Chapter 4
Gabe
The threats are escalating, and Izzie’s stalker knows exactly where we’re going. Since we’re on the go, I thought we’d have the edge, always being a step ahead. Instead it feels like we’re in a game of cat and mouse and we’re the mouse.
Now I’ve got to come up with a new plan in less than a couple hours. My foot presses the accelerator, urging the big car to speed above the limit. Glancing into the rearview mirror, I see my traveling companion slumped back in her seat, eyes closed. The sight makes my heart flip in a most surprising way. Ismeralda looks so innocent, tucked into a ball shape with her hand resting against her cheek. She’s either recharging her batteries or she’s succumbed to the exhaustion of worrying about her stalker.
I was surprised when she said that she wants to meet her fans. Her prickly, off-putting nature seems counter to that, but maybe she’s only prickly and off-putting with me. According to the General, the decision to hire a bodyguard was thrust on her by her father, so that might explain her current attitude towards me. Not that it matters either way; I’m here to be her protector not her friend.
The miles roll by as I ponder options and eventually come up with a new security plan that will hopefully both satisfy my employer and keep her safe.
~*~
“Ismeralda, we’ve arrived at the bookstore,” I say as I pull up in front of Barnaby’s Books. A large splashy sign covers the front of the two-story brick building. It’s not as big as one of those monolith chain bookstores, but it’s still an impressive building.
“What?!” she says, springing upright in her seat. I smother a chuckle because her once-tight bun droops crookedly on her neck and there’s a red mark on her cheek where she rested against her hand. “Oh my! We need to confer with Uncle Barnaby about security for the signing,” she squeals. Flinging open the door, she leaps out of the car in one impressive move considering her tight skirt and heels.
“Wait! I need to check—” I bellow, but I might as well be talking to the wind as she quickly adjusts her bun, smooths her jacket and skirt, then saunters off into the store without so much as a backward glance. We’re going to have a little conversation this evening about following my instructions.
Unbuckling the seat belt, I unfold my tall body from the vehicle. You’d think a limo would have plenty of driver leg room, but it does not. I automatically scan the area for threats—despite the fact that we’ve arrived prior to opening time. Then I do a few stretches and lunges to get my muscles moving again, just in case the stalker is lurking about and we end up in hand-to-hand combat. With this being my first bodyguard assignment, I want to be prepared for anything.
As I stride into Barnaby’s Books, I’m greeted by the aroma of coffee and cinnamon. Izzie wasn’t kidding when she said they were famous for their baked goods. My tastebuds can’t wait to try one of those scones. Spotting my client talking to a tall distinguished-looking gray-haired man, I walk towards them.
“There you are! What took you so long?” Izzie says as I approach.
Does she expect me to be like a faithful Golden Retriever and follow at her heels? I guess that is what a bodyguard should do. I’ve already botched this assignment on day one.
Ignoring her comment, which sets my teeth on edge, I turn to the man, extend my hand, and say, “Seq—er, Gabriel Martin. I’m your niece’s bodyguard.”
He smiles affably and exchanges handshakes with me. “Barnaby Harrington. John said you’d be accompanying Ismeralda to all these events. I can’t believe this stalker fellow would do any harm, but as a celebrity, you can’t be too careful.”
Izzie visibly brightens at his use of the term celebrity. Turning a beaming smile on her uncle and ignoring me, she says, “Barnaby, we’ve got a teensy bit of a situation to attend to.”
Grunting at her trivializing of the situation caused by the latest email, I hold up my hand. “I need to pull the limo around back first.” It’s blocking the front, plus it’s in plain sight for the stalker to know Izzie has arrived.
“Yes, sorry I didn’t think of that sooner. There’s an alley a few yards down the block, turn in there and then you’ll have access to our back parking lot,” Barnaby replies.
“Uncle and I will have coffee and a scone while you move the vehicle,” Izzie says in a distracted voice, then takes her uncle’s elbow and directs him towards the café area at the back of the shop.
My stomach growls in protest, my mouth still watering over the anticipation of caffeine and sugar, but I clamp my lips shut. There will be plenty of time for me to get my own coffee and several of those delectable-smelling scones after I park the limo.
~*~
About a half hour later, the three of us are sitting at a small round table in the back break room, staring at a printed layout of the store. Fortunately I was able to snag a coffee and several scones—the half full beverage and one remaining scone are on a napkin in front of me. I’ve already decided that the blueberry ones are my favorite.
We still have forty-five minutes before the signing event, but a line is already forming at the front of the store. I’ve made a couple of suggestions, none of which Miss Harrington has been pleased with. We glare at each other, locked in a stalemate, while her uncle looks on with amusement.
“Izzie, dear, I think Gabriel is right. You should be ensconced in the reading nook. That way we can ensure no one approaches you carrying bags where all sorts of weaponry could be concealed.”
Weaponry? His rather dramatic expression puts me on high alert. Especially since the quickly formed “security team,” as he puts it, consists of the store’s sixty-year-old security guard who looks like the wind could blow him over, a twenty-something geeky-looking guy who usually runs the checkout counter, and me.
My client beams up at her uncle. “Okay, I’ll agree to that. I guess it’s for the best.”
No matter what I said, Izzie wasn’t persuaded. Yet a single endorsement from her uncle and she’s all in? Deciding that at least we ended up with the correct decision, I shove my frustrations aside. “Barnaby, can your team create a sign to inform attendees that their bags will be left outside the signing room? Hopefully that doesn’t discourage people from attending,” I say.
“Of course; we’ll have that ready. Is there anything else you need from me?” Barnaby says.
“Not at this time, but thank you for your cooperation,” I say, tossing a pointed look at Izzie, who’s been completely uncooperative thus far. “I’m going to meet with the security team,” I say as I stand once Barnaby has departed.
“I’ll get set up in the reading nook,” Izzie says, then pauses. “I assume you’ll be wearing a suit?”
Saluting at her request, I say, “Yes, ma’am.” Swiveling briskly on my heel, I go in search of the ad hoc security team and hope they can be trained in the next twenty minutes.
After the suit comment by my persnickety client, I wish I had an outlandish color outfit—lime green or fuchsia—just to yank her chain. However, blending in is the norm for bodyguards, so obviously I’ll stick with my plain gray suit. For now, anyway.