Chapter Three
Bryn awoke before his alarm, Gunnar’s arm still draped protectively across his chest. It was tempting to take a hold of Gunnar’s wrist and take a peek at his future intent, something that often resulted in Bryn becoming both hard and needy.
He didn’t do it, because even though Gunnar never minded Bryn poking around in his head, doing it while he was unconscious seemed wrong.
Instead, Bryn stayed still, memorizing the warmth and weight of Gunnar’s well-muscled arm.
Then there was a knock at the apartment door.
Emmett had a key and always let himself in.
Warden usually called Gunnar on his cell rather than ascending four flights of stairs, which left the least palatable option.
“Fuck,” Bryn muttered, extracting himself from Gunnar’s hold. He checked the time. “It is way too early to be dealing with this. Gunnar, wake up, I think Giles is here.”
“He’s too fucking early,” Gunnar mumbled.
“Tell me about it, but I think he’s at the door.”
“Let him wait.”
“He’ll quit being polite and break through it if I don’t go out there.” Bryn scrambled out of bed then yanked on his jeans. “You need to be in your own room. I don’t want him knowing about us.”
“Goddammit. If I didn’t already have enough reason to hate him.” Gunnar, clad only in black briefs and T-shirt, hauled himself out of bed. “I was warm and having a very…stimulating dream about you. Gonna take a shower. A cold one.”
Bryn hooked his tongue back into his mouth then went to answer the door.
“Giles. You’re early.”
Giles, immaculate as usual in a navy pinstriped suit, white shirt and cravat, gave a pained sigh.
“That’s a matter of opinion. I only dragged myself up here to tell you that we are back in the conference room today.
We need more space and Warden wants to join us.
He’s had better kit set up for Emmett and rescheduled other meetings that were booked in there. ”
“Probably wants to make sure we don’t kill each other,” Bryn said.
“Aren’t you all sunshine and flowers before your coffee? Where’s Detective Ericson?”
“Dunno. He often runs at this uncivilized time of day.”
“Hmm. You still can’t lie worth a damn. No matter. Try to be quicker than the average sloth.”
Giles turned on his heel, leaving Bryn scowling at his back. “There is not enough coffee in the city to give me the will to deal with him.” He shut the door. “Shower. Coffee. Food. Giles fucking Delacourt can wait.”
Within half an hour, he and Gunnar were fit to face the world. Giles had already commandeered the conference table, spreading documents across the available space. Warden sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable.
“Ah, you’re here,” Giles said without looking up. “I trust you both slept well?”
Bryn ignored both the stated question and the implied one. “What’s all this?”
“Your new life, dear boy.” Giles slid a thick folder across the table. “For the next three days, you’re Bryan Reid-Cobb, my indispensable executive assistant. Yale educated, ruthlessly efficient, and devoted to the success of my business.”
Emmett hurried in. “Sorry I’m late! But I found something about their hiring patterns that you need to see.” He headed for his computer set up next to Warden.
“Hold that thought, Emmett. First,” Warden said, “let’s be clear about the timeline. The investor event is Thursday morning. That gives us three days to transform Bryn into a convincing executive assistant and ensure our cover story will hold up to scrutiny.”
“Which is why,” Giles said, “Bryn and I have an appointment later this morning with Boston’s finest tailor. It’s not Saville Row, but needs must. I can’t have my assistant looking like he shops at…thrift stores.”
Bryn gritted his teeth. “There’s nothing wrong with thrift stores and I’m not your dress-up doll.”
“No, you’re a professional about to infiltrate a highly secured facility where the slightest mistake could get you killed.
” Giles’ voice had a steel edge. “So you’ll wear what I tell you to wear and learn what I tell you to learn.
Unless you’d prefer to explain to the next victim’s family why we failed? ”
Bryn put a restraining hand on Gunnar’s arm. “He’s doing it deliberately. Ignore him.”
“Tone it down, Delacourt, or you and I are gonna have a problem.” Gunnar gave a warning growl.
“How sweet. Shall we continue?”
Bryn shrugged. “Get on with it.”
Giles smoothed his cravat. “After the tailor, we’ll need to address that hair.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” Bryn’s hand went to his head.
“Nothing that a proper stylist can’t fix.” Giles’ smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Bryan Reid-Cobb wouldn’t be caught dead with that mess.”
“You’re enjoying this way too much.” Gunnar gave Warden an accusing glance as if to say ‘this is all your fault’.
“On the contrary, Detective Ericson. I’m simply ensuring our success.” Giles turned to Warden. “Speaking of which, have you made any progress on the security protocols?”
Warden nodded toward Emmett, who pulled up a series of diagrams on the screen at the end of the room. “Their system is state of the art, but the IT geeks have identified several potential weak points. The investor event will give you the best chance to get close enough to exploit them.”
“Show me,” Bryn said, grateful for the change in topic. He studied the building schematics on the screen while trying to ignore how Giles’ presence made his skin crawl.
“The main security hub is here”—Emmett pointed—“but there’s a secondary system that operates independently. That’s where it gets interesting.”
“And complicated,” Warden added. “One wrong move and—”
“And I end up dead,” Bryn finished. “Yeah, I got that part.” He felt Gunnar tense beside him and wished, not for the first time, that they could reach for each other openly. But that would give Giles too much ammunition, and they couldn’t afford any distractions. Not with so much at stake.
“Once you’re in, it shouldn’t be difficult to get reads through introductory handshakes,” Warden said.
“Maybe,” Bryn acceded, “but truth reading won’t be likely if I can’t retain contact.”
“Anything you can learn will be more than we have now.”
“Well then,” Giles said, “shall we begin your transformation, Bryan? The tailor awaits.”
Withholding a sigh, Bryn followed Giles out of the conference room for what promised to be hours of humiliation. He cast a glance at Gunnar who seemed suitably sympathetic. He never complains about my clothes. I think he likes me in ripped jeans…
“Oh, and Bryn?” Giles paused before they left the building. “Do try to look less like you’re heading to your execution. Executive assistants generally display a bit more enthusiasm for their work.”
“You should be thankful I’m going along with this at all. It’s not in my job description,” Bryn said, pulling on his gloves. Three days. I just have to survive three days of this. He shoved his dark glasses on. At least now he can’t look me in the eye.
Warden had assigned them a driver and it didn’t take long to get to the tailor’s shop, which was tucked away in a corner of downtown. Their driver stayed with the vehicle, right outside the door. Inside, the premises smelled of wool, leather, and money. Lots of money.
Bryn scowled while Giles greeted the owner like a long-lost friend.
“Paolo, it’s been too long. I do so appreciate you giving us this time when you’re in such demand.”
“Giles, my old friend. It’s my pleasure. Is that Richard Anderson’s work you’re wearing?”
“It is. You always did have the best eye.”
“For the best work. Very nice. But to business. What have you brought me?”
“A challenge.” Giles stood aside to give Paolo a better view of Bryn.
“Oh my…” Paolo ushered Bryn onto a low wooden platform. “Arms up. Like scarecrow.”
“I know, but he has potential. I’m training him to be a top-class executive assistant but he needs to look the part. Ignore the gloves and glasses…he has issues. Bryn, this is Paolo Vittorio. Do what he says.”
Bryn stood there while Paolo circled him with the predatory focus of a shark that had discovered a nice plump seal.
“No, no, no.” The elderly Italian tugged at Bryn’s sleeve. “Everything wrong. Shoulders—disaster. Waist—catastrophe. You let him dress himself?” This last part was directed at Giles, who sat in a nearby leather armchair looking far too amused.
“Sadly, yes. But that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? You have three days to make him presentable for an important meeting I’m attending.”
Paolo made a choking sound. “Three days? Impossible! This needs three weeks minimum. Maybe three months.” He poked Bryn’s ribs with a measuring tape. “Stop slouching!”
“I’m not…”
“Slouching!” Mr. Vittorio insisted. “And tension here, here, and here.” He jabbed various parts of Bryn’s anatomy with alarming accuracy. “Bodies must be relaxed for proper fit. You are like statue. Very bad statue. Not Italian.”
“Perhaps,” Giles suggested, “we could see the Welsh wool options while Bryan tries to become less…statuesque?”
“The blue-black superfine? Yes, yes.” Paolo shuffled away, still chattering away in Italian about impossible timelines and American barbarians.
“Having fun?” Bryn asked once the tailor was out of earshot.
“Immensely. Though, I must say, you’re taking all the joy out of it with that expression. Try to think happy thoughts.”
“I’m thinking about all the ways to make death by measuring tape look accidental.”
“Ah, there’s that creative spirit.”
The next hour was a blur of fabric swatches, increasingly intimate measurements, and Paolo Vittorio’s running commentary on everything from Bryn’s posture to his choice of socks.
“Criminal! In my shop, wearing these…these…abominations! Inhale,” Paolo commanded for the fifteenth time, wrapping his measuring tape around Bryn’s chest.
“I am inhaling.”
“No, no. From diaphragm. Like opera singer. Like this— HHHNNNN!”
“I am not making that noise.”
“Make noise or measurements wrong. Wrong measurements, bad suit. Bad suit…” Mr. Vittorio crossed himself. “Catastrophe.”
From his armchair, Giles snickered. Bryn shot him a look that promised future vengeance.
“Now, arms up. Higher! You are man, not penguin!”
“Is this really necess—?”
“Necessary? Like air! Like water! Like proper sleeve length!” Mr. Vittorio’s tape snapped against Bryn’s biceps.
“Ow!”
“Too much gym. Muscles make fabric angry.”
“Muscles make fabric angry,” Bryn repeated. “I don’t even go to the gym. I’m allergic.”
“Si! Fabric must flow, must drape. Your muscles…” Mr. Vittorio made angry gestures at Bryn’s arms. “They fight fabric. Very disrespectful.”
“Now, try on. Gentle! Fabric feels fear.”
Bryn caught Giles’ eye in the mirror. “I will make you pay for this.”
“Dear boy, the bill for these suits already ensures that.” Giles smiled his shark smile. “Though, I must say, Paolo’s artistic temperament is worth every penny.”
Bryn was clad in sections of fabric and pins.
“Arms up again! And now…” Mr. Vittorio stepped back, head tilted. “Walk!”
“Walk where?”
“Anywhere! Everywhere! Must see how you move. You walk like angry bear. Must walk like…like…”
“Like you have somewhere important to be and someone’s life depends on you getting there,” Giles supplied. “Which, incidentally…”
Bryn paced the length of the shop, trying to channel how he imagined an executive assistant would walk. Mr. Vittorio made sounds of deepening distress.
“No, no! Too much shoulder! Too much…” He waved his hands expressively. “Too much prison yard!”
“I’ve never been to prison,” Bryn protested.
“Then why walk like planning escape, eh?”
The fabric was removed and handed to Paolo’s assistant. The next forty-five minutes involved Bryn learning to walk, sit, and even stand— “Like civilized person, not cage fighter.” By the end, his patience was hanging by a fraying silk thread.
“Three days. You can collect,” Paolo said. “You can always come back for small alterations later.” He shook his head, presumably at the state of the world in general. “Be gone. We need to work.”
Giles ushered Bryn outside and, once on the pavement, Bryn took several deep breaths. “I’m starting to think this whole mission is an excuse for you to annoy the hell out of me.”
“Not at all. Though I must admit, watching you try not to commit violence while being measured for your waistcoat was a delightful bonus. Now, we can discuss proper sock selection over lunch back at HQ.”
Bryn’s response was remarkably close to Mr. Vittorio’s loudly expressed opinion of polyester blends.
When they got back to headquarters, Emmett was deep in his research hole. “It’s not just the patient deaths,” he said, surrounded by empty coffee cups. “Staff members have been disappearing too. Always from specific departments. Research, security, medical records.”
“Cleaning house?” Gunnar suggested.
“Or recruiting,” Giles suggested.
Bryn sighed. “Someone give me some good news.”
“Lunch is on the way,” Emmett contributed.
“There’d better be donuts or I’m withdrawing my labor.”
“I ordered your favorite,” Emmett said, looking up from his screen. “And I got extra because of…well, everything. We also have meatball subs because that’s what Gunnar requested. Turkey on rye with salad for Giles and Warden.”
“I hope you knew better than to get me salad?” Bryn said.
“Of course, but… I think I might be onto something interesting that’s unrelated to our food order. I noticed the external security cameras at the Burlington clinic tend to glitch every day at exactly three-fourteen in the morning. Probably a coincidence, though.” He paused. “Probably.”
“Your optimism is both adorable and terrifying. Please tell me those donuts are coming with a side of hazard pay.”
“No hazard pay,” Emmett said cheerfully. “But I did get you an extra-large coffee.”
“Well everything is fine and dandy then.”
Gunnar chuckled. “Someone had a tough morning getting fancy. Let’s get him sugared up. Today is going to be a long haul.”