Elliot
ELLIOT
The week had been a tense one for both and Anthony. Despite putting on a strong face for everyone around him, Anthony was clearly more tired and jumpy than when first met him. Then again, couldn’t blame him. The average person wasn’t exactly equipped to deal with a reality where someone was actively trying to kill them.
From the driver’s seat of his tank of a truck, he looked over at Anthony. The philanthropist was gazing out of the passenger’s side window thoughtfully. They’d made it through another day without anything happening, but Anthony still had dark circles under his eyes. From the few nights he’d spent at Anthony’s place, he knew the man stayed up pretty late and typically slept restlessly.
“Doing alright?” asked, already knowing the answer.
Anthony looked up, blinking. “Uh, oh, yes, I suppose I am. Found myself wondering when the police are finally going to catch the person doing all this.”
“Well, that’s going to depend on what they find out,” said, knowing it was no help.
They might have luck trying to catch the person who’d initially tried to shoot Anthony in public, but suspected that wasn’t the same person who’d planted the bomb. The police would have to do a lot more than just look for the shooter. They’d have to dig through Port Dale's underworld to discover any criminal with power and a grudge. wasn’t sure how to tell Anthony he would probably have a target on his back for a while.
Anthony smiled wearily. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?” asked.
“Deal with the specter of death hanging over your head the whole time? I know you had to have dealt with your fair share of that in the service.”
snorted softly. “This might surprise you, but you get used to it. Humans are...pretty resilient, and we’re pretty flexible too. Given enough time, a person can get used to just about anything that doesn’t kill them right away.”
“That gets a little ironic when my whole problem is being terrified of what’s trying to kill me.”
nodded, turning off the highway. “Yeah, but even that, you get used to.”
“I’m not sure this is a feeling I want to get used to.”
didn’t blame him. One of the biggest reasons he’d chosen to go into the protection field was so people like Anthony could feel safe and not have to worry every step of the way. ’s training and experience set him up perfectly to deal with life-or-death situations, and he had wanted to use it to make other people’s lives easier.
Most of the time, it worked. The woman with an abusive husband had relied steadily on while she’d gone through the process of divorce and moving where he couldn’t find her. The businessman with prime real estate breathed easier with around to ensure no further ‘accidents’ happened before the police finally caught the culprits.
In the few years had been doing his job, he’d helped dozens of people. Sometimes, it was directly. Other times, it was merely through consulting. He’d faced down thugs, abusive partners, and, on one memorable occasion, a man so spaced out on some combination of drugs that he had no use for reality, or pants, for that matter. Yet had never faced a targeted threat aimed at someone he was protecting, not one where the targeter was probably a professional.
Anthony looked over at him. “I’m guessing from your silence, you’re not going to try and console me, are you?”
grimaced. “There’s nothing I can say that will. And I’m not going to lie.”
“Not even a little?”
“If I lie, then I’m not doing my job. I have to protect you, and you knowing what the score is will make you careful and keep you safe, more than if you walk through life completely blind.”
“Is that a personality trait of yours, or just one drilled into you by the Marines?”
chuckled. “If you think the military makes you honest, you might want to look up Intelligence and Counterintelligence. That and, well, they’re not on the up and up in general.”
“So, a personality trait.”
“It’s both. I was being a smartass about the Marines. They push honor and integrity on the new recruits and constantly harp on about it the whole time you’re there. The reality is different for many people, but for me, it just stuck.”
“A bit of both, then.”
“Pretty much.”
His mother had always been an honest person, and she’d encouraged her son. He could still hear her telling him that a person’s integrity was all they had left in the world and could never be taken away, only given. And while he had known the reality of being in the service and knew people wouldn’t be as honest as he was, he had stuck to his guns. Just because the rest of the world was happy to lie, manipulate, and trick others to get what they wanted didn’t mean he had to do the same.
pulled onto the private road that led through the woods in front of Anthony’s house. The road was winding and lined on each side by thick foliage. had tried to convince the man to stay somewhere less of a logistical nightmare, but it had been one of the few things Anthony had put his foot down about, citing that he was barely sleeping as it was. Sleeping in some strange bed would make it even worse. gave in but insisted on a larger security force to watch the house.
The house itself wasn’t any better in terms of logistics. Anthony had it designed specifically for him and built from the ground up. wasn’t an expert in architecture, but he knew enough to think of it as ‘modern.’ Which, for , translated to two floors with glass for walls, a handful of balconies providing access to the house, and minimal exterior lighting.
Anthony looked down at his phone. “The man in charge of the team tonight said they will be here in half an hour.”
nodded. “Good, they’re keeping to the schedule then.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to tell him you’ll be in the house?” Anthony asked.
shook his head. “No, tonight is supposed to be his night. Let him continue to think that.”
They had been maintaining the same schedule for the past week. For every two nights stayed in the house, he would spend another at home, leaving Anthony’s protection to the men watching his house. Despite having already stayed twice in a row, chose to stay in the house again. He slid his truck into the attached garage and closed the door behind him.
The men would frequently come into the house on a set path that Anthony had agreed on. Unless someone was watching the house all day, they would have no idea was there. The men stationed outside would stick to their paths, checking the areas lit by the lights had insisted be installed outside.
“Ah, home sweet home,” Anthony said as he opened the door leading into the house.
wasn’t so sure about it being sweet, considering even with the added manpower, the house was still a pain to secure. However, one good thing in its favor was that, except for the bedrooms and office, it was an open floor plan. The rooms led into one another seamlessly, offering very little in the way of hiding places for someone who might be in the house.
“Stay here,” said as he walked past Anthony.
“I know the drill, Mr. Remus.”
walked further into the house, carefully combing each room. Checking around the leather furniture and the small displays of sculptures, he moved into the bedrooms. They were as well-decorated as the rest of the house, though considerably less flashy. Beds and closets were checked, and then he moved into the office. It was the most used room in the house, from what could tell, and other than the closet turned storage place, there was nowhere for someone to conceal themselves.
“We’re clear,” called down. “Set the alarm and lock the door.”
He could hear Anthony grumbling, making him smile. For all his fear and worry, the man hadn’t completely left his personality at the door. Everything, from his organized desk and office to the meticulous care with which his decor was chosen and even his insistence on having a say in the design of his house, spoke of a particularly hardheaded man. Even with his life in danger, Anthony hadn’t bowed to everything had wanted to enact for his protection. While it made ’s job harder, he still respected the man, refusing to let every aspect of his life be controlled by the circumstances forced on him.
emerged into the open part of the house, hearing Anthony in the kitchen. The men who would be watching the house would bring Anthony his dinner. One of the first things insisted upon was ensuring someone was always present for any food given to Anthony. It might have seemed slightly over the top, but wasn’t taking any chances.
Anthony stood at the island in his kitchen, pouring a glass from the bottle of wine he’d opened the night before. “Would you like a glass?”
“Just because I’m here unofficially doesn’t mean I’m not working,” told him, sitting on one of the stools.
Anthony chuckled, plugging the bottle and putting it back in the fridge. “You honestly don’t know what you’re missing. This was an excellent year.”
“And I won’t surprise you by telling you I’m not really a wine person.”
“Hmm, beer or whiskey?”
grinned. “I like cocktails. The fruitier, the better.”
Anthony raised his brow, picking up his glass. “Is that so? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
winked. “And that’s what you get for assuming a big guy like me would like something like beer. Beer tastes like piss left in the sun too long. Plus, people with any sense know that fruity drinks have the most liquor in them. A couple of those are worth twice that much in beer, and it tastes way better.”
“A cosmopolitan man, ah, the ladies must love you,” Anthony commented.
“I’ve had a few takers.”
“Probably more than a few. As heterosexual as I am, even I must admit that you are an impressive specimen of the male species. I’d say you’re likely to turn heads on the street, which is true, but I have a feeling your height is what gets the attention first. Everything else would come after.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Howell.”
Anthony sighed, taking a sip. “And that’s how I know you’d never make it in business. Flattery and cajoling will get you everywhere .”
“And here I thought you were a charity man, not a businessman,” said.
Anthony snorted. “Oh yes, but those two things are not mutually exclusive. Charity or business, you’re dealing with money and need to have a good head for business, or you completely tank. It’s one reason I set myself up as an aid to other organizations. It helps them when they might not have the skills or knowledge I do.”
Business and finances were clearly not a problem for Anthony. couldn’t even begin to imagine what building the house cost, let alone decorating it and the upkeep. A great deal of money was poured into Anthony’s personal life. Whatever the man’s noble goals, Anthony certainly didn’t balk from taking care of himself in the process.
“I suppose I should get to my office. I still have a few things to work out. That damn charity ball for the police isn’t going to take care of itself,” Anthony muttered as he drained the last of his wine.
“You could always try for an early night,” suggested.
Anthony chuckled. “No need to bother trying. When I finally do lie down, I’ll spend the better part of an hour or two staring up at the ceiling instead of sleeping. As usual, help yourself to whatever you’d like while you’re here, Mr. Remus.”
“I know the drill, Mr. Howell,” tossed back at him.
Anthony chuckled as he turned the corner, his laugh echoing down the hall once he was out of sight. In the distance, could hear the arrival of the team he’d advised to bring in to watch over the house. Taking that as his cue, he got up from the stool and made his way to one of the back bedrooms to wait out the night.
* * *
He woke instantly, knowing he’d only been asleep for about an hour. When he stayed over, he allowed himself to sleep for a few hours when security was at its highest. He’d never woken so suddenly, not while snoozing in Anthony’s house.
Something had woken him.
He wasn’t alone.
kept his body still and relaxed, breathing deeply and listening to the room. The spacious master bedroom carried sounds easily, bouncing off the walls and hard surfaces. The only thing to muffle sound was the four-poster bed Anthony used. That was until took over the man’s safety and insisted the man sleep somewhere else.
There! The softest sound of something brushing against the floor near the foot of the bed. cracked his eyes open as he strained his ears for any more sounds. The curtains around the bed made it nearly impossible to see through the darkness, but would swear he could see something moving on the other side.
Whoever it was, they were moving carefully and slowly. quickly assessed how long it would take before they reached the side of the bed he was lying on. Counting in his head, he was glad he’d fallen asleep on his side, his arm curled under him. waited until the shadow moved to the side, then he quickly shoved against the bed, launching himself at the intruder.
The curtains flew apart, and slammed into the shadow. A surprised grunt was the only noise before the intruder stepped back, trying to twist away from . had taken him by surprise and hit him hard, dragging him to the ground. A clatter came as the object in the man’s hand fell and slid across the hardwood floor. landed on the stranger, using his greater size and weight to pin him down.
“Surprise, asshole,” grunted as he tried to grip their wrists.
A whir could be heard as the automated system in the room took his words as a sign that it was time to open the motorized curtains on the room’s window wall. Moonlight filtered in slowly as jerked back, pulling his chin away from the sharp movements of the man beneath him. Pinned or not, the guy was unwilling to go down without a fight and had yet to say anything.
There was finally enough light in the room for him to make out the man’s dark, long-sleeved shirt, pants, and hat. froze when the light caught the man’s features, illuminating them enough.
“Oh,” managed.
Clay frowned up at him. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”
“You?” asked, his shock a growing pool of ice in his gut.
Clay shoved his arm between ’s, breaking the grip on him. Before could recover, Clay yanked his legs out from beneath him and shoved his feet against ’s chest. There wasn’t enough force for Clay to knock over, but more than enough for the man to slide several feet away.
snapped out of his shocked daze as Clay twisted on the ground, back on his feet in a moment. A knife, the object Clay must have lost his grip on, lay a couple of feet to the side, out of Clay’s reach. Hand to hand was something of a skill of ’s, though, and with grim determination shoving aside his surprise, he launched himself forward again.
A grunt of surprise left him as he swung for Clay, only for the man to weave around it with effortless grace. Pain lanced up his right side as Clay’s fist slammed into a tender spot. Shoving the pain aside with barely a thought, twisted, bringing his elbow toward the other man’s face. Clay twisted back and around, hitting again but on the left side. Pain radiated up his whole back, but barely had time to register either before Clay’s foot slammed against his knee.
Knee buckling, knelt hard on the floor with a thud. Shoving the pain from his mind, he wrapped his hands around Clay’s wrist. He felt the blow of an elbow coming down on his shoulder, but allowed himself to fall backward. Using the momentum of their tumble, he shoved his good leg against Clay’s waist and hurled the man behind him with all the strength he could muster.
A crash echoed through the wall as Clay slammed into a table, shattering it with the weight of his body. On his back, forced himself to take a deep breath, still trying to ignore the pain now he wasn’t in immediate danger. Rolling onto his stomach, he pushed against the floor and took to his feet. His eyes immediately found the other man as he stood up, watching Clay pick up the lost knife from where it had landed.
Before could make a plan of action, he heard the clunk of something hit the ground. He looked down in time to watch an object roll toward him. Instinct took over, gripping his senses, and he dove away toward the end of the bed to take cover. Seconds took forever to tick by as he counted them, frowning when he finally hit ten.
Carefully, he picked himself up and peered over the bed. Clay was nowhere to be seen, but ’s eyes fell on the object he’d seen roll toward him.
“Motherfucker,” swore as he took to his feet once again.
Wincing, he limped over, bent down, and picked up the cologne bottle that had sat on the table Clay had been thrown into. scowled as he turned it in his palm. His instinctive brain had seen a lethal grenade, but now he found himself wondering how the hell he’d mistaken the container for anything but what it was.
He didn’t need to look around to know Clay was gone, but he did anyway. There were no windows that could be opened in the bedroom, and the door to the hallway was still closed. ’s eyes fell on the adjacent bathroom, door wide open just as he’d left it. Scowling, he made his way there and flipped on the light.
Once his eyes adjusted to the glare, he glanced toward the large window next to the standing shower. It was closed and locked, and no one from the outside would have been able to fiddle with it. His gaze moved upward to the vent in the middle of the room. The grating was in place, but as backed up to see better, he could see a half-inch gap. ran through the house’s layout in his head and realized the ventilation system ran up to the roof. Many of the ducts, while not wide, would have been enough for someone of Clay’s size to wriggle through.
“?” came Anthony’s worried voice from the hallway.
“I’m fine,” called back as he hurried out of the bathroom.
The philanthropist stood in the doorway to the bedroom, peering in from the hall. Enough light poured out of the bathroom to illuminate the room, including the broken table. quickly joined the man in the hallway and briefly explained what had happened.
“Jesus. I guess it was a good thing you had me sleep in the guest room,” Anthony muttered, holding his arms tightly at his side.
nodded. “I didn’t expect someone to come after you here until I’d established a habit someone could watch for a week or so. Glad I was paranoid.”
“Me too. We should probably call the police, though,” Anthony said, eyes wide and worried.
“We will. Stick with me. I have to alert the men outside before I do that,” told him, ensuring Anthony cleaved to his side before continuing.
It didn’t bother him that the attack had come sooner than expected. In truth, the fact that Clay turned out to be either the same person who’d planted the bomb or was in league with the people who had didn’t necessarily bother him. Sure, it had come as a surprise, but between his work protecting people and the Marines, he’d learned not to take too much for granted.
What bothered him was that he should have been dead.
Clay had been every bit as skilled and informed as had tried to plan for. He still cursed himself for not thinking about the roof access, but the fact that Clay had chosen it showed just how attentive and meticulous he could be. He’d fallen for the trick had laid out, albeit sooner than predicted, but just as had proven by forgetting the vents, no professional was immune to mistakes.
Yet, regarding the initial ambush and the ensuing fight, should not have come out on top. Clay could have easily shot , but he’d chosen to use a knife and, even then, hadn’t used it despite how close he’d been to the bed. It was as though Clay had wanted to be absolutely sure of the figure behind the bed’s curtains before delivering the blow. He was also clearly trained and capable of dealing with an opponent much larger than him.
The fight had been quick and clean, and shouldn’t have walked away from it. Even using the cologne bottle showed that Clay clearly knew how to manipulate a former frontline fighter’s instincts. Every part of the interaction broke down in his mind screamed that should have been dead or at least bleeding profusely. Instead, Clay left him with a few bruises and a knee that could be treated with an ice pack and a couple of aspirin.
What the hell kind of professional assassin avoided killing an obvious threat to their target, especially when their target would have been left defenseless afterward?