Leah Braemel - Personal Protection

“Looks like it’s another payphone in Chevy Chase.” Andy shook his head. “I’ve texted the location to Chad-he’s sending a team to that location, but the guy’ll pro’ly be gone.”

Rosie patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe there’ll be some witnesses or a security camera this time.”

A voice echoed through the room when Kris replayed the recording. A raucous background noise of laughter and country music made the message hard to hear, especially since the speaker spoke very quietly. “Did you think those four CPOs you have can stop me? You can surround yourself with all the armed guards in the world, but I’m better than any of them. They’ll not be able to stop me. I’ll be there when you least expect it.”

“So we know he’s watching you still,” Rosie said after they’d replayed it a half dozen times. “But there’s nothing unique about that voice-no unusual phrases. No accent. Nothing that would identify him.”

“He could be using a spoof card,” Andy suggested. “Make us think he’s in one place when he’s somewhere else.”

“Except the phones are wiped,” Scott counted. “Which means even if they didn’t use it to make the actual phone call, they’d have to clean the receiver at some point right before hand and someone might see whoever it was.”

While they waited for Chad’s team to get back to them, Kris ordered the pizza. When it arrived, they took it into the kitchen, where Rosie perched on a stool at the breakfast nook beside Sam. Andy ate standing so he could monitor the hall cameras at the same time. Scott plated a couple slices and disappeared into the bedroom.

“He’s got to be one of us,” Kris said suddenly. “Or a client at the very least, someone who knows how we work.”

Rosie felt some relief when Sam looked just as confused as she felt.

“The caller,” Kris explained. “He called us CPOs. Not bodyguards the way a normal person would.”

Andy tossed away his third crust of the meat lovers’ pizza he’d insisted upon, having won the pineapple debate. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Skippy. Any one reading the Hauberk website knows that’s what we’re called. Besides, most companies call their employees CPOs these days.”

“Okay,” Kris persisted. “So how about when he said he was better than us. Maybe it’s someone who wants to make Hauberk itself look bad to future clients? Maybe we should be looking at Hauberk’s competition.”

“Could be. Or maybe it’s an ego thing,” Andy suggested, grabbing another slice. “You know, like that movie where Clint Eastwood is a secret service agent and John Malkovich is out to kill the president.”

“Man, Rene Russo was hot in that movie.” Kris shook his hand as if he’d been burned.

When Kris and Andy started debating which movies got the details of bodyguards and police work wrong, Sam shoved his plate away and stalked out.

Rosie hurried after him out of their apartment and down the hall toward the elevators. “Sam, wait. You agreed you’d not go out without one of us with you.”

His fists clenched and unclenched before he faced her. “Look, Rosebud, I’ve played this game for over a week now. I’ve cancelled appointments that I shouldn’t have, I let you guys answer my door like you’re my goddamned butlers, and I’ve been driven around in the limo like I’m Miss Freakin’ Daisy. Christ, when we’re out somewhere, Campbell and Phillips even follow me into the bathroom when I have to take a-” he swallowed what he was going to say, “-leak. And where’s it gotten me? Nowhere. That sonovabitch is still out there laughing at me. Well, no more. If he’s watching, I’m damned well going to draw him out.”

“How? You going to stand on the sidewalk and put a target on your chest and yell shoot me?”

“If that’ll end this, I’m willin’.”

She grabbed his arm, feeling the tenseness of the muscle beneath her fingers. “You aren’t seriously going out there, are you?”

He ran a hand back and forth over his head and heaved a sigh. “No. But damn it…” His hand moved from his head to her cheek. “There’s only one other thing I’d rather be doin’ than giving in to this SOB. You thought anything more about that accord, Rosebud?”

Her head tilted until her cheek rested in his palm. “I can’t, Sam. I like my job, I like working at Hauberk. If you and I have an affair, when it ends, I’ll be out of a job.” When he started to protest, she straightened her head and took a half step back, leaving his hand hovering mid-air before he dropped it a second later.

“I’m not one for casual sex. If I have an affair with you, it’ll turn into something more and you’ll…well, you’re the boss, so I’ll be the one looking for a new job.” She paused, waiting for the ache that had started in her heart to ease. “I’d have to leave Hauberk, Sam. I couldn’t stay. No matter how much you say my job isn’t on the line, my heart is. And I’m not willing to lose either.”

“Who says it would have to end?” He stepped closer, but didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to. Her body was so aware of him it swayed toward him. Her lungs tried to fill up with that scent of him, imprinting it indelibly because one day she knew she’d never smell it again.

“Affairs always end, Sam.” And in her experience, they never ended with them being just friends.

“Maybe I want more than an affair, Rosie. Maybe I’m lookin’ for the long term.”

Her eyes closed on their own. He was so smooth, so convincing. And she wanted to believe him, but she also knew his history-she’d been checking him out along with the other employees. No one she’d interviewed could remember Sam Watson dating a woman longer than four months since he’d been with Hauberk. And he hadn’t committed himself to a longer term relationship with her, he’d simply said “maybe.”

It would end.

The door at the far end of the hall opened and the fox terrier streaked toward them, yapping its head off. The connection between them broken, Rosie stepped between Sam and the open door, her hand on her gun.

Mrs. O’Mara appeared in the doorway, and peered at them over her coke-bottle glasses. “Oh, it’s just you two. Come back here, Georgie, you naughty boy. I’d told you it wasn’t anything to worry about.”

As the old lady closed the door behind her, Rosie headed back toward 1202. Knowing he was watching, counting on it, she accentuated the roll of her hips. “So how about we go back in and see if we can find who’s been taking those photos?”

He heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “You think I don’t realize you’re tryin’ to distract me from goin’ out and finding my stalker?”

“Is it working?”

“Hell, yes.”

The next night Sam didn’t appear for their usual research session. Instead he bypassed their door and headed straight to his apartment. Andy gave her a shrug and trailed him while Scott ducked into their apartment. Ten minutes later Scott sat across from Rosie, burying himself in the files piled on the dining room table.

Dark circles ringed his eyes-evidence of the nightmares he denied having but they all heard every night. Not a surprise. After Sam’s cryptic comment, she’d read Scott’s file. He’d spent three months as a hostage of some obscure group in Colombia, escaping through hostile terrain with tales of brutality that had everyone worried about those left in the camp. When he’d been cleared medically, Troy and Sam had both tried to convince him to take some time off, he’d refused and so ended up on her team.

For the next hour, she and Scott slogged through more of the Hauberk client files, while Kris finished going through the Security Guard files. She placed the last of her current pile on the table and rubbed the back of her neck against the ache that was forming. “I’m not finding anything. How about you?”