Chapter Seven #2
He stared. “Ally told me your momma died.” A pause.
Surprisingly, Cole didn’t seem surprised by what he said.
“I assumed as much with you being here and all. When we get back, if you need a place to stay, you are more than welcome to my apartment.” He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I would actually prefer it that way. Then we can get to know each other all over again, just like you want.” His lips quirked up at one corner, his eyes heated.
The way he said “get to know each other” held more than a smidgen of sexual warmth.
Cole hadn’t backed away. He had listened – again, showing no emotion - with his head slightly cocked, missing nothing.
I glanced back and for the between the two of them. Cripes.
I gulped, and whispered, “We better go.”
I fled to Ally, knowing she would keep the two wolves at bay for now.
The drive to the airport had been quick – thanks to Brent’s friggin’ crazy driving, but very informational. I had sat in the back, purposely, next the window and Zane. I had asked what in the Sam-hell last night’s art gallery events had been all about.
Evidently, Mr. Wong’s a friend of Stash’s, turned client.
He had been receiving increasingly threatening letters by a previously unknown man - Spokesman.
After a year of trying to deal with it on his own, Mr. Wong had finally asked Stash for his help.
He had accepted, even if it was outside of their normal military and law enforcement dealings.
They also worked privately, but normally on a corporate level – like this trip to Orlando was – and sometimes for lone individuals if they could afford their fee.
Stash had come up with a way to keep surveillance on Mr. Wong by incorporating him into Brent’s gallery.
Mr. Wong’s a very prominent figure in the arts and had jumped at the bit to work with Brent, along with accepting Lion Security’s – their business name – help.
They had been working with Mr. Wong for a month with no new leads on who Spokesman was, so they had thrown a show for Brent with Mr. Wong flaunting and promoting the venue, hoping that would draw Spokesman out since he seemed particularly hateful in his letters about Mr. Wong’s city work for the arts district.
Cole had interrupted then, stating that the third person in Brent’s office had been a scout and possible kidnapper, if he had been able to get Mr. Wong alone, portraying a rich kid wanting to spend daddy’s money on an up-and-coming artist, they later found out, for Spokesman’s group.
The scout/kidnapper had given the go for Spokesman’s team to hijack the party when he saw there wasn’t any security inside the building after a failed attempt – thanks to accidently timing by Sarah – at Mr. Wong.
Spokesman had died from four bullet wounds to major arteries – all four guys had grinned evilly at that comment – when the gunfire had commenced.
Mr. Wong had still been able to identify him, since his face hadn’t been “blown off”, as Zane had put it, sounding hacked.
His name had been Andrew Klemmings and he had been a disgruntled artist whose business had gone under by budget cuts that Mr. Wong had instigated as the city restricted its grants.
Andrew Klemmings had sought out street thugs to exact his revenge at the party – they weren’t even “fucking close to professionals” Cole had grunted.
It also came out on this morning’s news that Mr. Klemmings had a bi-polar disorder and had been off his meds for over a year, along with a lengthy criminal history.
Incidentally, when he had stopped taking his medication that was when Mr. Wong’s received his first letter.
They hadn’t expected Mr. Klemmings to act out in the way he had, but Lion Security’s many employees had been watching from undisclosed locations.
All four of the guys had been wearing ear pieces and Brent had instructed their men to call S.W.A.T. It had been Stash who had given the “go” for S.W.A.T. to “crash” the party when they did.
It would have happened sooner, but Mr. Klemmings had kept me too close.
I had been flabbergasted by the information flying around the SUV.
The guys had talked about it excitedly, with manly grunts and animated fervor, using military lingo that I wasn’t privy to.
I understood the jest of what they said, but only barely.
After my first few initial inquiries, I had stayed mute.
Thinking. Ally hadn’t any such qualms. She had yawned and watched the active city from the front passenger window fly by.
I had figured a few things out, though. One, these four men were a true “crew”.
When they spoke, they often finished one another’s sentences or automatically knew what the other was going to say before they even said it.
Two, Brent had really done something for himself here.
He had a thriving security business that had influential friends in high places, a “hobby” that people were really beginning to notice and want more of, and, most importantly, friends who were a family.
I’d had no problem imagining them in the army, desert surrounding them, playing cards during rare moments of down time, drinking beers and planning for when they got out.
I was still thinking when we were in line to go through the security check point. I wouldn’t say I was upset, but I would be lying if I didn’t say that I wasn’t jealous of all the things Brent had accomplished. And, also, maybe a little sad.
Yeah. That fit.
I hadn’t done anything with my life. I was a twenty-seven year old with a college degree in agriculture – thank you, bastard – from a podunk university that had actually taken me seven years to complete because I hadn’t been able to attend full-time.
The only reason I had even showed up to classes was to get away from home as often as I could.
School had been my peaceful place. Where I went to breathe.
Now that I had left home and momma was dead, I didn’t know what I wanted to do professionally.
I would figure it out in time, sure, but it still hurt – selfishly - to see others that were the same age as me going on to bigger and better things when I hadn’t even really begun.
I couldn’t even contribute to their conversations, I realized, as we shuffled forward minutely, because I didn’t have any common ground to start with.
I’m sure there were probably things we had in common, but they sure weren’t talking about it right then.
I felt like the new kid at school, too nervous and apprehensive to even speak up, afraid everyone would stare at me and laugh at what I said.
I glanced at them and then down at myself.
Yeah. We didn’t exactly match. The people around us probably didn’t even know I was with them.
Other than the occasional nod or smile when someone glanced at me I hadn’t spoken a word in almost forty minutes.
When we got to the separating lines of x-ray machines and metal detectors, I almost sighed in relief, purposely hanging back and letting myself be directed to the line farthest from them.
I kinda felt like crying.
They hadn’t even noticed. All four men had deep voices and they carried loud and clear, even over the background noise of beeps, clinking noises that sounded suspiciously like belt buckles being undone, and security personnel giving repetitive instructions on what you were supposed to do.
I tried to ignore the sound of Ally laughing happily at something one of them had said and listen to what the butch woman in the blue uniform was coaching.
I gripped the ticket that Brent had handed me after signing in – he had supposedly bought the ticket for me even before he had picked me up at the police station – and tried not to feel overwhelmed.
I had never flown before, so this was a completely new experience for me.
I stood up on my tiptoes to see what the others in front of me were doing.
My eyes bulged. It had been belt buckles I had heard.
I immediately calmed my expression, trying to appear as if this wasn’t new, like every other bored looking individual standing around me, trying hard not to look at one another.
And, apparently, I also had to take off my shoes.
I watched as a man, very put out to be doing so, unlaced his work boots and tossed them in a grey bin, and placed that on a conveyer belt that went through the x-ray machine.
He also took all his change out of his pocket, I immediately felt mine to see if I had anything there, and put it in a smaller tub along with his watch.
Next went his belt, sunglasses, and hat.
Good grief! If the man kept going, he wouldn’t have anything left to take off!
I waited, following everyone’s lead. I could still hear the “crew” and Ally talking amiably – they still hadn’t noticed I wasn’t there – and tried to push back any stupid hurt I might be feeling.
I shuffled a few more steps closer, only two people left and that’s when I would start taking off my shoes like everyone else had done.
That seemed to be the invisible barrier where everyone started undressing.
One more person. I tried to calm my heartbeat. Why it was fluttering I had no clue, but I kept on looking bored like everyone else. Then, a half minute later, it was my turn to start stripping.