“The bodyguard is going to come tomorrow. Promise me you will use her. That you won’t go anywhere without her. That you won’t endanger your life. Promise me this.”
“I promise,” she vows solemnly. “I promise I will protect myself because I am your heart.”
“Thank you.” I close my eyes and clutch her to my chest. She finally gets it.
TWENTY
TINY REFUSES TO GO TO sleep in the bedroom, so we make a nest of blankets and she falls asleep on the sofa in my office while I handle international calls and watch the Asian markets. Before the morning light filters in, I get a text from Jake that the new bodyguard will be arriving soon.
At precisely seven in the morning, there is an alert from the back door. Outside I see a woman with short dark hair wearing a lightweight parka, jeans, and soft-soled shoes. She matches the picture Jake sent. Quietly, so as not to disturb Tiny, I speak into the intercom. “Name, please.”
“Marcia Stephenson” is the brisk reply. I watch her for a minute, but she doesn’t flinch, merely stares unblinkingly at the camera with her feet set and her hands hanging loosely at her sides. I approve, but more importantly I think Tiny will like her.
“Up the stairs.” The sound of the lock releasing prompts her to enter.
We meet at the entrance.
“Nice to meet you, Marcia.” She has a firm dry grip.
“Marcie, please. Marcia is too…”
“Brady Bunch?”
“Yes,” she grimaces.
“Tiny’s sleeping. What has Jake told you?” I gesture for her to sit down, but she doesn’t. Instead she prowls around the edges of the room, tapping locks on the windows and eyeing the layout. If she were a different kind of woman, I’d be bristling against the intense perusal, but she looks no different than Steve did the first time he walked in.
“This is a basic personal protection duty. I’m to ferry one Victoria Corielli and then ensure the safety of her person against any threats.” She looks at me and emphasizes the word any.
“Good. She’s the most important person in my life.” I dump coffee grounds into the machine and start the brewing cycle. “I’ve read your resume, but those are dry things. Why the bodyguard business?”
She stiffens at the word bodyguard, which tells me she is a true professional. Steve doesn’t like the term either. In one of his rare communicative moments, he explained in a wounded voice that personal protection services involve security surveys, advanced planning, and logistical preparation not merely guarding a body which any f**khead could do.
“I’m not a bodyguard, sir,” she says with restrained offense.
I hold up a hand to forestall further explanation. “I know. Just a layman’s ignorant term.”
She doesn’t relax an inch. “Ms. Corielli will be my first priority.”
I pour myself a cup of coffee and offer her one as well. She hesitates and then relents enough to walk over to the kitchen. “Half a cup, please.”
Pushing a mug to her, I pour until she says stop, and then I empty the rest in another mug for Tiny. “Have you met her?” I ask. They both work for Tanner, so it’s probable that they have come across each other.
“In passing. She’s doing dispatch at Jake’s, so we’ve all come into contact with her at some point.” Her voice is neutral, not giving anything away.
I refrain from questioning her about Tiny’s work because I know she wouldn’t like it.
“Let me get Tiny, then.” I’m halfway up the stairs when I see Tiny coming out, dressed in work clothes. She gives a grateful look at the mug in my hand and swipes it from me. After gulping down a healthy swallow, she offers her face up. Heedless of Marcie’s presence, I pull Tiny hard against me and give her a long, hungry kiss, tasting coffee and the mint of our toothpaste. The very fact that I have to hire Marcie makes me a little insane. I want to pull Tiny into the bedroom and lock her away there.
“Good morning,” she murmurs, breaking away. There’s a slight flush on her cheeks which stirs my blood. Neither of us can be this close to one another and not be affected. I’d like to slide my hand into the front of her pants and between her legs to see how hot I’ve gotten her with just a good morning kiss.
“It’s a good morning now,” I say, contenting myself with simply squeezing her ass. “We’ve got another guest.”
“Another one?” she cries and tries to push her way past me.
“Run toward the abandoned house where the killer awaits you, why don’t you?” I complain in an undertone which she unfortunately hears.
“Are you suggesting I’m acting like the stupid girl in a horror movie who gets offed in the first five minutes?”
“Your response to the announcement that we have an intruder is to run downstairs and confront them.” I follow behind her as she ignores me and marches into the kitchen.
“Marcie Stephenson, right? I’m Victoria Corielli.” They shake hands as if they’ve never met before.
“I know. You’re working dispatch and reception for Mr. Tanner.” Marcie puts her mug on the counter. Apparently drinking coffee in front of the body you are to protect is verboten.
“I’ve heard your voice, but we haven’t met.” Tiny perches on a stool at the counter, and I call in our breakfast.
“I do a lot of field work,” Marcie replies vaguely.
The two chat quietly with one another. Jake has done a good job of finding the right personality to mesh with Tiny’s. When breakfast arrives, I eat my share and then kiss Tiny goodbye.
Jake calls first thing. “Steve gave me an update on your nocturnal visitor.”
“Did he share that he nearly boned the poor girl on my dining room table?” The opening bell for the NYSE will ring in thirty minutes. There are dozens of emails that have populated in the few minutes that I haven’t checked my phone between exiting the car at the front of the building to getting to the twelfth floor. They are all demanding to know if the rumors are true. What rumors, I wonder.
“He left that part out.”
“I feel sorry for his girlfriend,” I say, scrolling through several emails that ask essentially the same thing. There are three reporter requests as well.
“Do you?” Jake asks.
“No, it just seemed like the thing to say.”
“Back to Howe, do you want me to put pressure on this girl?”
“Find out everything we can on her brother. I want to know his lawyer, who prosecuted his claim, who his parole officer is, who the supervisor of that officer is. I want to know what they eat, when they piss, and who they f**k. We’ll find some pressure point somewhere.”