9. Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Four Years Ago
— THE NIGHT WE MET BY LORD HURON
“Vince Evans? You can come on in.” A slim man pokes his head out of the conference room, and I join him inside. I thought there would be more people here, but it appears to be just us.
I already regret taking this case. My handler at the agency said it was a rush job and that they asked for the best. Now that I’m here, I wish I wasn't. I wasn't given any details or anything about who I’d be protecting, and I’m hoping to get some clarity now.
“Connie will be right in. Can I get you some water?”
I shake my head at him, and he leaves, submitting me to the silence of this room. I notice that he frosted the glass, and I like the little bit of privacy. I did some digging about this place, and it’s a public relations management firm, so I assume some rich socialite needs protection.
I hope that’s not the case, but either way, I’ll do my job.
A hard knock on the door comes, and I stand as Connie enters the room—I assume. I don't know who else it would be. At first glance, I notice the tension in her shoulders, the bags under her eyes, and I can almost feel the stress rolling off her. Has she not slept? That immediately causes my senses to perk up, and the weird feeling in my gut is telling me this is more serious than I thought .
And my own rule is that when you have a gut feeling, it’s probably right.
She meets me where I stand and offers me her hand. “Connie. Thank you for getting here so quickly.”
“No problem, ma’am,” I say as she sits across from me.
“Please, just Connie. I’m not a ma’am, and I hate formalities.” She takes a deep breath before she slides a folder over to me. “It’s been a rough few days around here. That folder contains a bare-bones gist of information about Bree and what happened. It even has some of the notes he left inside, but I can explain it if you prefer that.”
“I’ll take anything you want to give me.” The more information I have, the better, and I never take any chances. If I don't know everything, someone could wind up getting hurt, and I’ve never lost anybody I’ve protected.
Yet.
The little voice in the back of my head nags at me like always, but I disregard it for now, returning my attention to Connie.
“You’ll be protecting Bree Hart. She’s a social media influencer with around ten million followers across all social platforms.”
I’ve never heard of this girl, but I’m nine years older than her, so it makes sense that I haven't. I doubt my older sister has either. It says in her file that Bree is twenty years old, and I wonder how long she’s been doing this to have garnered that many followers.
The pit in my stomach is nervous to ask what happened for her to need a bodyguard, but I don’t say anything as Connie continues.
“Over the past few months, Bree has received notes from an obsessed fan. We know it’s the same guy because of the signature, and the police analyzed her mail so we could have every note he’s sent on file.
“A few days ago, Bree was attacked inside her home by the man we believe has been sending her these notes. If you flip to the last one, you’ll see why we think that. ”
I open the folder, and sure enough, photocopies of the notes rest right on the top. I flip through fifteen to twenty pages, and when I get to the last one, goosebumps race up my arms.
On the page, in detail, is what this guy wants to do to her when he finally gets his hands on her. He talks about how they’re meant to be, that nobody else will be able to have her because he’s going to make sure she’s his forever.
My blood is running cold at the detail he gives.
“Oh,” is all I can say.
“Yeah. The worst part is that it was completely preventable. Bree’s parents didn't take it seriously, and well, you can see what happened in the report from the hospital. I wish we had you sooner, but there was nothing I could do.”
Fuck her parents. They shouldn't be able to be parents after this. How do you fail to protect your own daughter? It’s laughable—they get to be parents while mine died and will never exist again.
But this isn't about me. It’s about her, and I need to do what they failed to—protect her from this fucker.
“The guy ran off before the police got inside, but not after he kept his promise.”
Fuck. “What happened?”
“Bree was assaulted. She still has some visible bruising on her ankles and neck, and I ask that when she comes in, you remain seated.”
What the fuck did this guy do to her? And why didn't they get her a female bodyguard? I assume this girl will run for the hills when she sees me. I’m not a soft guy. I’m a bit rough around the edges, and most people are scared of me when they see me. Even those I work with at the agency have told me I make them nervous, even after seven years.
I guess I’ll just have to tone that part of myself down if I even know how to. Most of the people I guard are politicians, events that need an extra set of hands, and witnesses in criminal proceedings. I’ve never had to protect someone so young, famous, or one who has been recently traumatized.
“I can do that.”
“Thank you. I’ll go grab Bree.” She gets up, and I set the folder onto another chair, opting to look at it later. A few seconds later, she comes back with two girls, both young looking, and I stay seated. They sit across the table from me, and I notice the blonde one is wearing a thick scarf around her neck despite it being warm and sunny outside. That’s gotta be her.
The brown-haired one speaks first. “I’m Liv, and this is my sister, Bree.”
“Vince Evans.” I’d normally say it’s nice to meet them, but it isn't. These girls are too young to be dealing with this.
“Connie told us you’re the best,” Liv says.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. We’re not requiring you to live in our parents’ house, but anytime Bree leaves or has some event to go to, you’ll be with her. Does that sound okay?”
“It sounds perfect. There’s a hotel across the street from your place, so I’ll always be around.”
“Great. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” She smiles, and I notice that Bree hasn't said anything yet. I hope I’m not scaring her. I usually prefer not to personally attach myself to my clients, but something about this case is different.
Something about her feels different, and I can’t pinpoint why. It’s probably because she’s the youngest client I’ve ever had. Let’s go with that. Rule number three is to never get attached to your clients, and most of the jobs I’m on, I don't speak. It’s trickling into my daily life now, and most people are put off by my silence, so it wouldn't surprise me if they are, too.
“Could I have a moment alone with Bree?” I move to where her vacant eyes stare back at me, hoping she’ll say yes. I like to get a basis of who each client is, but I understand if she doesn't want to.
Bree nods her head before Liv places her hand in hers. “If you don't want to, it’s okay, Bree.”
“It’s okay, sis.” Her voice comes out in a whisper, and I wonder if her vocal cords were damaged. I barely looked at the hospital records.
“We’ll be right outside,” Connie says as the two of them leave. The door clicks softly behind them, and neither of us speaks as silence blankets the room.
Before I explain myself, I try to make my voice a bit softer, with less edge. I can already tell if I spoke like I normally do, I’d scare her, and that’s not what I’m trying to do.
“I have a few rules I like to go over with my clients before we start. Is that okay?”
“Yes,” she whispers again.
“There’s only five of them. Never be unreachable. I always need to be able to reach you, so you’ll have my number saved. No physical contact unless it’s an emergency. I won't touch you unless your safety is concerned, or I’m trying to help you. Is that okay with you?”
“Yes, actually. Thank you.” The whisper comes out a bit hoarser, and I have to clench my fingers to stop myself from breaking this fucking table.
She’s twenty years old. She shouldn't have to deal with shit like this, and it pisses me off more than my cases usually do.
“Number three is no personal attachments. We can make small talk, of course, but my main job is to protect you, and if I get attached, my judgment will be clouded.”
“Understood.”
“Number four: I’ll be here until this is done. That means that until he’s dead or behind bars, I’ll be by your side. ”
“And if he gets caught and gets out? What happens then?” Her hoarse whisper is getting a bit more strained, and I notice her leg hasn't stopped shaking.
“Is that something you’re worried about? Also, if writing your questions down helps your voice, feel free to do that.”
I swear, I hear her say something to the effect of being worried about everything, but before I can speak, she writes something down and slides it over to me.
Felony stalking means up to five years in prison, but most get out before then on good behavior. It happened in most of the cases I looked at in Pennsylvania. So yes, I’m worried about that.
“I understand. Well, if it makes you feel better, if he gets out, I’ll come back. How does that sound?” She writes something down before sliding the paper over again.
I’d rather him be dead, but yeah, that sounds good.
Thank you.
I clear my throat before I speak again. “No problem. Now, rule number five is to never go anywhere without a knife. I carry a pistol on my hip and will only use it if it’s necessary. I always let people know that just in case.”
“Does that mean I’ll carry a knife as well?”
“Not if you don't want to, but I’ll always have one.”
“I don't need one.” She shakes her head.
“Okay. That’s all I have for now. Just let me know when you leave the house, and I’ll be over. ”
“I probably won’t be for a while, but if you want to just hang around, that’s okay too.” She gets up and heads for the door. “And next time, speak normally, Vince. You don't scare me like you think you do.”
Damn. She’s tougher than I gave her credit for. “Noted, ma’am.”
“Bree.”
“Noted, Bree. I’ll walk you out.”
She nods her head at me, and as I walk her and Liv out of the building, I find myself wondering more about what makes the youngest Hart sister tick, but I quickly shake that thought away.
Now
“Vince? Vince? Baby brother, did you go through a tunnel or something?”
I shake my thoughts out of that first meeting I had with Bree, and turn my attention back to my sister. “No, Aria, I’m still here.”
“Good. I thought you were ignoring me.”
“How could I with your incessant calls? I told you I’m working. I’m busy , not dead.”
“Forgive me for worrying about you, Vince. You have no friends, you work too much, and you have no social life. I hate texting Nico to ask how you are because even he doesn't know. Isn't that sad? Your only friend, probably your best friend, doesn't even know how you’re doing.”
“I’m doing fine. How’s that?” I smirk from across the line, and I hear my sister sigh heavily .
“Vince, I know you hate attaching yourself to people, but you’re thirty-three, for God’s sake. Your lifespan is going to seriously decrease if you don't form relationships with someone. You can’t just have Nico.”
Here we go again with this shit. My sister is one of my favorite people on the planet, but ever since she stepped up to raise me after our parents died, she feels more like my parent than my sister. Which, to be fair, she kind of was. I was only fourteen when our parents died, and she was nineteen, forced to become my guardian.
I can't imagine doing what she did. I can't imagine having to deal with her grief and raise my dumb ass. She had it harder than me, but sometimes, she forgets to turn the mothering part of herself off
“Sis, you know I don't need anybody else. I have all I need. I’ve got you, Nico, and my girl. How is she anyway?”
“ Your girl is fine. I’m taking her on a walk later.”
“Good. Did you buy her favorite treats? And did you—”
“Dude, calm down. Nellie is thriving, surviving, and having a wonderful time with me. She misses you, though. She told me herself.”
“I bet she does. I miss her too.” Nellie is my golden retriever who’s currently living with my sister. I was going to grab her after my last assignment, but Bree’s situation threw a wrench in my plans. I could bring her here, but I don't know how Bree feels about dogs. Still, moving my dog into her house feels a bit too…real. I wouldn't want Nellie to get used to the surroundings either, especially since it would only be temporary.
“Back to the subject at hand, though. Forming relationships with people has always been something you’ve sucked at. Not everybody is going to leave in the manner that our parents did. I’m just saying that you need to stop working yourself to death and actually have a life. That’s all I’m asking.”
“I’ll think about it.” I hate when she does this. In the back of my mind, I know that if I get close to people, they won't end up crushed under a semi-truck on the side of the road, but the little voice in my head always nags at me that it could happen.
Just like it did when I was young.
Plus, I can't get attached to clients, so where else am I supposed to meet people? It all sounds way too exhausting, and since what I do for work makes me happy, it’s all I’ll ever need.
“So, what case are you on? Or can you not tell me?”
I was afraid she would ask that. “Uh, it’s kind of a boring one. Nothing too fancy.”
“Vince, don't lie to me. Your voice just went up an entire octave. Why are you being so weird?”
“Why are you being nosy?”
“Because I’m your sister. Now, since you can't stare at me and get me to back down over the phone, tell me.”
I run a hand down my face. “I’m back with Bree.”
“Oh. The fucker got out then?”
“Yup.”
I can practically hear her smirk from this side of the phone. “You’ve never gone back to a client before.”
“Yeah, and?” I snap at her, already knowing what she’s insinuating.
“Isn't that the reason you have eleven rules now and not just five? Rule number six is when the job is done, you walk away. You added that one after you left her the first time, remember?”
“Yeah, sis, I fucking remember. They are my rules.”
“Slow your roll, Vince. I’m just pointing out that she’s different. I’m not jumping to any conclusions.”
“I bet you’re not.” She absolutely is. Sure, Bree is the only client I’ve ever returned to protect, but I promised her that if Ralph got out, I’d be back, and I’m not one to break a promise.
Especially to her .
I’m a naturally protective person, but with Bree, it’s dialed up tenfold. Part of me wants to shield her from every bad thing that could happen, but I know I can't do that. I can only do my best to make sure Ralph doesn't ever fucking touch her again.
Given the chance, I’d kill him just so she could sleep soundly at night.
“Look, Aria, I have to go. Say hi to Max for me and give Nellie my love, okay?”
“I will. You should come visit soon. I miss you.”
“After this case, I’ll come up. I promise.”
“Okay, good. And think about what I said, Vince. It’s scientifically proven that people who have strong bonds with others live longer.”
“I bet it is. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Talk to you soon. Be careful.”
“I always am.” I smile as I hang up the phone. My sister and I never say goodbye; we prefer to use statements that don’t feel so final. It’s been that way since she got the call about our parents.
That’s one thing my parents always told us—death may be final, but people live on in so many other ways. It’s something I’ve always carried with me, and I know that anytime I’m struggling, my parents will be looking out for me, wherever they are.