Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
HAPPY F*CKING NEW YEAR
“Radio check and your twenty. Gill?” I say into my invisible communication device. I’ve got ten men and three women working tonight. Two of the guys are newbies. I need to know they’re all where they’re supposed to be and that everyone is still online.
“Roger. Comm room,” says Gill quickly.
I call each member of my security team one by one. It moves fast if everyone is on their toes, “Radio check and your twenty, Joe.”
“Roger. Northwest corner near the band.”
“Keith.”
“Roger. Southwest entrance.”
“Becky.”
“Roger. Ladies’ room.”
“Phil.”
“Roger. On the gov.”
I work through each name on my team, and in less than four minutes, I know where everyone is working. “Ten-four, let me know if you see anything out of the ordinary.” I need to keep the new guys on my radar. One screwup and shit gets real.
“Roger,” they all say in unison. I make my way around the perimeter, attempting to look like one of the partygoers.
I’ve even donned my tuxedo for the night.
I hate this formal shit. I’m much more comfortable in jeans and an old T-shirt, but when in Rome, I gotta dress the part.
The fact is, I hate New Year’s Eve. It’s a chance for every idiot to drink themselves into oblivion and lose any common sense God gave them.
Tonight’s job is nothing new for us. My private security company, APS Security, has been hired to keep an eye on the Governor of Illinois, the Mayor of Chicago, and two US senators at this annual New Year’s Eve Ball.
My job is to secure the facility and protect my VIPs and their guests.
It’s a pain in the ass in a place this large.
The security detail assigned to the politicians is small, so they’ve added my company into the mix as extra security.
As I weave around the room for the fifth time, I’ve become familiar with the groups huddled together, drinking and talking.
All of these people wearing expensive outfits and drinking their top-shelf liquors have too much time on their hands.
At least I’ve got perspective. The name of my company is proof of that.
I used the initials of my two fallen brothers, Adam and Payton, and my dad, Sean, for the business name.
I know that life’s short. I know you can’t let time pass you by just sitting around talking bullshit with assholes.
You’ve got to make each day count. Not a day goes by without thinking about those guys.
We served three tours in Afghanistan together.
I was called home when my dad passed suddenly.
While I was home, laying my father to rest, Payton and Adam were both killed out on patrol by an IED.
I know I’m not to blame, but I can’t help but think if I’d been there—
All I know for sure is that I lost three of the most important men in my life that month.
Payton, Adam, and I had made plans to start and run this company from the ground up.
The name was even set, but I changed that in the end.
Hell, we had a business plan written up.
Adam was a wiz at that kind of shit. Goddamn, I miss those guys.
I’m making my way around the room for the sixth time when something catches my eye.
I look to the right and see a woman with fiery red hair tipped with blue on the ends wearing a short black dress.
As I watch, she steps up to one of the small bars and leans in to say something to the bartender.
He looks at her blankly. Shrugging, he reaches behind him and hands her a bottle of Bud.
Not Bud Light—regular Bud. Next, the barkeep reaches over to grab a beer glass, and she waves him off, opting instead for just the bottle.
I stare as she tilts the brown bottle back and takes a huge swig.
I chuckle aloud because it’s not ordinarily what you’d see at a party like this—a beautiful woman downing a bottle of domestic beer.
I chuckle again as I move away to continue my perimeter check.
On my next pass, I notice the woman again.
This time, she’s examining the enormous ice sculpture.
She’s reaching up to touch it; no, wait.
she’s petting the head of the swan, and I swear to God, she’s saying something to the damn thing.
I can’t help but smile as I watch her—she seems like an odd duck in this setting.
Checking her out one more time, I see the swan looks different.
It’s headless, and Red’s face matches her hair.
She’s looking around, apparently checking to see if anyone saw her break the bird’s neck.
She grabs a napkin, wrapping what I assume is an icy bird head inside, and peeks over her shoulder again.
This time, a blond woman walks up to her and wraps an arm over her shoulders.
I walk a few steps to my left so I can watch them closer.
Red holds up the napkin containing the swan’s head, and then the most beautiful thing happens.
Red throws her head back and releases the most amazing laugh.
It’s part giggle, part tinkling sound, but it’s all sincere.
I don’t remember the last time I heard someone laugh like that, from their heart and soul.
It’s a giggle with experience behind it, like she does it all the time.
Her friend covers her face and laughs too.
That’s the difference between this gorgeous redhead and the rest of the women here.
She’s a free spirit. She’s not afraid to laugh like nobody’s watching.
Oh, Jesus. I did not just think that.
It’s weird. I’m not a funny guy. In fact, people say I’m stoic; I’ve even been accused of being too serious, and that’s by the people in my family. But for some reason, watching her makes me laugh too. Not only that, I have an uncontrollable urge to see if I can make her laugh like that.
“Damn, that woman is joyous,” I say to myself. Or I think it’s to myself. Unfortunately, I sometimes forget I’m in constant communication with Gill, my second-in-command.
“Joyous. That’s the perfect way to describe her, boss. I’ve been watching her a little bit; she’s entertaining as hell,” Gill says with a laugh. “Did you see her try the caviar?” he asks.
I give my head a little shake to bring myself back from my thoughts.
I know Gill knows I’ve been watching her, because my glasses aren’t just a fashion statement.
There’s a small camera on the frames so Gill can see what I see on his monitor in our communications room.
Our communications room is in a small office adjacent to the party room where I’m standing.
I shake myself again and ask him, “What did she do?”
He starts to laugh even before he can tell me.
“She put a heaping blob of that shit on a cracker and took a big bite. I watched her face turn an ungodly shade of green. She grabbed a napkin and spit the entire thing out. She rolled it all up into a ball and shoved it into that tiny purse of hers. I bet that stuff is going to smell like shit later,” Gill concludes.
“Later? Probably right now.” I laugh. I watch her as she checks out the food table. She picks up a plate and passes the large bowl of caviar, heading straight to the meats and cheeses. “Atta girl. Stick with what you know,” I mutter.
“The girl can’t stand still for two minutes either, boss.”
“I take it she’s here with the blonde woman. Did you see a date? She’s too pretty to be here alone.”
“Sure, she’s pretty, but she’s a hot mess. She’s a square peg in a round hole. That friend of hers is a looker, though. I wouldn’t mind—”
“Okay. I got it.”
He ignores me and continues to talk about Red, “Did you see her when she started swigging the Bud right out of the bottle?” Gill asks with humor in his voice. “I bet she watches WWE wrestling. My kind of girl.”
Mine, too. Not the wrestling part, but the rest, yeah.
But if she’s here tonight, she’s got to be a rich bitch—I know, I’m generalizing, or is it stereotyping?
I move to my left and circle the room in a fresh direction.
I look at my watch. In six minutes, I need to do another call out to my crew.
As I pass a group, a hand touches my forearm.
The toucher is a woman in her late thirties, about my own age. She’s attempting to get my attention.
“Hello there, handsome,” she coos drunkenly. Apparently she’s had one too many glasses of liquid courage.
She’s an attractive woman in a sparkling red gown.
Her blond hair is up in a complicated mass of curls on top of her head.
She’s got on too much makeup for my taste, and her bright-red lipstick seems to have taken up residence on her chin and her cheek.
If she had a mirror, she’d be horrified. “May I help you, ma’am?”
“Oh.” She giggles. “Do you work here?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Well, silly. You just asked me if I needed help. That sounds like you work here.”
“No. I’m a guest, just like you. I was referring to the fact that you’re intoxicated. I was going to help you to a seat.” Surprisingly, she doesn’t take offense to that.
“Well, aren’t you a gentleman? Why don’t we go over to the corner and get cozy? I’d love to get to know you better, um… what’s your name again?”
“I didn’t give it to you, but it’s Gill. Gill Tillman.” It’s not. My name is Sam Stone, but I’m not giving out any of my information to this woman. Plus, it’ll rile up the real Gill Tillman in the communications room.
“Gill? I’m Clarice. It’s so wonderful to meet you. Are you here with anyone?”
Fishing for information? “I’m here with my boyfriend.
He’s around here somewhere,” I say, looking right and left.
I hear Gill laughing his ass off in my ear.
He’s used to this shit. It’s not uncommon for me to get hit on when we’ve got jobs like this one.
I’ve never told anyone I was half of a same-sex couple before, but there’s a first time for everything.