Chapter Twenty
“They’re vultures,” Sarah cried out. “I hate the paparazzi!”
Ben frowned, taking the paper from her. “They let it out that you’re living in Montana. But it was sort of an open secret, anyway. And the stalker already knew that, so probably no harm done.”
Sarah grabbed it back and proceeded to rip the tabloid into strips. It felt good. “Take that,” she said, rending the paper. “And that!”
“They published my picture,” Ben said. “Damn. In my line of work, I need to remain anonymous.”
Rio picked up a strip and studied the photo. “Your hat shades most of your face. You’re virtually anonymous. Nobody could identify you by this picture.”
“They took video, too,” Ben said.
“Oh well.” Rio didn’t seem concerned. “I just dropped by to see Sarah. Becca needs me at home. Twins are exhausting.”
“Come in when you can,” Ben said. “The new guys are due in tomorrow.”
Rio blanched. “Tomorrow? Well, crap. I’ll be in, then. Becca will be okay with the babies for a few hours.”
“I can help her,” Sarah offered. She wanted to make herself useful, and she wanted to see her new nephews.
Both men frowned at her.
“No,” Rio said.
“Absolutely not,” Ben said. “You’ll be staying here. With me. All day. At the end of the day, you’ll go home. With me. You won’t be going anywhere without me.”
“Agreed,” Rio said.
Ben looked at the other man as though the matter was settled. “Tomorrow afternoon we need to line out the new guys. I’ll try to keep you only half day so you can go home early.” He turned to Sarah. “Sarah, from now on you’ll stay within touching distance of me. That’s final.”
Sarah threw down the rest of the paper. Feeling rebellious, she nearly stamped her foot. “I want to see the babies.”
“I’ll take you for a quick visit tomorrow morning,” Ben said, “if that’s all right with Becca and Rio.”
“Sure,” Rio said. “Becca’s been asking about Sarah.”
She nudged the paper on the desk, still feeling recalcitrant. “Okay. Tomorrow’s good.”
“Still want that nap?” Ben asked.
“No, now I’m riled up. Damn scavengers.” She took a turn around the office.
“There’s no right to privacy with paparazzi.
None. An acquaintance of mine, an actress, was in her home, in her bathroom, and the dirty rats managed to snake a camera through her window and take her picture while she was on the toilet! ”
“Think I remember that photo in a tabloid.” Rio named a well-known celebrity and Sarah confirmed his guess. “Even for them, that was a nasty trick.” He rubbed his jaw tiredly. “Gotta head home now. See you two in the morning. And Ben? Thanks for watching out for Sarah. I owe you.”
“You owe me nothing.” Ben made the statement definite.
After Sarah gave her brother a quick hug, Ben said to her, “If you’re not sleepy anymore, how about a tour of the facility?”
“Yes, please.” She was curious about the security business, how it was run, and most especially she wondered about the sort of boss Ben made to his men. “I’ve already learned a lot from your staff, but they say you have a kill house here. What in the world is that?”
“I’ll show you.” He opened the door for her and they moved through the office out a side door and into the sunshine.
A large concrete area was backed by a two-story building. On the concrete she saw weight machines, old truck tires, and kettle bells. A group of shirtless men were working out.
Ben gestured at them. “This is The Grinder, named after the workout area at Naval Base Coronado where SEALs are trained. That program’s a bitch. Men are pushed to their limits. Ask Rio. We went through BUD/S together. Here, we don’t go that far, but close.”
A few of the guys and two instructors glanced at Sarah. Most of them snuck second looks.
On the ground, five men were on their backs, legs lifted off the ground, scissor-kicking over and over.
To Sarah, it looked like a difficult core workout.
Then, another man, apparently an instructor, turned a garden hose on full blast, and sprayed water in their faces.
They weren’t allowed to stop. In fact, the instructor shouted at them to go faster.
Sarah raised her brows.
On another area on The Grinder, two men were doing pull ups on a high bar.
They had to jump to reach the bar, which meant they were forced to lift their entire weight each time.
One man struggled, his arms shaking, and at last he collapsed to the ground.
The instructor stood over him dispassionately.
“Get up,” he said, without feeling. “Do it again.”
“Goodness,” Sarah said, sorry for the poor man. “Your training is almost sadistic.”
Ben gazed back at her, his expression blank. “No, it isn’t. It’s just training. This isn’t nursing school, you know. We need strong men who can face adversity and overcome it.”
She nodded, chagrined. She shouldn’t have blurted that out. “Of course. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”
He led her past the sweating men to the building next door. It was painted a dark, ominous shade of gray, and there were no windows. “This is our kill house,” he said. “Or call it a shoot house, either one. It has five-inch-thick walls, with two-inch ballistic rubber over AR500-rated steel panels.”
“Ah, so you won’t get ricochets on bullet spatter?” She did know a few things about guns and gunfire.
“Right. All safety protocols are strictly enforced. We can move partitions and change the configuration, so nobody knows what’s waiting inside.
We have holographic images of armed terrorists and of sweet moms pushing baby strollers we project onto walls.
Inside are mannequins and dummies we move around, even putting them high in the rafters. ”
They watched as a small group of men fully outfitted in tactical gear and carrying heavy firearms prepared to enter the shoot house. At the door, they stacked up in close formation and waited for the instructor to yell, “Go!”
The men disappeared inside, and Sarah heard the muffled pop pop pop of gunfire. The entire affair fascinated her. “So,” she said, “you send in teams to clear out an enemy stronghold? And they don’t know what they’ll find?”
He nodded in approval. “Exactly right. It hones a man’s reaction times while teaching him not to shoot at innocents.”
“Serious business,” she said, then turned to him with enthusiasm. “Can I try? I want to see the holograms and stuff.”
He frowned at her as though she’d grown longhorn steer horns. “It’s not a video game in there. We use live rounds!”
“Well ... I’m a decent shot.” She pursed her lips.
“Have you completed a Level Three training course given by a licensed school and instructor? Are you certified as an armed security guard?”
“Well, no.”
“Then not today, Sweet Pea.”
Disappointed he wouldn’t let her go inside, she was nonetheless distracted by his endearment. “Sweet Pea!”
“Yeah.” He looked unashamed.
She had to get him back. “All right, then, Wicked Ben.”
He raised a brow. “Huh?”
“That’s what your office staff calls you. Especially Marge. You’re Wicked Ben. So, tell me, exactly how are you wicked?”
She couldn’t believe it when he shifted his weight in discomfort. He looked embarrassed. There was a mystery here. “I’m not,” he said. “I’m nice.”
“I’m going to pry it out of Marge,” she promised, determined to do it. “I’ll find out.”
Looking pained, Ben pivoted on his heel and led her back to the office, yet not to the front.
He opened a door in the rear of the building and showed her inside.
“About fifteen new guys are hiring on,” he said, and his change of subject wasn’t lost on her.
“They’re from another firm and they’ll be here tomorrow.
Two of them are bringing SEAL-trained dogs.
Belgian Malinois. What do you think of this room to house them? ”
She stopped, surprised. “You’re asking me? Haven’t you already decided?”
“No. I want your opinion. You’ve raised dogs. I haven’t.”
Flattered, she nonetheless wrinkled her nose. “Coop up active dogs inside? Mine would hate it.” She glanced around. “You might place their beds in here. And throw in some toys. And could you build a flap door to a dog run so they have access to play outdoors? Also, some grass for their bathroom.”
He rubbed his jaw. “I suppose we could do that. We can’t have them running around the office when they’re here. Too distracting. We need a place for them during the day. At night, they’ll go home with their handlers. So, your idea answers the problem. I’ll have a dog door and outdoor run built.”
“And grass,” Sarah said.
She was glad to help, but the tabloid story had upset her and she felt restless.
This wasn’t her business. Texas wasn’t her home.
A sudden homesick pang rattled through her.
She was a Montana girl through and through.
She wished she could be safe at home, with Big Jim and her own dogs, with Milly and even her new chickens.
She wondered how the coop was coming along.
Crossing her arms over her body, she asked, “Ben, how long will I need to stay here?”
“No way to tell,” Ben said. “We have to let Chief King do his job. We still don’t know where Ridley Kemper is holed up.
I’d like the FBI involved, but nothing has happened in your case under their jurisdiction.
No crime has been committed on federal property or to a federal employee.
There hasn’t been a kidnapping or bank robbery.
They still view this as isolated to you, so it’s being handled locally. ” He looked at her. “And by me.”
“Of course you’ll know when it’s safe for me to return, but at some point, I have to go home.” She bit her lip. “I’d really like to be there for the Rhubarb Festival celebration.”
“Sarah.” He sounded pained. “You can’t be involved in a public gathering like that. The logistics of protecting you in a crowd would be impossible.”
Unhappy, she shrugged and made no comment. They went back inside the main office.
On her feet, Marge was just hanging up the phone. Her gaze shifted from Ben to Sarah. “Something’s happened,” she said. “In Montana.”
“What?” Ben drew up short, his hand automatically going to Sarah’s waist.
“Big Jim is your father, right, Sarah?” Marge’s brows were pinched tight. “He’s been calling both of your cell phones. No answer. I guess you left them in Ben’s office. That’s why he called here.”
“We did leave them in there,” Sarah said quickly. “What happened?”
“A dog has been killed, somebody’s Labrador pet. Its body was left at your ranch gates. Your dad, Jim, discovered it this afternoon. On the body was a note. Sarah ... it was about you.”