Читать книгу Bodyguard Reunion - Beverly Long - Страница 12

Chapter 3

“I’m sorry, JC,” Barry said, just seconds after the door closed behind Royce. “But I’m confused. You look very upset. I thought we’d agreed.”

She managed to smile at the man. She understood that he was worried. “I suspect you’re thinking that one hell of a slam is coming.”

Barry settled back against the cushions. “That was quite a night. You stalked off to your bedroom, your nose in the air. And it was a ferocious slam. Knocked the trim right off the frame.”

“All because I couldn’t go to a Metallica concert. I was fifteen.”

“Your father hated to disappoint you but he hated the idea of you getting hurt even more,” Barry said.

She was eighteen years older now. And while she hadn’t been able to understand her father’s motivations at the time, she did understand Barry’s now. She also understood the very real business reasons behind them. There was a twenty-million-dollar insurance policy on her life. As a result, they’d had to report the threats to the insurance company and they were insisting on added security.

So she had quietly acquiesced. Never dreaming that Royce would walk through the door.

Barry would have had no way of knowing about the relationship. After all, by almost anyone’s standards, it had been rather short-lived. And her father, if he had deemed it necessary to discuss Royce with Barry, would have only referred to him as Juliana’s summer indulgence. As best she could remember, he had never called Royce by name.

But he’d known his name and he would remember his name. It was the one way that she could very easily get Royce kicked off the job. If she mentioned it to her father, the man would immediately demand that Royce be replaced. He’d call his good friend Barry and that would be that.

And she’d be responsible, again, for causing trouble for Royce.

It was a few days. If they were indeed the best, that’s what she wanted, right?

She did not believe that the car last night had deliberately tried to kill her. If so, why back off? But the letters were not so easily dismissed. In a world where crazy things seemed to happen more and more often, the idea that somebody had come unhinged and was intent upon causing trouble for the CEO of a drug company was not a comfortable one. She’d been all for reporting them to the police.

She was all for staying safe.

She certainly didn’t want anybody on her team to get injured because she couldn’t get past history.

Plus, she had a very good reason for staying in Vegas. Family. She hadn’t told Barry, didn’t intend to. Knew it would get back to her father, and there was no way she was ready to have that conversation yet.

“It’s fine, Barry. We’ll make the best of it.”

Royce had said he was coming back with clothes. Which meant that he intended to stay with her.

There were two bedrooms in the suite. Plenty of space.

Right. When he’d run back to Texas and she’d stayed in New York, that had barely been a comfortable distance.

“I’m going to get some work done,” she said, “before Royce comes back.”

“I’ll stay,” Barry said.

She shook her head. “It’s not necessary. Go back to your own room and get some rest. I don’t think either one of us got much sleep last night.”

“You heard Royce.”

“I know, I know. I won’t open the door to strangers. I promise.”

Barry stood up. “I appreciate you going along with this. I really do.”

“I appreciate that you haven’t said anything to my dad about the threats.” She’d asked him not to and he’d reluctantly agreed. Of course, he had no way of knowing how strained her current relationship was with her father. For so many reasons, some known only to her.

“I won’t as long as we’re doing everything in our power to keep you safe. I’m not underestimating how uncomfortable it might be to have a shadow 24/7. But you know your safety is important to me. For a lot of reasons.”

She reached for his age-spotted hand. Squeezed it. “I know that it might be highly improper for the CEO to say this to the chairman of the board, but I love you.”

He smiled. “You’ve always been like a daughter to Eileen and me.”

“I know.” She walked him to the door and locked it securely after he left. Then she stood with her spine against the door, feeling the wood press against every one of her vertebrae.

Eight years ago, she’d made a bad decision for what she thought were all the right reasons.

And after he’d stormed out of her father’s house, she’d tried to forget about the hurt in Royce Morgan’s eyes. The hurt she’d caused.

It hadn’t been easy. Even though she’d thrown herself into her work, into planning her wedding.

And then into her marriage.

Her short, disastrous marriage.

Royce had looked shocked when she’d said she was divorced. He hadn’t known. But now that he did, would he demand an explanation? Would he think he was still entitled to one? Or would he not care enough to even ask? She wasn’t sure which question scared her more.

The only answer was to keep it strictly professional between the two of them, to not even venture into conversations that could take on a personal bent. To avoid a trip down a memory lane that was blighted by deep potholes full of deceit and regret.

She walked over to the table and picked up the folder that Barry had tried to show her earlier. Skimmed the executive summary that had likely been prepared by Barry’s assistant. It hit the high points of three different Vegas agencies and ended up with a paragraph that supported the recommendation of Wingman Security.

Elite security team. Top-notch references. Impressive clientele. Professional demeanor.

There was a handwritten note. “A little more expensive than the others, but consensus is, they’re worth it.” She didn’t recognize the writing.

That’s probably what had swayed Barry. He was nicer about it but came from the same school of thought as her father. If it cost more, it must be better.

Royce had clearly made a success of himself. And security made sense. She remembered him telling her that’s what he’d done in the military.

He’d been a decent and principled young man, although there were times when those qualities had been overshadowed by his beat-up leather jacket and motorcycle boots, his hair that was long enough to pull back in a ponytail and his language that was likely appropriate for the battlefield but not the boardroom.

He’d been different than anyone she’d ever met.

Now he was wearing silk pants, shirts with monogrammed cuffs and Italian shoes.

Time had changed them both. Things had been said. Actions taken. There was no going back.

Only forward. And the best thing she could do was try to get a few things done before Royce returned. Her laptop was still in her bedroom. She pulled herself away from the door.

As she crossed the threshold of her bedroom, she heard a buzz from the cell phone that she’d left on her bed. She glanced at the number and let out a sigh of relief. Charity was finally calling back.

“Hi,” she said, trying to sound casual. “How’s it going?” Their relationship was too new, too fragile, for her to chastise the young woman about taking a full day to return the call.

“Not so good,” Charity said, her voice barely a whisper.

“What’s wrong?” JC asked, picking up her pen. She always thought more clearly when she had something to write with.

“Nothing.”

Charity sounded...bad. Not that JC had that much experience talking to her. This was only their second conversation in two months. “I was hoping we could meet for lunch,” JC said.

“That’s probably not a good idea,” Charity said.

No way. She was not going to let Charity blow off the meeting. She’d told Royce that she’d come because Miatroth was a major sponsor and she was presenting. That was true, of course. But the real reason she’d agreed to attend was that it gave her a reason to be in Vegas, an opportunity to get to know Charity better.

A woman should know her sister.

“I won’t take no for an answer,” she said, still keeping her tone light.

There was silence on the other end. Then a sigh. “Listen,” Charity said. “I’m in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” JC asked, clenching her pen.

“The kind I don’t want to talk about on a cell phone. Can you come here?”

Royce had been very specific—she was not to leave the hotel. And she’d promised him. “I don’t know,” she hedged. “It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t everything?” Charity said, sounding resigned. “Never mind. I’ll figure something out. I’ll call you—”

“Where are you?” JC interrupted. She just knew that if she failed Charity this one time, the woman might never call her again. She could not risk that.

Charity rattled off an address. JC scribbled it down, then read it back.

Since the day she’d discovered her dead mother’s diary and realized that everything she’d believed to be true might not be, she’d had so many questions.

And Charity might be the only one with the answers. “I’m on my way,” JC said. “We’ll talk when I get there.”

* * *

Royce called Trey from the car and got him started on the contract. Then he swung by his apartment and packed enough dress shirts and slacks to get him through a couple days. He added a few more casual things and his toiletries. Before zipping up the bag, he added boxes of ammunition for the Glock he carried. He hoped like hell he wouldn’t need it, but he believed in being prepared.

Then he was out the door a second time. When he got to Wingman Security, the paperwork was ready.

“Rico is going to be impressed,” Trey said. “You wrapped this one up fast.”

Royce debated telling Trey that he had known the client years before. The partners didn’t keep secrets from one another.

But he just wasn’t ready to talk about it. Wasn’t ready to admit that seeing Jules had been a blow, almost taking his breath away. He folded the papers and stuffed them in his jacket pocket. “I’ll be at the Periwinkle for the next few days. Suite 1402.”

“Nice digs,” Trey said. “Have you had a chance to check out the hotel?”

“Some.” He’d looked on his way out. “Main entrance is on ground level. Both an elevator and an escalator gets you to the lobby, which is on the third floor. Elevator from there goes to floors four through forty. No key-card access required for any floor.” That meant that anybody could access any floor, which was not good. “On the fourteenth floor, there are six suites—three on each side of the elevator bay, which is in the middle of the hotel. Stairs at both ends of the hotel. Those do require a key card to open the door on any floor, including the first.” That was better news. That meant that people couldn’t simply wander in off the street, find the stairs and get anywhere in the hotel. “Hotel connects via overhead walkway to a separate three-story conference center.”

“Sounds good,” Trey said. “Stay in touch.”

“I will,” Royce said, and walked out the door.

When he got back to the Periwinkle, he pointed at the spot where he wanted his car parked and gave the valet an extra hundred bucks to convince him. Nothing impeded a quick getaway like having to wait for a car to be brought around. That was a beginner mistake.

He hadn’t even been a beginner when he’d started the agency four years ago. Not with his military experience.

He liked to think that he always had a plan, a backup plan and an it’s-going-to-hell-fast plan.

Twenty feet inside, remembering Jules’s love for dark chocolate, he extended his arm toward the sterling silver tray, only to draw it back fast. His job wasn’t to bring her candy. His job was to ensure that the CEO of Miatroth stayed safe while in Las Vegas.

He got to the fourteenth floor, walked down the hallway and rapped on the door. And waited. Just like before. This was getting old.

He knocked sharply, loud enough to make most everybody on the floor take a look out their peephole to see if it was their door getting assaulted.

When that didn’t get a response, he yanked his phone out of his pocket, jabbed his index finger on Barry Wood’s telephone number and took a deep breath.

“Hello, Royce,” Barry said.

“Are you going to open the damn door?”

“What?”

“I’m standing in the hallway. I’ve been standing in the hallway for five minutes.”

“Royce, I’m back in my room on the twelfth floor. JC had some work to do. I made sure she locked the door behind me when I left.”

A chill spread across the back of his neck, as if someone had slapped an ice bag on it. “Call the front desk. Get somebody up here with a key. But text me her cell number first.”

Royce hung up and waited for the text. It came and he dialed. He heard it ring, then switch to voice mail. He swallowed. “This is Royce,” he said fast. “Call me. Please, just call me.”

He called twice more before Barry and somebody in a navy blue suit wearing an assistant manager name tag showed up. He waited impatiently while the man used his key to open the door. Then he was into the suite, moving swiftly through the rooms.

She wasn’t there.

Her clothes were still in the closet. Her sundry items still on the bathroom counter. Her stupid phone on the bedside table.

No signs of struggle.

He turned to the manager. “I need to know if Ms. Cambridge left this hotel and I need to know it five minutes ago.”

“Can you describe her?”

Right down to the heart-shaped tattoo on her left inside thigh. “Five-six. A hundred and twenty pounds. Dark hair, above the collar. Fair complexion. Very dark blue eyes. She’s...beautiful.”

The man relayed the information to whoever he’d dialed on his cell phone. From what Royce could tell, the call got transferred a couple times. Finally, the man nodded. “She got into a cab about twenty minutes ago. By herself. Seemed fine. Gave the valet a five-dollar tip.”

At these kind of places, the valet gave the cab driver the instructions. “Does he remember the address?”

Royce waited impatiently while the question was asked again and answered. The manager nodded. “Bell Street and Howard Avenue.”

Royce knew Vegas like the back of his hand. There could be absolutely no good reason for Jules to be in that part of town. Drugs were sold there. But not the kind you bought with your prescription card.

Add in the guns and the human trafficking and you had all the things that tarnished Sin City’s sparkle.

He was running for the elevator when he heard Barry call from behind.

“What are you going to do?”

“Whatever it takes,” he said.