast. And there she was. Juliana Cambridge.

The woman he’d loved. And lost.

Because he wasn’t good enough.

She was still very beautiful. Fine, delicate features. Dark shiny hair, worn short. Very blue eyes that had sometimes appeared violet in the morning light.

“Hello, Jules,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”

* * *

JC hated looking stupid. But knew, caught midstep, one foot in the air, with her mouth open, it was hard to look anything but.

“Royce,” she said, her voice too high. She swallowed hard, managed to get both feet solidly planted and pressed her lips together.

He looked good. Wonderful, really. Broad shoulders, trim waist, long legs that had eaten up city blocks. His dark hair was shorter now, not even skimming his collar. His hazel eyes had a few lines at the corners but it simply made him look more handsome.

“You’re JC?” he said, his tone incredulous.

In many boardrooms across the country, it was still a man’s world. The good news was that it was changing. But there was still a benefit to someone not immediately knowing that Miatroth Pharmaceuticals was led by a woman. “Yes,” she said.

For someone known for her attention to detail, she hadn’t even thought to ask Barry the name of the security specialist who was en route. He’d been going on and on about the credentials of Wingman Security, how he’d verified that they were the best in the region. She, quite frankly, hadn’t wanted to hear anything more.

“You worked at Geneseel,” Royce said, his voice even. Too even.

“I changed jobs about three years ago,” she said. He’d have known that if he’d bothered to keep tabs on her. But then again, she’d stopped typing his name into the search field after the first year.

Too painful.

Barry stepped forward. “I didn’t realize the two of you knew each other.”

“Yes, uh, Royce lived in New York a long time ago. We...we had common friends.”

That was true. There was no need for Barry to know more.

Barry frowned. “Well, maybe that’s good,” he said. “Addresses your concern of having a stranger with access to the intimate details of your life.”

Royce would be much worse than any stranger. She looked at her shoes. “So, how have you been?” she asked, like an idiot.

“Fine,” he said.

This was so awkward. She slowly walked around the couch and sat in a chair opposite it, trying to give herself some recovery time. She tried never to think of Royce. To have him here in her living room was startling at best.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But there’s been a mistake. I’m not interested in additional security.”

“But...” Barry said.

She’d known Barry for her entire life. And she knew she was throwing him a curveball. “Perhaps we can discuss offline.”

“It would be negligent of the board if I didn’t insist. It would be negligent of you not to accept,” Barry said, his voice stronger than before.

“Perhaps I should step out,” Royce said.

She felt a pain near her heart. The emphasis was intentional. It had to be. It settled the question of whether he remembered their last meeting, eight years ago. The one where she’d ask him to step out for just a moment.

So that she could have a conversation with her father.

Which had ultimately led to her staying in New York and Royce returning to Texas.

What the hell was he doing in Vegas?