5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Stephen
While I give instructions to Jeanique, the secretary who deals with scheduling at the Bellerive security office, I rub my knee, which has been aching all day. In front of me is a large, long brick bungalow with an equally spacious accessibility ramp.
“You want to be placed with Mrs. Santos for her daily routines?” Jeanique asks. “Kiara’s crew will be on the boy at school?”
“Yes,” I say with a deep sigh. “I need a second person with me. Not Marlo. I’m still too pissed to deal with him.”
“Do you care about who the night staff are?” she asks, and I can hear her typing in the background.
“Reliable,” I say. “The Santos family has electronic security, a gate, cameras. We just need an extra level of deterrence.”
“Got it,” she says. “For what it’s worth, Marlo seemed pretty down when he got back here.”
“He should be. If those eggs had been bullets, he’d have been fucked. I told Owen that Marlo clearly needs more basic maneuver training.”
“Bellerive’s tight gun laws make it unlikely those eggs would be bullets,” she says.
“My job is to plan for unlikely,” I say. “That’s literally the job. I have to think of scenarios that no one else would and plan for them.”
There’s more typing on the other end of the line, and I’m sure she’s cursing me.
Probably a few employees are with this shuffle.
Should I be losing my shit over eggs hitting the car?
A frozen roast breaking the windshield? Maybe not.
Marlo could have reacted even worse, and all of them could have gotten into a car accident.
I’ve been trying to be honest with myself about whether I’d have this visceral, Hulk-like reaction for all my clients.
The obvious answer isn’t one I want to dissect or even acknowledge.
Marlo didn’t do his job well, and we were lucky. That’s all the truth I need.
I’d hoped to avoid having anything to do with the Santos family assignment once it was arranged. Better for everyone. Clean and professional.
But if anything happened to her or her son and I’d waved off the risk, let someone inferior guard them, I’d never forgive myself. Never. It’d be like I’d been the one to hurt her, regardless of who wielded the actual blow.
Seeing Ava, being around her again, is fucking up my sense of professionalism. I need to care about their safety because it’s my job, not for any other reason.
“Any chance Owen will be able to take over?” I ask. “He’s her cousin.”
“He’s dealing with a Ren-shaped problem,” Jeanique says.
“Again?”
Jeanique snorts. “You seem surprised. None of us are surprised. Owen can’t seem to say no to Ren about anything, which is half of Ren’s problem. Too many yeses from too many people. Owen’s best friend has always had more charisma than sense.”
I’ve often wondered if it’s Ren that Owen keeps swooping in to save or whether it’s actually Rebecca, Ren’s wife.
“If anyone good comes home from an assignment and can take over for me at any point before this union shit gets resolved, I want to know.”
“Noted,” she says, computer keys clacking again.
“We’re good for tomorrow?” I ask as the front door to the house opens and my sister steps out.
She got all the recessive Foster characteristics—blond hair, gray eyes, petite.
As different from me, in so many ways, as it’s possible for siblings to be.
Raised in the same house but with such a big age gap between us that it’s like we weren’t.
“Swing by the office before going to the Santos residence in the morning. I’ll have someone good here for you.”
“Great. Thanks, Jeanique.” I hit end on the call, and then I turn off the car.
When I get to the top of the ramp, Vanessa grins. “You know,” she says, “I’m very good at keeping secrets. You don’t have to have all your top-secret spy conversations in the car.”
“Top-secret spy conversations?” I arch my brows. “I run a basic security firm.”
“Now,” she says.
Since I’ve never told them where I was for six years, Vanessa wavers between accusing me of being an assassin and being a government spy.
She doesn’t know how to explain the money I sent home and what I have now or my involvement with Owen otherwise.
Owen loves his NDAs, and after what happened to me, mine is even more ironclad than most.
“How are Mom and Dad?” I ask.
“Dad’s in bed, napping. Tammy, the nurse, is just finishing up, and the next one should be here in thirty minutes. Mom’s not having a great day. Her balance is off, and she’s having trouble with numbness in her arms and legs.”
“Okay,” I say, and I step around Vanessa to go into the house. “Hey,” I say before opening the door, turning back to her. I’d been resolved not to say anything, but even the conversation with Jeanique and the reshuffling of staff hasn’t completely cooled my blood.
Vanessa turns on the ramp, a hint of a smile on her lips.
“Tell your friends to lay off Ava and the kid.”
Her eyes narrow. “You said we weren’t going to talk about unionizing. Talking about what’s happening with The Nile is a conflict of interest. That’s what you said.”
“It is,” I agree. “I made that rule when I thought you’d all be sensible and just target the person responsible for your misery.”
“You think she doesn’t know what’s going on? You really think his wife doesn’t know?”
She might not. Not completely. Already, there seem to be a lot of obvious craters in their relationship.
More accurately, I’m not sure Ava cares what’s happening, but I’m not fucking saying that to my sister, who cares very much. “It’s not her company. Aren’t you the one who told me she treats her employees very well? That everyone wants to work for Reckless?”
“Exactly,” she says, triumphant. “She should be helping us.”
“You think the way to get Ava on board with your cause is to terrify her and her kid? Come on, Vanessa. You’re smarter than that.”
“Terrify her and her kid?” She scrunches up her nose.
“Multiple motorcycles with many cartons of eggs and one frozen roast attacked Ava’s car today on the highway.”
“Oh, my god,” Vanessa says, stifling a laugh. “Can you believe that sentence just came out of your mouth? Attacked with eggs and a roast. When you became Mr. Big Serious Tough Guy, did you ever think you’d say that?”
“Are you listening to me?”
“Yeah, yeah,” she says, waving me off. “That wasn’t us. Or at least it wasn’t my friends.”
“If you hear anything about it, can you reason with them? Ava and her son are not your enemies.”
“If you’re not with us, you’re against us,” she says simply. “That goes for you too, big brother.”
“This all goes tits up,” I say, pointing my finger at her, “make sure you’re not the one holding the body. You got me? Until I’m on even footing with Owen, you need that job.”
“It’s a minimum-wage job. They’re everywhere.”
“Are they? You think Raul Santos won’t blacklist you for being one of the union organizers? Have all his powerful friends blacklist you?”
“You worry too much,” she says with a little laugh. “Most people don’t even like him.”
“You don’t worry enough,” I say. “Powerful people, even when they don’t like each other, stick together on this island. They’re all just looking to get richer, and if you’re standing in the way of that, they will come after you in whatever way they can.”
“It’s going to be fine,” she says, and she rushes me to tackle me with a hug. “He can’t stop us from forming the union, and then I’ll have more money to help out.”
I run my hand along her narrow back and try not to let my mind go to all the worst-case scenarios. When that kind of thinking is critical for your job, it’s hard to switch it off.
“It’s not weird being around Ava?” she asks, stepping back. “You two had a thing for a while, didn’t you?”
I kept my relationship with Ava close to the vest when I was on the police force.
The fact that I was in Celia Tucker’s pocket was bad enough, but other officers could understand that.
Lots of police have side deals with wealthy people.
I was just lucky enough to somehow land the wealthiest family.
Had everyone realized I’d wage war and destroy kingdoms for their irresponsible daughter—for no financial incentive—I’d have had real problems with my colleagues.
“It’s fine,” I say. “Tell your friends to stop making my job so hard.”
“You can handle it, tough guy,” she says with a broad smile.
The thing is, I’m not sure I can handle it. If they were to put her in real danger—not just childish pranks—I’m a little afraid of the kind of retribution I’d seek.
For six years, I’ve wrapped my emotions up, covered them over, tried to bury them in multiple places in my subconscious, but every time I look at Ava, a heap of dirt and hurt that’s been concealing the truth gets thrown aside.
By the time this job is over, I’m worried what’s under there will be fresh and raw and all too fucking real.