In a Mr. Deke Hightower’s charge.
Mr. T was hilarious.
“That I am,” I confirmed, trying not to giggle at the look on Deke’s face as he stared with unhidden irritation mingled with equally unhidden surprise at my phone. These saying he was not a big fan of being called “Mr. Deke Hightower” and he was a little shocked (and appalled) Mr. T was so snooty. I then asked Mr. T something that was also unnecessary, “So you made it to town all right?”
“Indeed, Justice.”
“Deke’s making us dinner,” I told him. “When we’re done eating, we’ll come into—”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Mr. T interrupted me brusquely. “Fortunately, as you informed him I would be arriving and gave him leave to speak to me as a member of your family, Lieutenant Keaton was rather forthcoming about your ordeal. You need to stay put and rest. In fact, you should be quite careful with all activity for the next few days, giving your body time to heal as well as the energy to do so.”
I tipped my head to the side, a silent question to Deke.
I hoped he got my silent question because he nodded back.
“Do you want directions to come out here?” I asked. “Dinner isn’t lobster but it’s yummy.”
“No, thank you,” Mr. T answered, and even though I wanted to see him, especially in a time like this when he was at his best, the competent and capable calm in a storm, I was kind of glad.
I had my calm in a storm.
Deke.
And anyway, Mr. T would definitely not want bologna sandwiches.
“I have calls to make and things to see to,” Mr. T went on to explain. “We’ll schedule a time for the morning after you’ve had some rest. However, I need to speak with you now about a few of those things I’m seeing to.”
“Sock it to me, Mr. T,” I invited.
“Right,” he stated, all business. “I’ve been in touch with Kai Mason. He currently has no openings on his team to send bodyguards. He’s suggested a firm in Denver that he highly recommends. I’ve done some research on them and I’m in agreement with Mason. And this could be a multi-tasking opportunity because, although this firm does provide security services, they mostly do investigations. They’re very good. And although her parents informed me they’ll be looking into securing their own investigators, I’d like your approval to engage them to find Bianca. They can coordinate efforts with Constantine’s team or Constantine, as he should, can employ this Nightingale Investigations directly.”
I thought of Stella Gunn’s husband, Kai “Mace” Mason. He played double-duty as her bodyguard (though, if you talked to Mace about this, it wasn’t a duty in his eyes except one that had the adjective “husbandly” before it). He also ran a company of bodyguards and they were highly sought after because they were seriously good at what they did.
Lacey used them.
Dad used to use them.
I would have thought of them but Deke had wasted no time setting up a posse of local badasses to watch over us, and since he had, I didn’t need to.
And I’d met Mace’s old employer, Lee Nightingale. I knew his wife better because she was a really good friend of Stella Gunn. But I’d met a number of Lee’s friends too, these guys were also his crew, and they were arguably more badass than Deke and Tate were.
I thought of all this as I watched Deke stop squirting mustard on toast to look at me and give me a negative shake of his head.
“Well, Mr. T—” I started.
“One other thing, Justice, before we discuss.”
“Okay,” I replied.
“Lieutenant Keaton has shared that Mr. Hightower already has some locals providing such security services. I was at first opposed to this idea but Keaton said this crew is being led by a Tatum Jackson. From what I could discover in the short amount of time I’ve had to look, Jackson has a skillset that would make troubling the men at Nightingale Investigations with sending out bodyguards unnecessary. They can still search for Bianca. However, if you wish Mr. Jackson to lead this local crew, I’ll need to contact him for billing purposes.”
At that, Deke spoke.
“Tate won’t want paid.”
“Lonesomes do not offer markers,” Mr. T informed him instantly. “No Lonesome owes anybody anything.”
This was true.
This was Mr. T’s way which was, according to him, the only way.
“Tate, nor any of the boys’ll want markers either,” Deke retorted. “They’ll be doin’ this for Jussy. She lives here. She’s one of our own. We take care of our own. So don’t contact Tate and ask him to bill you. It’ll piss him off.”
Although I liked the idea of being one of their own, I cut in at this juncture because I was obviously a Lonesome and Mr. T had taught me well.
Don’t owe anybody anything.
“I can actually pay them all for helping me out.”
Deke’s annoyed gaze went from my phone to me.
“That’s not the point,” he returned. “You wanna do somethin’, this gets done, buy ’em each a bottle of their favorite hooch. You offer anything else, straight-up insult, Jussy.”
I grinned at him and watched with great interest as his attention dropped to my mouth, and for some reason, for the first time in a while, his expression didn’t grow annoyed (or, at that point, stay annoyed) when he saw me smile.
His face softened and his eyes warmed when they returned to mine after I started talking.
“Apparently, I have things to learn about mountain man badasses.”