Chapter Four #2
She slid the key into the lock and the elevator door opened. I stepped inside, and she pressed the button for the fourth floor. “Have a nice day,” she said as she winked before stepping out of the way of the closing doors.
“Yeah, uh, you too.” The doors closed, and I glanced at the shiny doors showing my reflection. I hoped I wasn’t making a mistake by signing up for this job.
When the elevator stopped on the fourth floor, I stepped off and walked to the right, stopping at unit four-oh-four.
I rang the bell and waited, hoping I wasn’t too early.
I’d said eight, but I’d gotten on the road much earlier than planned, and with it being a Sunday, there wasn’t much traffic.
It was seven fifteen, which made me wonder if I should have stopped for breakfast.
“Who’s there?” The voice was soft from the other side of the door.
I pulled out my license and held it up, facing the peep hole. “Jericho Hess, Mr. Fitz—uh, Wallis.” There was a muffled laugh before the door opened.
There stood a slender man with red hair. He came up to my shoulders and was beautiful, with fair skin and freckles over his nose and cheeks. He caught me by surprise.
I’d always been attracted to redheads, especially fiery ones. I was betting Sean Fitzpatrick was lightning in a bottle with those sparkling leaf-green eyes.
“Come in, Mr. Hess.” He extended his hand in an inviting manner, making me smile.
“I’m Sean Fitzpatrick, though I’m apparently Alan Wallis now. I’ve never met Raleigh Wallis personally, but I noticed in a few of the pictures on the bookshelf that we’re both gingers.”
The desire to grasp his gorgeous face with both hands and kiss the living daylights out of the handsome man was nearly overwhelming, but that would be inappropriate. He was fucking sexy, but his life was far different from mine.
I stepped into the entry hall and stood to the side so Mr. Fitzpatrick could shut the door before shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Hess. Neither Schatz nor Wallis told me much about you. I suppose I’m at your mercy, nonetheless. Have you kept many folks alive in situations like this?”
How the hell did I answer that? I stood there for a moment before I grinned. “I was a Special Forces soldier. My record speaks for itself.” That was about as vague as I could get without lying to the man.
“Cocky then. Good, good. Uh, I was about to have some coffee. Would you like some?”
I placed my Stetson on the table by the front door, where a fancy bowl was next to a small lamp. “Sure. Nice place here.” It was tastefully decorated with masculine touches, unlike the cozy country look Mom had always loved. Those frilly curtains in my bedroom were horrible.
“Yes, it’s very nice. Mine’s bigger than this, but it’s more austere. This is much homier. Anyway, did you bring clothes? A gun, perhaps?” He seemed a little judgy, but he was still damn cute.
I opened the tan suede blazer I was wearing to show him the holster under my shoulder. My Glock 22 was there with a full mag. I didn’t carry it as a rule, but that was about to change.
I also had a Mossberg 500 Tac shotgun in my truck behind the seat. I steadied my gaze on Sean Fitzpatrick. “Have you ever used a gun, Mr. Fitzpatrick?”
He returned my stare for a moment. “Call me Sean, please. What should I call you? Tall, dark, and sexy?”
The heat slid up my neck as I swallowed my nerves.
I was pretty sure it was against the rules of being a bodyguard—or whatever I was trying to be—to fuck the client.
I mean, he wasn’t actually my client, but I was still sure there were rules for that kind of thing.
“If you want, but most folks just call me Jeri or Jericho. Whatever suits you.”
He laughed, which was deep and sexy, surprising for his size. I was six-two. He came up to my chin, but his voice was deeper than mine.
“What does your family call you?”
“My father is deceased. My mother calls me Jeri.” I slid off my jacket, feeling a little too warm, though I doubted the jacket had anything to do with it.
“I’m, uh, I’m sorry. I can be a callous bastard sometimes. And stubborn. I’m probably going to be the worst person you’ve ever tried to protect.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his khaki pants. He definitely looked the part of a politician.
“Well, I find that the desire to remain alive can push people to do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do—like listen when I tell you to run or duck—without an argument.”
Sean was quiet for a minute before he nodded. “So, coffee then. How do you take it?”
“Black, please.” I followed him into a nice galley kitchen with a small table at the far end that looked like a booth. I walked over to the table and took a seat, unsure of what to say to the man.
Then I remembered my earlier question. “A gun, Sean? Have you ever shot one?”
He’d pulled out a drawer under a one-cup coffee maker and was staring at the pods inside. “No. Never. Do you like flavored or regular?”
“Regular, if you have it.” I glanced around the area where I was sitting and found pictures of our hosts, I was guessing.
One was tall and thin, and the other looked like a brick shithouse.
They were framed black and white pictures, but both men seemed to glow as they laughed, kissed, and appeared to joke around during the shots.
They looked like great guys to be around.
“So, uh, how do you know Mr. Wallis?”
Sean closed the top on the coffee maker, pressed a couple of buttons, and then turned to me as the liquid energy flowed into a white mug. “I don’t. His husband is a former North Carolina congressman. He’s the thin one in the pictures. They’re sickeningly in love.
“When I was helping Ben with his congressional campaign, he told me how they met. Ben was BFF’s with Raleigh’s younger sister and donated a kidney to her.
She was diabetic and suffered from kidney failure.
Unfortunately, she died, but Ben said he believed Raleigh’s sister brought them together. They’re both terrific guys.”
“That’s damn selfless. I was friends with all the guys in my unit, but I couldn’t say we were best friends. It was one of those things where you had your buddy’s back, but you didn’t get too close because either of you might not make it through a mission.”
It was the first time I’d considered why I didn’t have any close buddies after I got out of the Army. Nobody wanted to stay in touch because my missing foot was a reminder of what could happen to them.
Sean put a cup of coffee in front of me and sat across from me, likely taking stock of my ability to keep him safe.
“You know nothing about me, but I’m here to watch out for you until the folks in New York figure out who’s trying to cause you harm.
Tell me what’s happened, if you will. Schatz told me your car blew up on Friday? ”
Sean raised an eyebrow. “Was blown up on Friday. And news flash, there was a body in the trunk.”
Just as I was about to question that information more, the doorbell rang. Sean headed over to answer it, and instead of yelling at him, I relaxed and let those old instincts take over. “You don’t answer the door anymore.”
I pulled my Glock from the holster and checked the mag. I went to the door and looked through the peephole. I didn’t recognize the man, but he had cop written all over him. “Hold your badge up to the peephole.”
The man chuckled and reached for the clipped badge on his belt, holding it up to the glass. I turned to Sean. “Are you expecting a detective?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“What’s the hold up?”
I glanced out the peephole again. A uniformed woman had joined the detective. A petite redhead with a nice figure—if one were into that.
“Let us in, or we’ll have to resort to drastic measures.” Her voice sounded bossy.
“Oh, that’s Officer Mathers. Let them in.”
I put my gun in the holster and opened the door. “Come in.”
They both walked into the condo, looking around before they closed the door behind them. There was another quick knock, and the cop opened the door this time. “You are?”
“I’m Mr. Fitzpatrick’s attorney, Spencer Brady.” The man slid inside without waiting for an invitation.
Sean nodded and walked over to Mr. Brady, giving him a hug. “Thanks for coming, Senator.”
That was when it clicked. Spencer Brady, former senator from Virginia. Lost the election because of an extramarital affair, or something. I remembered he came out, and his boyfriend was hot, not that the senator wasn’t a silver fox in his own right.
“Who are you?” The senator gave me the up and down.
I stepped forward and stuck out my hand. “I’m a friend of Sean’s. I’m here to look out for him.”
“Spencer Brady.” He turned to the cops. “And you are?”
“I’m Detective Michael Compton, and this is Officer Patrice Mathers. We have some questions for Mr. Fitzpatrick.” Compton turned to me. “Do you have a wear/carry permit for that Glock?”
I retrieved my wallet and pulled out my permit, handing it to the detective. He looked at it before handing it to Officer Mathers. She glanced and handed it to me with a grin. “Thank you for your service, soldier.”
I chuckled. “Takes one to know one. Which branch?”
“Army, same as you. MP. Too on the nose?” I assumed she was referring to her transition from military police officer to local law enforcement.
I chuckled and extended my hand to shake hers. “Hey, go with your strengths. How about we get down to the reason why you two are here?”
Officer Mathers nodded and turned to Sean, who was sitting at the larger dining table with another cup of coffee. He smiled. “Can I get you some coffee or water?”
I took a breath. “I’ll take care of it. What can I get the two of you?”
They gave me their requests, and I went into the galley kitchen to make coffee while still listening to the discussion. At least Sean’s lawyer friend was with him to keep him from saying something stupid.
Or so I hoped.