Chapter 2
Chapter Two
W hen the phone rang, Donovan Ward almost didn’t answer. It was after one in the morning, the caller was unknown, and it was a New York number. All of his current clients were California residents, none had anything going in the middle of the night, and he didn’t have any future potential clients anywhere east of Nevada.
Yet.
But a business didn’t get off the ground by ignoring phone calls.
Three minutes after he’d hung up, he was dressed and waking up his team. They had a new client, and they had work to do.
He strode through the door of his tiny agency office a few hours later for the debrief with caffeine, muffins, and determination. As the founder, owner, and CEO of Storm Security, he knew the value of a well-fed team. Especially when he asked night owls to arrive at the crack of dawn.
He’d started this agency only a year ago and had established the office with a budget in mind. It consisted of a closet-sized reception area, an open space big enough for two miniature cubicles army surplus desks, and the conference room. It huddled at one end of a generic strip mall in a section of Los Angeles tourists didn’t visit, which meant cheap rent and privacy.
He was a huge fan of both.
While he’d brought in enough jobs to keep the lights on and entice his two employees to buy into the business, they hadn’t made enough to take the next step to a bigger, better office. Yet.
Hopefully, their next job would change all that.
Today’s new principal client, Della Bellamy, was not only wealthy, she was backed by a record label that could afford to pay whatever it took—and proved it by immediately wiring a retainer big enough to get him out of bed and into gear faster than the bugle during basic training.
To sweeten the deal, Renic offered a long-term contract—to go into effect once his star was safe, of course—that would mean Storm Security would take a giant leap forward. Their bottom line would stop digging a hole in the basement.
Hell, it might even move into a respectable one-bedroom apartment.
He’d be able to get his training program off the ground. They’d be able to hire more people, build a respectable street team, and maybe lease offices with actual offices.
It was a great deal. Exactly what he’d been looking for.
Funny thing about carrots. They always dangled just out of reach and there was always some bastard of an obstacle in the way.
In this case it was a stalker and a blonde.
“Why did it have to be a celebrity?” He muttered as he carried breakfast across to the conference room.
Beggars don’t get to be choosers, he reminded himself. They got to work damn hard for the breaks that came their way.
Time to earn that deal.
Annie Laurence, his field expert, looked up when he entered the room. Her sleepy, dark eyes widened with delight when she saw what he carried. As a former model, she still survived on coffee and very little else. She took it straight up, no cream, no sugar, no nonsense.
Annie was an expert strategist, escape artist, and proud night owl.
Her chocolate-brown hair was pulled up into a messy bun, and she’d managed to apply makeup in a way that turned her extraordinary bone structure into something forgettable. She wore strategically distressed jeans, a plain blue T-shirt, and sneakers. No one would ever know she had owned the runways from New York to Milan.
“Morning, sunshine,” Ward said.
Annie made a disgruntled sound and pointed at the cups in his hand. “It’s way too early for the sun to shine.”
He handed the starter fuel to her. “No problems last night, I take it?” Ward deposited the rest of the breakfast on the table and worked his way around the tight space to the empty chair by the window.
“None I couldn’t handle.” Annie sniffed at her coffee suspiciously, then sipped. “Mr. Salazar really doesn’t need company for that night deposit. Pretty sure he thinks he’s Richard Gere in Pretty Woman , which makes me the hooker.”
Spencer Mathews, his cyber-ops specialist, reached for the Red Bull first, then grabbed the bag of muffins. He was in his mid-twenties and already had two PhDs, one in electrical engineering and the other in computer technology. He was working on a third in psychology. He had the metabolism and eating habits of a pre-adolescent and sharp, androgynous bone structure. Between that and his age, he’d caught a lot of grief at the security company Ward had poached him from a year ago.
They hadn’t appreciated or respected Spencer’s brilliant technical and analytical skills. They should have. He could easily destroy someone’s life in five minutes or less using nothing but a cell phone.
What he lacked in cool factor he more than made up for with a genius IQ and a nearly eidetic memory.
Spencer’s dark-blond hair fell a little past his ears and shouted “Professor,” while his tall, lean frame said “Runner.”
Neither was true.
“Did he get handsy?” Spencer asked as he selected a muffin from the bag.
“He always tries.” Annie’s Mona Lisa smile was secretive with hints of danger. “But nobody knows how to dodge grabby hands like someone who had to stand naked backstage at a runway show.”
Ward turned to Spencer. “What have you got?”
“You gave me less than six hours to do a full workup,” Spencer said around a mouthful of cranberry-orange muffin. He sounded defensive, but the way he tilted his chin with pride told a different story. “I still have some digging to do, but there’s enough to get started with.”
He tapped a remote, and the displays turned on. The screen on the left showed a bulleted list of facts associated with their new client, while the screen on the right was filled with a photo montage. The screen in the middle remained blank.
Spencer leaned back in his chair with the Red Bull in one hand. “Della Lucinda Bellamy. One-third of the recently reunited Bellamy Sisters. Their reunion album, We Are , has been out for six months and has sold over eleven million physical copies so far. Actual vinyl.”
He wrinkled his nose to indicate what he thought of hard copies of any flavor, music or otherwise. “It’s an insane number since most sales these days are digital. Their comeback tour this year boosted sales so high they are fourth on the list of all-time best sellers. I’d estimate they’ll climb to at least third, if not second, by the end of the year. My sister’s a huge fan. She has all of their albums.”
“Your…sister.” The gleam of disbelief in Annie’s eyes matched the quirk of her mouth.
“I prefer jazz.” Spencer blinked at her with such innocence that Ward believed him, but Annie clearly didn’t.
She made a derisive snort. “You were listening to Daylight all cranked up when you crawled in this morning. You drive like an arthritic hedgehog, by the way.”
“That was for research.” Spencer sounded a little embarrassed and defensive.
“Of course.” Annie smirked.
“It was.” Spencer looked from Annie to Ward. “Seriously.”
Ward knocked on the table. “Focus, please.”
“Right. Della Bellamy.” Spencer picked up the remote and flicked through screen after screen in a parade of parties and concert stages. “Her online footprint is huge. I found over a thousand images featuring her from this year alone just by googling her name, which is a big number, even for a celebrity. Did you know the average person takes three photos a day on their cell phone? 1.2 trillion photos are uploaded globally every year, but that number keeps climbing. By 2030, it’s estimated that the number of photos taken and uploaded every year will be around 2.3 trillion.”
“Fascinating,” Ward said. He’d learned to tolerate Spencer’s endless bits of trivia as the cost of doing business, but sometimes he really wished the kid would dial it back a little. The side trips were distracting.
He focused on the images. Most featured the pretty pop star on a stage wearing less clothing than a stripper. She held the microphone like it was her best friend, and even in a still shot, he could see the intense excitement she generated from the crowd.
She had stars in her eyes and glitter in her hair, legs that didn’t quit, and an own-the-world stance. Everything about her sparkled, from her sky-high boots to her hair. If there wasn’t a stage nearby to stand on, he had a feeling she’d make her own.
She reminded him uncomfortably of his high school girlfriend. His ex had ruled their small town the way Della ruled the world, with sheer force of personality and determination.
Ward put down his coffee and stood so he could pace. He thought better on his feet. “She’s going to be a handful.”
“Oh yes,” Annie agreed. “From what I found out last night from a couple of, shall we say, well connected friends, she hates to sit still, she’s never met a party she didn’t like, and she’s not happy unless she’s the center of attention. It’s your basic protection nightmare.”
“What’s your take? How should we handle her?” Ward had his own theory, but he wanted to get Annie’s take on things before he shared it. Her ability to read people and her instincts were hard to find in the protection field. She’d honed a natural ability into a weapon while doing contract work for the CIA. Lucky for him, the first company she’d signed with couldn’t spot talent if it slapped them in the face.
He’d never been that blind.
“I need to meet her to know for sure, but…” Annie looked at the screen full of images. “She grew up in front of an audience, which probably means she’s self-centered, spoiled, and like most celebrities, used to getting her way.”
Ward nodded. Her assessment matched his own so far. “Okay?—”
“That’s just surface level,” Annie interrupted. “She’s also crazy talented, no question. She’s at home on a stage, and makes it look easy, but she puts in a lot of work behind the scenes. She’s professional in her approach to the business. She’s not one of those artists who spends more time playing than working. She does both. Equally. She’s not as narcissistic as you probably expect. She doesn’t take many selfies. Take another look at those photos Spence found. They’re all taken by others.”
He was surprised to hear Annie thought Ms. Bellamy was a professional. It wasn’t the word he’d have used to describe what he saw on screen. “What she does isn’t exactly rocket science.”
“No. In some ways, it’s harder. It’s physically demanding, and the focus it takes night after night is exhausting, and that’s just the good stuff. Then there’s this…” Annie flicked at something on her phone and held it up for him to inspect. “Look at the feedback she gets. This is just today.”
He squinted at the screen.
No offense but is Della ever gonna stop pretending she ain ’ t a bitch? I remember what she did.
DelBel definitely an alien. That forehead ain ’ t human, and that ass has an orbit.
Della always looks like her voice is putting her face to sleep.
Seen her last night @ Club 44. She be ripe for picking. Bet she likes it dirty in the alley.
“Charming.” Ward shook his head in disgust and continued to pace around the table.
“Her life, her career, hell even her bra size…everything is public,” Annie continued. “When the band split up, she was called everything from bitch to…well use your imagination. Now, she’s back with her sisters and she’s a Bellamy Babe again, though there’s an underbelly of resentment that’s more hostility than I’d want to face in three lifetimes. That said, most of the comments are from rabid fans who would die in a fire for her. She’s turned her own ship around, and it wasn’t easy. It’s taken almost five years, and a lot of constant effort, but she did it with that beaming smile on her face. She bounces like one of those kids who falls off their bike over and over but gets right back on the damn thing.”
“Any idea why she sold her penthouse?” Spencer asked. “She doesn’t have any property listed in her name right now, and if she’s leasing there’s no record of it. That’s a little strange. She has to live somewhere, right?”
“She’s been couch surfing the way I understand it,” Ward said. “She rotates between sisters and hotels while she looks for a place.”
Spencer looked thoughtful. “If we can’t secure her residence, where were you planning on stashing her while we hunt for the stalker? We could set up a safe house near your apartment. It’s not a bad area.”
“It’s a street full of bars,” Ward said with a shake of his head. “That would be catnip to her. We need to keep her far away from any flashing lights and party sounds. She’s agreed to stay in Piper’s house here in LA.” Ward gave Spencer the address so he could pull up the basic specs of the place.
Several shots of a bungalow nestled behind impressive fencing with security hedges appeared on the central monitor.
“I love the ivy,” Annie said. “And the pool.”
“If I had that place, I’d never leave,” Spencer said around a mouthful of muffin.
“That’s because you like nesting,” Annie said. “You’re basically a rat who collects gadgets.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing, but rats are actually pretty cool. They can lift more than their body weight and their jaws can exert as much as seven thousand pounds per square inch. They can also survive a fifty-foot drop without injury. I would definitely like to have that ability.” Spencer took a long drink.
“The point is,” Annie continued with the air of a teacher trying to get attention after the bell rings, “Della doesn’t nest.”
“Think she won’t cooperate?” Ward wished Annie wouldn’t call their principal by her first name. It made it difficult to keep emotions out of the equation. But they’d had that argument too many times to count, and he valued Annie’s people instincts. He’d learned to live with her need to get chummy with their clients.
“Oh, I think she’ll try. At first, anyway.” Annie tilted her head as she considered the images. “Once the initial scare fades, I’m not so sure. She’s so used to being on that she doesn’t know how to be off . I can’t see her sequestering for a long game of hide-the-prize while we hunt the nut, can you?”
“No,” Ward admitted. “But Renic assures me she’ll listen to reason. Her sisters are behind the push to hire us, and he tells me they’re tight. It might be enough. If we work fast.”
“Or it might be wishful thinking.” Annie tapped her finger on the table. “Better start thinking of plan Bs just in case.”
“Already on it,” Ward said.
Annie raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Thinking of hiding her in that tattered cabin of yours? She’ll love that.”
“No. Not the cabin.” Ward couldn’t imagine the pop star sitting still for two seconds in a house made of logs without electricity or an audience. No, he had something even worse in mind. “I have that house in Pennsylvania we can use.”
Annie raised her eyebrows. “Really? You want to take her for a visit with your family?”
“It’s unconnected to her and familiar to me.”
“Uh-huh.” Annie took a casual sip. “It’s a small town filled with people who treat you like the prodigal son every time you visit, not to mention, let me repeat, family. Are you sure that’s a good place to try to ditch the grid?”
“It’s a backup. Let’s make sure we don’t need it.” Ward turned to Spencer. “What did you find on our stalker?”
Spencer flicked a button on the remote and a letter appeared on the center display.
“I started by analyzing the dressing room letter. The vocabulary and syntax indicates that the writer is male, not to mention eighty-seven percent of stalking perpetrators are male. I then moved on to the emails he mentions, since her nonresponse seemed to be the trigger for the escalation.”
“That might have been a trigger for the letter, but it didn’t trigger him,” Annie said. “And I agree he’s definitely a he . The letter feels creepy uncle to me. Personal. Intimate. I think he knows her. Somehow.”
“You might be right,” Spencer said. “It certainly sounds that way in the emails I found, plus three out of four stalking victims know their stalker.”
“You found the emails?” Ward leaned on the table. “Great work. Let’s see.”
Spencer shrugged off the compliment, but Ward could tell he was pleased. “It’ll take more time for my data crawler to go through them all. She literally has hundreds of thousands of mostly unopened emails, and that’s just her main address. Her label has more that I haven’t even touched. There’s a surprising number of messages that indicate psychopathy, but so far, I can only pinpoint three that I think came from the same guy who left the letter. They use the same signature, the same sentence structures and grammar, and they all start the same way.”
Spencer clicked and the letter was replaced by an email. “This first one is dated just after the We Are Bellamy Sisters Reunited tour kicked off in New York.”
He read the letter out loud in the same way a good narrator might read a romance novel. “‘Sweet Della, I hope you’re enjoying the reunion but I have to say I miss you terribly. I thought of going with you. I’m sure if you saw me there in the crowd you’d be too distracted by love to finish the shows and I know how important they are to you. Can’t wait to see you back home. Yours now and always.’”
“‘You would be too distracted by love to finish’?” Annie repeated, sounding incredulous. “Not only does that make my skin want to crawl right off my body, it’s just lame. Seriously. Sounds like bad porn.”
Ward paused to read the email again. Tension crawled up his back and into his shoulders. He hated stalker cases. They hit a little too close to his own back yard. His mother had a stalker.
He shoved the memory aside. He didn’t have time for it.
“Next one.” His voice creaked a little around the words.
Spencer exchanged glances with Annie, then cleared his throat. “The second letter is a little more aggressive. ‘Sweet Della. Sometimes it seems like you are so close to letting the world know about our true love. I can hear it in every song you sing every note out of those sweet lips is for me. It frustrates me that we can’t tell the world I’m sorry but it does! I can’t wait until the world knows that you are mine. I don’t want to wait forever and I know you don’t either. I love you you love me. The world should know. Soon love soon. Yours now and always.’ He uses that phrase at the end of every message.”
“He’s never met a comma, has he. Firmly delusional,” Annie said. Her voice had shifted from incredulous to tight. “I had a man stalk me like this once. He built an entire fantasy world where I was one of his concubines before we even met. It was…annoying.”
“What did you do to make it stop?” Spencer asked curiously.
“Nothing.” Annie’s gaze hardened, and a sliver of a smile sharp enough to cut ice appeared on her face. “I used him for information and when he’d run out of ways to be useful…the company took care of the rest.”
“Oh.” Spencer blinked. “I don’t suppose we can take that approach here.”
“No.” Ward gave Spencer his best be-serious look. “This is California, not Dubai, and we’re executive protection, not assassins. You said there were three?”
“Yes. Right. Just a second.” Spencer clicked to bring up the next email. “‘Sweet Della. I have to admit your lack of reply is disturbing. I know it’s not you. I know you’d respond if you could but I suspect your hands are tied. The people keeping us apart have no idea what it’s like, do they? Day after day I’m so close I could reach out and touch you but I can’t because you’re surrounded so I wait. Not forever though. I can’t watch you suffer apart from me like this much longer. Please find a way to reach out. I’ll be watching. Yours now and always.’”
Annie leaned back and cradled her coffee as if it could take the sudden chill out of the room. “That didn’t sweep her off her feet? I’m shocked.”
“She never saw the email, so no,” Spencer said.
“He’s escalating pretty fast,” Ward said. Even though it was just text on a screen, he could see the increasing agitation behind the words. If the guy had written these out by hand, the last one probably would have been illegible. “Any chance these emails lead us somewhere?”
“Sadly, no,” Spencer said. “They all originate from the same IP address, which I traced to the Los Angeles Central Library. While they do require you to register to use a computer, none of the names on the user list pan out as someone who could be our stalker.”
“He could have piggybacked on someone else’s session,” Annie said. “It’s what I would do.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’ve done exactly that?” Spencer asked.
“Because she has,” Ward said.
“He’s crazy, but not stupid,” Annie said. “He managed to get past pretty tight coverage at a high-profile event to leave his little love note without anyone getting a good look at him, not even the cameras.”
“He’s better than average, for sure,” Ward said. He checked the time. “Let’s go over the plan for today. The house has been set up with high-tech perimeter security and features a gate that’s monitored twenty-four seven. The entire setup was done by Romi Mizrahi, so I figure it’s a pretty solid place to sequester. Ms. Bellamy has personal protection, Greg Diggs, who’s been with her for over five years.”
“Diggs,” Annie said thoughtfully. “Never heard of him.”
Spencer tapped another button and a dossier of Diggs appeared, along with a few shots of the large Black man with biceps made for moving heavy equipment. He loomed behind Ms. Bellamy in most of the shots, every inch the intimidating deterrent he was supposed to be. “Greg Diggs, thirty-one, drafted to the NFL in the third round. His career never really took off and he wound up riding the bench a lot before he retired three years later. He was recruited by Sotera Personal Protection Agency. He did their standard six months of training, then they dumped him into the field with Ms. Bellamy as his primary assignment. He’s been with her ever since.”
“Is he any good?” Annie asked.
“I haven’t met him yet.” Ward couldn’t keep the note of derision out of his voice. “But the lack of training can’t be doing him any favors. Sotera and places like it ruin guys like him.”
Ward drained the last of his coffee and crumpled the cup in his hand. “Okay, time to load up and head out. We have a meeting with our celebrity and her personal protection in ninety minutes. Annie, be ready to do a sweep and risk assessment.”
“Always a good time.” Annie picked up her coffee cup and tossed it into the trash.
“Spencer, I’ll want you to switch out her phone and lock down any tech on-site. If this guy can’t get through the front gate, he might try another way, so let’s leave him a hole we can watch.”
“I’ve got my tracer ready, and the burner phone is all set to go.” Spencer grabbed the bag of muffins and his laptop and turned off the monitors.
“Good. Hopefully, we’ll nail this down fast and easy,” Ward said. “We keep her safe until we identify the stalker, then take next steps.”
“Which are?” Annie asked as they filed out of the conference room.
“I’ll let you know when we get there.” At the moment, there wasn’t enough to get law enforcement involved. The guy had been a nuisance, but not an illegal one. His gut told him that would probably change, but until it did, they had to take a more subtle approach.
An hour of traffic later, they were driving down the tree-lined street of celebrity retreats that surrounded Piper Bellamy’s house.
“Nice neighborhood,” Annie said. “No graffiti, no noise, and no tourists. Della will hate it.”
“It’s nirvana,” Spencer said with pure envy in his voice. “It’s so quiet, and look at the security on that fence. Military-grade cameras, with infrared and motion detection.”
Ward pulled up to the guard house and rolled down the window.
Romi greeted him with a wave. “Donovan Ward. I am glad they managed to obtain your services. You have Annie Laurence and Spencer Mathews with you?”
Romi looked past him to his passengers.
Annie gave a little half wave. “Nice to meet you.”
Spencer rolled down his window and poked his head out from the back seat. “Heya.”
Romi looked down at her monitor, then gave a nod of acknowledgment. “Your principal and her personal protection are waiting for you in the main house. Do you have a perimeter team?”
“I figured I’d just hire yours. Sure would save some time and hassle.” Ward tilted his head and flashed a quick come-on-be-a-pal smile. He’d worked with Romi several times. If she had a trusted team already in place, they’d be well trained, reliable, and more than worth whatever he had to pay to get them. Especially since he had Renic’s unlimited budget to pay them with.
She gave him an impenetrable stare down for a few seconds before her expression eased into a ghost of a smile. “You are in luck. As it happens, we have experienced a merger which has left us a little overstaffed. There is a solid team of five waiting for you in the pool house, which should be enough when combined with your own. Renic has already approved the cost.”
“Thanks.” Ward glanced at the trees that hid the house from view. Somewhere behind them, Della Bellamy, pop star and stalker target, waited. Since she hadn’t hired him directly, he had no idea what mood she was in. “Any advice on handling my new protectee?”
Romi looked toward the house. “If I were you, I would sedate her until the threat is eliminated.”
“Thanks,” he said again, this time with heavy sarcasm.
Romi clicked a button and the gate swung slowly open. “Good luck. Just so you know, Diggs is not thrilled that he was left out of the decision to hire you.”
“Understood.” Ward gave her a wave of acknowledgment and continued up the drive to the main house.
Diggs and two Bellamy sisters were waiting on the porch when they pulled up in front of a house that could have doubled as a movie set. If he had to guess, they’d interrupted an argument, if Diggs’ expression was anything to go by.
The man dressed like a cross between a boyfriend and a groupie in a black Bellamy T-shirt and dark jeans. He stood on the lowest step with his arms crossed over his chest, the human equivalent of a steel wall or maybe a battering ram.
He glowered at them like he’d rather watch them all die in a fire.
His protectee pouted on the next step up, just to Diggs’s left. Even if he hadn’t seen a thousand pictures of her, he’d have known who she was. Della Bellamy looked like a woman in search of an audience. She wore hot-pink sequined shorts that drew attention to her tan, well-toned legs, a white blouse that fell strategically off one shoulder in a sexy look-at-me way, and her feet were bare. She wore enormous sunglasses and her hair billowed around her face as she immersed herself in her phone. She was every inch the heroine of her own movie, which made everyone around her the supporting cast.
Including him.
He thought of the crowds that usually surrounded her and suppressed a groan. She would draw attention like a bonfire on a beach.
Piper Bellamy, several inches shorter and several shades darker, stood so close to her sister that their shoulders touched. She was dressed to blend into a crowd in plain yoga pants and a T-shirt and her hair slicked back in a ponytail. Her easy, low-maintenance style matched the low-key house behind her.
Piper’s apologetic smile said, “Yes, I know my sister is a handful and her bodyguard is about to be an ass, but please don’t let that stop you from doing your job.” She tucked her hands around Della’s arm either as a supportive gesture or to anchor her in place.
Ward killed the engine.
“Well, they look…happy.” Annie glanced at Ward. “They did want us here, right?”
“The label wanted us here,” Spencer said. “That doesn’t mean she does.”
“Renic assured me she was on board,” Ward said. “Meet and greet first. We might need to test the water before we get started.”
“You think?” Annie said with heavy sarcasm.
Ward smoothed his expression to one of polite professionalism and got out of the car.
He usually spoke with new protectees first to establish a bond. It was hard to protect someone if they didn’t trust you. Once he thought they were on the same page, then he would address the situation at hand.
Most protectees didn’t already have a six-foot-five bouncer in the way.
He didn’t want a confrontation with Diggs in front of his principal, but he had a job to do.
His second rule of personal protection: be nice. It paved the road and inspired trust, but he wasn’t sure how far nice was going to take him given the fact that two of the three faces looking back at him were either not engaged or actively pissed off.
Ward stopped short of the steps so that he didn’t encroach on anyone’s personal space. “Good morning. I’m Donovan Ward of Storm Security. I was hired by Jackson Renic to provide additional protection for Ms. Bellamy until the threat is eliminated.”
Ms. Bellamy didn’t look up from her phone.
“Hi, Donovan,” Piper said. He detected the faintest hint of Southern charm in her accent. “Thanks for coming.”
“We don’t need additional protection,” Diggs muttered.
“Greg,” Piper said in a warning tone.
Diggs glowered at the ground. “I told you I could handle it.”
“And I told you that Self Evident Records is providing this service in addition to your own.” Piper’s voice took on a no-argument finality. “Because at the end of the day what we all want is Della’s safety. Right?”
Diggs’s arms tensed as if he were preparing to fight, but then he deflated. Ward could tell he’d conceded the point, even if he wasn’t thrilled about it.
It was enough. For now.
Ward stepped into the silence and gestured at his team. “This is Annie Laurence, who’ll be doing a risk assessment today, and Spencer Mathews, who’ll take care of the tech side of things. Once we get those underway, we can go over particulars for the week.”
“I still say this is ridiculous.” His principal’s tone held a heavy dose of frustration and not even a hint of Southern.
“Della, we talked about this,” Piper said.
“ We didn’t.” Ms. Bellamy turned toward her sister, effectively dismissing Ward and his team. “You, Lizzie, Mattie, and Renic did all the talking. Even Romi got her shots in. I was assigned the role of sit still and be quiet like I was still ten years old.”
“This is serious, Della.”
“Oh, I know,” Ms. Bellamy said. “You’ve all told me a thousand times how serious this is.”
“Della…”
His new protectee was everything he’d expected her to be. Spoiled. Self-Indulgent. Petulant.
She held up her hands in mock surrender. “I know, I know. There’s a lunatic after me. I’m in danger. You’re all worried. I get it. Believe me. I get it. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m doing what you want. You can bring in that”—her gaze raked over Ward, and he felt the full force of her irritation—“that extra security . Just don’t expect me to jump for joy about being trapped here.”
She turned her back on him and stalked inside. Diggs followed her a few heartbeats later.
The whole thing had been like watching the main star of a play make their exit offstage.
Ward scowled at the open door. He couldn’t protect someone who didn’t want to be protected. They made it ten times harder by sheer lack of cooperation.
But this job meant funds and opportunity and a huge leap forward for his business, so he stuffed his attitude into a box in the back of his mind and stepped forward to shake Piper’s hand. “Glad to be here, Ms. Bellamy. Can you take us around the property and show us what we have to work with?”