Chapter One
Hallstein
“Thisis the big, important job you’re eager to assign me?
” I eyed my boss, Amal. Although she was a good eight years younger than my own forty-two, she owned and ran one of the most successful personal-protection companies in all of Vancouver.
Of British Columbia, for that matter. We handled the rich, the famous, and the infamous.
Admittedly, I’d only been with her for a month, and this was just my second gig, but—
“I need someone I can trust.” Amal’s dark skin emphasized her high cheekbones. Her dark-brown eyes cut through me. “This is a big job. After the incident at the studio…”
She didn’t need to be specific. Everyone knew about which incident at which movie studio up on the North Shore of Vancouver.
That hadn’t been our security job—we tended toward up close and personal rather than large productions.
My first gig had been guarding an oil executive from a Middle Eastern country who was looking to branch out into renewables.
His people weren’t happy about turning away from fossil fuels, and environmentalists weren’t happy that he was in the oil business at all. His trip proved uneventful.
The way I liked things.
I eyed the printed page before me, finally pointing. “And this is my job.”
Amal arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
“Sorry, boss.” I winced. And used the nickname our entire crew used. We were a fifty-fifty mix of men and women, which impressed me. My old job, as a corporal with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, hadn’t been that close to gender parity.
Don’t go there. In the past. Move on.
“Hallstein?”
I cleared my throat as I blinked. “Sorry, just…” I scooped up the paper. “I pick it up from the Sunzen Gallery every morning and then return it each evening.” Gazing at the piece of pottery, I tried to understand why it deserved its own private protection.
“Three million dollars,” Amal supplied. “That’s just the estimated value. A very similar Ming vase sold for ten million. And that was twenty years ago.”
Again, my brain hurt. “The Ming dynasty, right? China…?”
“From 1368 to 1644,” she clarified.
“So this thing is six or, uh, four hundred years old?” I winced yet again. I was competent at math, but not on the fly. I was good at catching criminals, not discerning the age of a piece of clay.
“Around five hundred and fifty.” She nodded. “And the studio boss wants it in the show. She’s friends with someone at the gallery, and they decided this would be a nice way to do a cross-promotion.”
Which I truly didn’t understand. “This will be on the set for Vigilante Justice?”
She nodded.
Okay. Just one of the biggest shows on television this decade. Shot right here in Vancouver. Starring hometown-boy Cole Hamilton, as both Montgomery Daley and Justice, and Julie Reyes, an American former gymnast, as Lyric—Justice’s nemesis.
Even with all those streaming channels, VJ continued to dominate television ratings. The whole will they or won’t they nature of Justice and Lyric’s relationship kept fans in their seats week after week. “Sixth season, right?”
Amal nodded.
“And how many weeks is this going to be on set?”
“Just five episodes. So you’ve got about five or six weeks’ of work.
” She rose from her desk, indicating our conversation was drawing to a close.
“I’ll email you the schedule—but understand that things change.
” She rounded her desk, then placed a hand on my biceps.
“Going rate plus a meal allowance. Overtime if needed.”
“I don’t mind—”
“Overtime, if needed. You’ll have Ping’s contact information.
Just text her when you leave the studio each night.
That will give her enough time to notify the guard that you’re on your way.
” She squeezed my arm. That surprised me about her.
I’d discovered she could—and would—take me down to the mat in our sparring matches.
Then she’d want a hug. Something about keeping the world a gentler place.
She respected personal boundaries, though, and had asked permission at the beginning of our relationship.
I’d been so stunned that I’d agreed. And, as it turned out, not regretted it.
These days, hers was the only touch I got.
Don’t fucking go there.
“Okay, museum first thing in the morning.”
“Yes. Report to the security office at the studio. The production assistant, Seamus O’Malley, will meet you and go through the details with you.
He’s your contact point. Oh, and you’ll be dealing with the set decorator, Myles Jarvis.
Uh…” She cocked her head. “I think you’ll enjoy working with him. ”
I’d never known Amal to lie, but she just had.
Oh shit.