Chapter Four
Fourteen Years Ago
A butler showed Rhys into Peyton Lowry’s wood-paneled office.
Alone with a glass of water, he settled onto a leather couch and waited.
Movie posters and golden statues decorated the walls and shelves.
The famous director’s imposing desk with stacks of papers sat in front of Rhys.
Not a computer in sight. Did Peyton Lowry actually work in this room, or was it all for show, just like everything in Hollywood?
The more time that Rhys spent enmeshed in this business, the more he wanted to take a shower.
He wasn’t sure why this conversation couldn’t have taken place over the phone or with his daughter, but Rhys had reached the point that he just did what Herring told him to do.
He didn’t actually like his job. But what else was a man built like a linebacker with a photographic memory going to do except use his fucked-up talents for the greater good?
Peyton walked into the office alongside a big man with a hard edge, who looked like he fit into celebrity culture as much as Rhys did. “Thanks for coming over.”
He pushed up from the couch and shook hands in greeting. “Not a problem. I had to meet with the prosecutor’s office again.”
“Everett’s people are going to drag this out for years, until they find a way to throw the whole case out.” Peyton shook his head then gestured to the dark-haired man at his side. “I want you to meet my friend. Jared Westin, Rhys Callaghan.”
They shook hands, each eyeing the other. Rhys knew of Jared Westin. “Of Titan Group.”
Jared offered a curt nod.
What the hell was Peyton Lowry doing with a legendary guy who employed operators that tall tales were made of? “Nice to meet you.”
Maybe Jared consulted on Peyton’s action-flick scripts. But they wouldn’t need Rhys for that.
“Have a seat.” Peyton guided them to four club chairs centered around a small table with a decanter and four glasses. “Scotch?”
“None for me.”
Jared passed as well. “Don’t want to waste your time, so I’ll jump to it.”
Rhys settled back without a single clue where the conversation would head. “All right.”
“I want to offer you a job.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Wasn’t looking for a job.”
“You’re familiar with Titan Group?” Jared asked.
Anyone in their business who said no was a liar. “Yeah.”
“I’m…” He leaned back and seemed to carefully choose his words. “Absorbing another company. Cleaning house and hiring a new group to handle the contracts I’m keeping and manage it like a new division.”
“Doing what?” Rhys asked, the burn of interest sliding up his spine.
“Executive personal protection.”
It wasn’t in his wheelhouse, but it was far more interesting than the grunt work the agency had him on most of the time. “Bodyguard work?”
“Yeah, with a little this and that thrown in to keep everyone on their toes.” Jared nodded toward Peyton. “Hollywood’s not exactly what I would call our target market, but I’m sure as hell not going to say no when a friend asks for help with his kid.”
He eyed the two men. “How’d you meet?”
“Jared’s folks brought me home when I stumbled into a little hostage-ransom situation in Nairobi.”
Rhys tried to picture Peyton Lowry as a hostage but couldn’t. “As one does.”
Jared nodded. “As one does.”
Peyton chuckled. “It was years ago and not something my kids know about. I want to keep it that way.”
“Of course.”
Peyton continued, “I’d like you to be the point person for Jules’s security. Our family has a California-based protection agency that we work with. Still, her mother and I would like someone closer to her in age.”
He thought about the frozen barn in Montana and the girl with blue lips, who’d made him promise not to leave, to take her home, and not to say how he’d found her. He hadn’t kept all of his promises. “She’s five years younger than me.”
“The older you get, the smaller five years seems,” Peyton said. “Someone she trusts. You wouldn’t be based out of here. Be available for the East Coast outings. Travel for the big-ticket events.”
Like…? His lips pulled down. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Award shows. Red carpets. Movie tours. Premieres. Cannes. Et cetera.”
He hesitated. Celebrity culture nauseated him. “I don’t have any background—”
“You’re muscle, and you’re smart,” Jared said. “You can figure out the rest.”
“I don’t forget things,” Rhys clarified. “Very different from smart.”
“You’re humble too.” Jared cracked his knuckles. “Good at being a team player. Confident on your own.” He smirked. “I do my homework before conversations like this.”
Rhys glanced between the two men. He didn’t love his job but hadn’t considered leaving. He’d only been at the FBI for a few years but was good at it, climbing the bureaucratic ladder quickly.
“You’ll work with Vivian Maddox. A fucking firecracker. Former crisis negotiator and protective-services consultant to the DOJ.”
Rhys knew of her. He actually knew of almost everyone in their related sectors, courtesy of the way he couldn’t forget a name, face, or biographical detail.
Vivian had a reputation for de-escalating the un-de-escalatable, though, ironically, also for churning up a shitstorm when she wanted to cause a scene.
He’d never met her but was suddenly fascinated by the idea of working with her.
“If you come work for me and Viv, there won’t be any hard feelings for bailing from your team. You’ll have flexibility in your schedule to wrap up any cases where you’re needed to testify, and I’m going to pay you stupid money.”
Jules Lowry wouldn’t be happy to see him. And it was strange how he wanted to see her anyway. “Kinda making it hard to say no.”
Jared grinned. “Then don’t.”