Chapter 2
Gabe
What a diva. Miss Harrington’s snobby tone, uppity attitude, and prim and proper aura instantly put me in a grumpy mood. She reminds me too much of my sister, who always knows how to push my buttons. The General warned me about Izzie, but I didn’t listen. How difficult can it be to protect a “lifestyle influencer” who wrote a bad review about cosmetics? Seriously.
However, I underestimated both Ismeralda Harrington as well as her stalker. If the email she showed to me is any indication of what she’s been receiving, she’s being threatened by unpredictable people, and it would be unwise to assume they’re harmless. One line of the email in particular pops into my head, “WILL THIS BE YOUR FINAL BOOK TOUR?” I don’t know whether the capitalization was intentional or if they got their Caps Lock key stuck.
I wander into my office, always impressed by the computer power sitting on my desk. The array of big screen monitors along with a desktop computer that could power the Pentagon sit at the ready. Just last night I spent hours tracking a wily cyber-criminal, finally unearthing their digital footprints and identifying their origin in Bismarck, North Dakota. After sharing my intel with the FBI, this cyber bad guy is going to prison.
Swiping the screen on my cell, I call my boss and founder of Grayson Security, Winston Monroe. The General is old school and won’t respond to a text message.
“Winston here,” he barks.
“I’ll take the gig,” I say, sidestepping any of the usual introductory comments such as hello or good morning. I’m still a bit grumpy from the encounter with Ismeralda.
He chuckles. “I knew you’d take it. What convinced you?”
“She showed me one of the emails she received. That’s one crazy stalker.”
“I’m confident you can unravel the puzzle and figure out who’s doing this. John Harrington and I have been friends for years. I remember when Ismeralda was born.”
Knowing that my boss is a friend of the family who hired me puts a lot more pressure on me doing not only a good job, but an outstanding job. That means I need access to Izzie’s emails ASAP.
“What do I need to do to get access to her email account?”
He grunts. “Already taken care of. I’ve got all that information ready for you. Read your email.”
What? He usually suffers from tech avoidance, so this is surprising news.
“When do they want me to start?” I ask, having failed to establish that during my conversation with the prickly Miss Harrington. Hopefully that’s not in the email I didn’t read.
I hear papers rustling on the other end, causing me to grin. As I said, the General is typically old-school, so he’s probably referencing his manila folder.
“You start tomorrow at oh-six-hundred. You’ll be accompanying Ismeralda on every leg of her book tour,” Winston replies. “By the way, she insists on being driven to these venues rather than flying. John indicated she’s nervous on airplanes.”
This new news makes me want to turn down the gig. Almost. But they’re paying me a ton of money to ride along with snooty Miss Harrington, so I’ll kick back and make the most of it.
“Duly noted,” I reply.
More papers rustle. “So the lovely Miss Harrington doesn’t want to address you by the name of a tree?” He chuckles. Everyone on the security team calls me Sequoia since that’s a holdover from my days as a Marine. Maybe it’s time to adopt a different moniker.
I grunt. “Apparently not. I suggested she could call me by my middle name.”
“Ah, I see that now. Welcome to the team, Gabe .” More laughter zips across the line. “While you’re off gallivanting around the country with Ismeralda, Bruno’s going to fill in here for you on day-to-day security services.”
Ignoring the term gallivanting, which is highly inaccurate, I say, “I thought Bruno didn’t want any more gigs now that he’s married to Bobbie Sue.” That’s a romance for the ages, a burly Marine married to a hairstylist who loves pink. Go figure.
“I promised he can stay close to home for any assignment. By the way, you should get a trim before you leave so you look spiffy for that tour. Bobbie Sue has the best prices in town.”
The General is always referring me to one business or another. He must make a ton in referral fees.
“What’s the name of the shop?” I grumble, grabbing a paper to scribble down the name.
“The Dippity Doo,” he replies. “Don’t let the pink put you off.”
Cringe. I’d usually avoid a beauty shop, especially one featuring pink, but I do need a trim. “Okay, got it. I’ll make an appointment.”
“How’s four o’clock look for you?”
What? He knows the shop’s schedule?
“I’m open.”
“Done! I’ve booked you at four with Bobbie Sue.”
Click!
Shaking my head, I chuckle over what just transpired. The General is a real conundrum. He acts like he’s technology challenged, yet he’s able to book me an online appointment at Bobbie Sue’s shop in under a minute.
Guess I better pack and then get that trim so I’m ready to depart tomorrow morning. Taking this gig is either the worst decision of my life or the best, I can’t decide which. Ismeralda is a real sparkplug, and it’s going to be fun yanking her chain. Let’s just hope her stalker turns out to be harmless.
~*~
When I arrive at the Harrington estate the next morning, a black stretch limo and a stack of luggage wait next to the house under the porte-cochere. The Uber driver drops me off with a smirk after she notices the fancy suitcases stacked higher than my head. I add my paltry one bag to the pile, then go in search of my new employer.
Just as I raise my hand to ring the bell, Ismeralda flies out the door, almost knocking me over. She’s dressed to the nines, her travel outfit consisting of a bright purple business jacket, matching skirt, and a pair of sky-high heels that show off a great pair of legs. The effect is breathtaking—but totally inappropriate for a car ride. My khakis and polo shirt suddenly seem far too casual, but at least I’ll be able to kick back in the big car and relax. Hopefully they have onboard beverages and snacks.
“Oh! There you are. Please add this to the luggage collection,” she says in a snobbish tone oh-so-like my sister Chloe, nodding towards the suitcases while handing me a froufrou bag shaped like a hatbox.
“What’s this? The kitchen sink?” I grumble, reacting to her snooty voice as well as her pile of bags.
She arches those perfectly shaped eyebrows at me. “It’s my makeup case. Please handle it with extreme care.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply, my voice laced with snark. Somehow I resist the urge to bow.
My evil streak wants to toss the thing in the woods, but I jog over and calmly add it to the pile while Miss Harrington disappears back inside.
It’s going to take several minutes to fit all this stuff in the vehicle, so we should get started.
Where’s the driver?
Debating whether to start loading the limo myself, Izzie reappears carrying her laptop bag and an oversized purse. A pair of snazzy sunglasses perch on her pert nose. This time I notice that her hair is in a severe bun at the back of her head. She looks so much better with that hair down around her shoulders like when I first met her.
“Are we ready to depart?” she asks, tilting that pert nose up in the air.
“As soon as your driver gets here, we’ll load up and go,” I say.
She points a finger at me. “You’re the driver, Mr. Martin.”
My eyes go wide. “What?” I squeal, using my outdoor voice.
Tapping her well-shod foot on the driveway, she says, “Since you’re an expert in tactical driving, I thought it best that you be the one behind the wheel.”
Wish I’d never mentioned that particular skill.
“You’ve got to be kidding me! I’m driving you all over the country? Dealing with your three hundred pounds of bags?” My voice rises another octave.
Her toe continues to tap. “Did you not read the terms of your contract, Gabriel?”
She has me there.
I grunt, then stalk over to the luggage. Izzie helpfully pops the trunk and I start loading, forcing my lips to remain sealed at this turn of events. Guess there won’t be any relaxing or sipping beverages on this trip.
Not-so-gently tossing the vast array of suitcases into the trunk, I work up quite a sweat. My polo becomes drenched, and I need that cool beverage. When I finally pick up my own case, Ismeralda quips, “One bag for a three-week trip?”
“I pack light, unlike you,” I fire back.
She bites her lip, but I swear she’s trying not to laugh. After stuffing all the suitcases in the trunk—which was like solving a Tetris puzzle—I slam the lid and stalk to the driver’s side.
“Hop in,” I say in a gruff voice.
Those perfect brows hitch again, but thankfully she doesn’t comment. Was she expecting me to assist her into the vehicle?
Her heels click on the asphalt surface as she opens the back door and slides into the car much like royalty, carefully adjusting her skirt so as not to show too much leg. The movement is so prim and proper it puts my teeth on edge. Doesn’t this woman ever lighten up?
After I start the limo and pull away from the house, I say, “You can ride up front with me if you want. That is, if you don’t mind mingling with the help.” My little jab hits the mark as I hear her suck in her breath.
“I’m hoping to get some work done,” she says in a clipped tone, yanking her laptop from its bag. Seconds later I hear her nails clicking furiously on the keyboard.
This is going to be a very long trip.