Chapter 8
Peyton
I sat next to Grace in her office, listening to the latest clients to come through the door. I rolled my head on my neck. My shoulder soreness hadn’t gone away.
“I’m thinking a modern Mediterranean treatment to the whole house,” Mrs. Barnard droned on. “And it has to start in the bedroom and the closet and move out from there. Don’t you think, Andre?”
“Certainly, my love.”
I watched Grace nod along.
I had no idea what the wife really wanted, and I guessed Grace didn’t either, but was too diplomatic to say so.
This lady changed her mind faster than a butterfly flapped its wings.
And Andre Barnard had said yes to every single nonsensical thing his wife had proposed.
Was that love? Or was he just a complete pussy?
Pussy? That wasn’t a word I normally used. It had been Serena who told me there were no pussies in the SEAL teams, only real men.
“Peach,” Mrs. Barnard said. “The color palette should be based on peach, with maybe a touch of mauve added. Don’t you think, Andre?”
“Most certainly,” the yes-man repeated.
I’d just had lunch with the complete opposite of this husband.
Zane March was so sure of himself that he tattooed his beliefs on his skin.
He was a real man, firm in his commitments, a man with real convictions, who understood them and could articulate them.
A man who knew what he stood for and why.
“What do you think?” she asked Grace, waking me from my lunch-conversation reenactment.
Grace cleared her throat. “I think we should schedule a design consultation using our VR system so you can visualize it and see what impact each change makes in the appearance and functionality.”
“Excellent idea.” The lady stood. “Now, where is this virtual reality design studio I read about in the paper?”
Grace stayed seated. “We can’t do it right now. It will have to be scheduled.”
I couldn’t take another minute of this woman today, and I guessed Grace also needed some decompression time before facing her again.
“I don’t see why not. We’re paying for the service.”
“Mrs. Barnard,” Grace said diplomatically. “Our services are in high demand, and we must first service clients who came to us earlier.”
“Who could possibly be ahead of us? Are you telling me you don’t value our business?”
This was a behavior we’d seen so often that we’d come up with a solution.
Grace turned to me. “Peyton, who is higher in the queue right now?”
“Lloyd Benson,” I responded. “He and his wife are one of the couples ahead of you, Mrs. Barnard.”
Her eyes went wide. “The billionaires?”
Grace took it from there. “If you’d like to talk to Lloyd about giving up his spot, Peyton can give you his number. And there are also the Covingtons, Bill and his lovely wife, Lauren. They’re in a bit of a hurry, but you could ask them to delay their project.”
Nobody had yet called our bluff. Mentioning the famous billionaire families always did the trick.
Grace checked her watch, a reminder that my wrist was currently missing a timepiece. “If you’ll excuse me. I’m due in another meeting.”
I felt a bit ill after the lack of Cassie’s watch on my wrist brought a vision of her smiling face to mind. She’d had so much to live for.
“Peyton, will you see the Barnards out?” Grace’s question brought me back to the moment. “And schedule a slot for them, say two weeks out, so we can properly finish the projects ahead of them and prepare for their VR consultation?”
I stood and nodded. “My pleasure.”
After ushering them out of Grace’s office, I scheduled a date for them and assured them that we would call if we could move up the date. Which we always did in a case like this.
On the way back to my desk, I passed March and noticed the ink showing from his rolled-up sleeves. It brought me right back to our lunch conversation.
Zane March was no yes-man. He was the opposite, a man with honorable convictions.
At the end of the day, I locked up my desk, grabbed my purse, and pulled my tired ass to March’s desk. “I’m ready to go.”
“Have a seat,” he said. “Terry is on his way.”
Once Terry picked Grace up, March was off duty, but not a minute before, I’d learned.
I happily plopped down in the chair next to his desk. He’d been here long enough now that referring to it as his desk made sense.
“When do you think she’ll be free to go back to her life without you guys on duty every day?” It had to suck to not know when the danger would be over.
March bit his lip. “Lucas is giving Victor a little time to acclimate in his new role. Then he’ll go in and clear the air with the punk.”
Tony Russo, Victor’s father, had exiled his son after Lucas had complained about Victor’s behavior toward Grace.
When Victor reappeared in town, he’d gotten rid of his father and taken over the family business. He’d probably fed him to the sharks, because like all other Russo victims, his body was never found. A man who would do that to a family member was dangerous in the extreme.
Grace told me Lucas and Terry were now worried that Victor carried a grudge against both her and Lucas for the temporary exile.
“Victor will make peace with us after he gets educated about the boss’s history.”
I nodded, understanding March’s meaning. It had been explained to me this way—overseas cemeteries contained numerous examples of people who’d underestimated the lethality of Lucas Hawk. I’d felt it the very first time I’d been introduced to him. The man’s eyes bored into you.
Ten minutes later, I startled when a man’s voice boomed across the room.
“Hey there, Kitten.” Terry had arrived.
It had been a long day, and with clients like the Barnards, a taxing one. But that wasn’t enough to stop Grace from hurrying across the room to greet Terry with a big hug and a long kiss.
I watched in awe and some jealousy. It hurt that I couldn’t have that. I couldn’t even come close.
Every day I used to hope I would see a news headline that the Boyfriend Strangler had been caught. Now I understood that it wouldn’t be enough.
My safety required that the headline say that the strangler had died in a shootout with police, or had killed himself. Only news that final would be good enough. Only then could I even contemplate searching for the kind of happily ever after Grace had, and Serena as well.
When the kiss broke and Terry came up for air, March stood and threw him a wave. I did the same and followed the big SEAL out.
Zane
With a muted ding, the little red number changed over to Peyton’s floor. I instinctively held Peyton behind me for a second while the elevator doors opened. Of course, there was no danger as I strode out first.
She followed me. “Why do you do that?”
I slowed. “Do what?”
She stopped. “Every time we get in an elevator, you get in front of me when the door opens and exit first.”
Stopping with her, I explained, “Habit, I guess. Why?”
“It’s odd because in every other way you’re a gentleman.”
“Thanks.” Thinking about it, I decided she deserved an explanation. “On deployment, we’re always most vulnerable when going through a door. We’re constrained in location with restricted visibility. The first one through is in the most danger.”
“I don’t think anybody in my building will be holding an RPG.”
I shrugged and started down the hallway. “Probably not.”
“You’ve been protecting me?”
I shrugged. “Like I said, habit.”
“Thank you.” She stepped out toward her door, leaving me to follow. A few steps later, she froze with a gasp.
When I reached her, I pulled my SIG Sauer and moved forward at the ready. “Stay here.” Somebody had kicked in the door, splintering both it and the frame and leaving it unable to close completely.
I slipped into mission mode, one-hundred-percent focused and ready for anything. If the perp was inside, I’d make sure he regretted it.
“But—” she squeaked.
I pushed her back. “You heard me.” I didn’t mean to scare her, but I said it with my firmest voice.
Toeing open the door, I advanced inside. “Stay out until I tell you,” I reminded Peyton. The last thing I needed was a hostage situation if bad guys were still inside.
The condo had obviously been searched. Things were scattered about, drawers and cabinets left open in the living room and kitchen. Luckily, this wasn’t the most severe situation I’d seen. They hadn’t gone through the house, cutting open furniture and the like.
Moving into the bedrooms and bathrooms, I found the same scene. I checked the closets, under the beds, the laundry room—nobody was here. “You can come in,” I yelled to Peyton. “But don’t touch anything.
Her prints were certainly all over the place, but I didn’t want her to smudge any print the thief or thieves had left.
Her hands went to her face as soon as she entered. “Oh my God… How… Who would…?”
When she started to sob, I took her into my arms and rubbed her back. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”
“But why?” She sniffled.
I didn’t have an answer to that. “Often, it’s either kids or a junkie looking for things to sell.” Statistically, that was true in general, but a lot less likely in a multi-story condo building.
She pushed away. I hated it, but let her go.
“At least they didn’t tear up the place or destroy any of the artwork. I couldn’t afford to repay the Hartfords if they’d damaged things.”
I followed her to the kitchen. “Do you have anything valuable they could have been after?”
She closed a drawer and leaned back against the counter. “Only these.” She touched her diamond earrings.
“Nothing else?” They were pretty and probably expensive, but I was no expert in the value of women’s jewelry. This had not been a smash-and-grab or run-of-the-mill jewelry heist.
No, they had searched the drawers in the kitchen in addition to all the bedrooms. The thieves had been looking for something in particular, something that would naturally find its way into a drawer, something small.
If they wanted jewelry, they would have concentrated on the master bedroom and bathroom. No, this was targeted, but they weren’t after a set of earrings.
Suddenly, Peyton rushed out.
I chased after her.
She searched both sides of the bed.
“What?”
“My backpack. They got all my…” Her eyes went watery. “I had some money in it.” From the tremor in her voice, it likely wasn’t a small amount.
“Very much?” I asked.
She nodded and wiped under her eyes.
I tried one more time to console her and brought her in for a hug.
This time, she accepted the gesture, and true water works started as I held her. It wasn’t merely lunch money they’d gotten.
“Cash?” I asked.
She nodded against me.
With one hand, I pulled out my phone. “I’m calling the cops.”
She pulled quickly away. “No. I told you, no cops.”
“But they can dust for prints.” I desperately wanted to know who these assholes were, so I could track them down and give them a little street justice.
“No. You can’t. They’ll have to contact the owners, and I’ll get kicked out. I’ll have nowhere to live. Please don’t.”
“Okay.” I put away the phone. Her argument made sense.
She started putting things back in place.
“That can wait. Pack up what you need. You’re coming to my place.”
“What? You going to show me your etchings?”
I breathed deeply to control my argumentative streak. “The door is busted. It’s not safe here.”
She shifted from foot to foot. “Then I’ll call Grace and see if I can stay with her.”
“No,” I insisted. “You are my responsibility, and I will not shirk that. You’re coming with me, at least until I get this door fixed.”
She looked like she wanted a way out, so I gave one. “Or, we could call your parents, show them a picture of the door and see what they say.”
Her face fell. “Can’t do that. My parents are dead.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know.” I hadn’t thought.
She straightened her shoulders. “My mom cheated on Dad, and they divorced. He started drinking and it killed him. He plowed into a tree.” She took a breath. “I have no idea where Mom is and don’t care.”
Needing to change the subject, I blurted out, “Or we can stay here, and to keep you safe, I’ll sleep on the floor of your bedroom.”
My suggestion drove her as nuts as I figured it would. She stomped to the closet. “Fine, but one night only.”
“I’ll do my best, but I’m not letting you go until I’m satisfied you’re safe. Pack for several days, just in case.” Keeping her out of the condo would also give me time to ask Constance to dust for prints and let me find the assholes who’d done this.
She looked my way and seemed ready to argue, but didn’t. Instead, she stomped off, mumbling to herself.
Last night’s mugging by those two losers had sure looked like a crime of opportunity at the time, but two attacks within twenty-four hours now made a pattern. Who was that unlucky?
I intended to figure out if it really was a coincidence or not.
While she packed up a few things, I phoned Lucas, and he agreed with my plan of action. He said he’d arrange for Constance to pull prints tonight.