by Cari Z.
Elliot smiled as charmingly as he could. “I hired him to secure my house, took him on a dinner date with his daughter, seduced him into staying the night, kicked him out in the most awkward morning-after imaginable, and then, to make a long story short, basically bled all over him. He decided to keep me after that.”
To his credit, Oliver dropped the veneer of sociable asshole by the end of the explanation, his shoulders relaxing as he looked between the two of them. He nodded at Elliot like he’d just slotted a piece into a particularly frustrating puzzle. “Tried-and-true method, my friend, tried-and-true. Len, you can’t resist a good rescue.”
“I don’t remember you ever complaining.” Lennox’s blush had faded, but he seemed half a second away from rolling his eyes. “Or didn’t you want me to carry you out of the last mess you got yourself into?”
“Far from my last,” Oliver scoffed. “Just my last with you. I had to hire four people as your replacements, do you realize that? Four people! You’ve completely screwed with my bottom line.”
“You should hire more competent people, then.”
“No, no.” Oliver sat back as the waitress arrived with the beer. “It’s personal investment that’s the problem. None of my hirelings are as invested in keeping my hide whole as you were. It’s not as though there’s a Yelp site for black-market bodyguards, you know?”
“That sounds like a problem waiting for a solution,” Elliot remarked before he could help himself. “Surely there’d be an interest in that, wouldn’t there? If it could be managed in a way that kept authorities from gleaning too much information.”
Oliver smiled slowly. “Spoken like a true visionary. And it would be rather helpful, I admit, but the darker side of the internet is constantly being trawled by the fishing boats of freedom, justice, and the desire to interfere with very necessary international commerce. It would be challenging to make such a rating system stick.”
Elliot leaned forward. “Challenging, but not impossible. I’ve got some friends in Silicon Valley who—”
“Oh, hell no,” Lennox broke in. “You,” he pointed at Oliver, “no discussing the details of your job in a public place where anyone might hear you, and you.” Now he pointed at Elliot, who held up his hands innocently. “Don’t encourage him. Holy shit, what was I thinking, bringing the two of you together?”
“And plying us with alcohol, nonetheless.” Oliver took a long drink from his glass. “Mmm, that’s good. Why don’t I live here? I love the beer.”
Lennox snorted. “You hate the cold.”
Oliver snapped his fingers. “Ah, that’s right, got it in one. If you won’t let me discuss personal security in the internet age with your new friend here, maybe I should start telling him embarrassing stories about you?”
Lennox crossed his arms. “Go ahead. I wasn’t the one who got into trouble with the goat.”
“You always bring that up,” Oliver muttered before drinking again. At this rate he’d down most of the pitcher himself.
Oliver was, Elliot had to admit over the next hour, pretty personable once they’d established that there was no reason for either of them to be territorial. Oliver and Lennox were very friendly with each other, but whatever passion there had been between them had long since cooled. And Lennox, for all that his work kept him firmly on the right side of the law, didn’t get worked up, while no one else was sitting too close, talking about Oliver’s less-than-legal occupation, which seemed to involve weapons dealing. He hadn’t expected that, and his surprise must have been evident, because Oliver chuckled and leaned in.
“Who’d ever suspect a Canadian, eh?” he asked. “Never mind that our country exports more ammunition than anywhere else in the Western Hemisphere.”
“Isn’t the US a bigger manufacturer when it comes to—”
“Guns? Absolutely, you’re number one there,” Oliver said. “But guns are only as good as their ammo, and we deal in the best, for the best. We being me, for the most part.”
Elliot nodded. “I appreciate your lack of false modesty.”
“I dislike being false in anything, but especially when it concerns my own excellence.” They toasted each other and drank.
“You’re both seriously delusional,” Lennox said, but he looked like he was trying to hide a smile. “Since you do get around though, have you ever heard of a guy called Jonathan Lehrer?”
Oliver frowned. “The name isn’t familiar. Who is he?”
“He’s a former corporate fixer who used to work for Redback Industries,” Lennox explained. “In the employ of Sheridan Pullman. He was arrested for vehicular homicide five years ago but he made bail and vanished.”
“Huh.” Oliver traced the top of his glass with his index finger. “And your interest in this man is . . . what, personal? Because if you need a fixer, Lennox, then we should be having another conversation altogether.”
“He’s after me,” Elliot supplied. “Still working for Pullman. Or at least I assume so.”
“And is he any good, or are you just very lucky?”
Elliot shrugged. “We’re not out of the terrorizing phase yet, I don’t think.”
“Aren’t you blasé?” Oliver stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know of the man, but I’ll see what I can find out. You’re sure it’s him?”
“No,” Lennox said firmly. “We’re not. It would be good to have confirmation one way or the other.”
“I understand.”
Lennox got up a few minutes later to go to the restroom. As soon as he was gone, Oliver leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “Actually, I’d heard of you before today.” He didn’t sound pleased.
Elliot’s hackles rose, but he forced himself to stay relaxed. “Really? From whom?”
“From someone who’s trying to make a deal with Mischa Kovalin.”
Elliot’s expression froze―he couldn’t help it.
“You and Mischa were together, weren’t you?” Oliver went on. “His firm worked with Redback Industries, correct?”
“Yes,” Elliot managed. “We were together. We haven’t spoken in years, though.”
“Hmm. I hope for your sake things stay that way. Mr. Kovalin is developing a rather intractable reputation in some dangerous circles, and you don’t want any part of that.”
“No.” Elliot lifted his own glass and drained it in one go. Whatever Mischa was up to, it was none of his business now. Mischa had made that very clear, and Elliot had more than enough of his own affairs to handle. “I certainly don’t.”
“One other thing,” Oliver continued. “Lennox is doing a lot better since being here. If whatever you’re drawing him into fucks him up again, you and I will have a problem.”
Elliot was too intrigued to be offended by the threat. “Better than what?”
Oliver shrugged. “It’s not my place to say. He’s just better. Let’s keep it that way, all right?”
“That sounds fair.”
By the time Lennox came back, the tension between them had dissipated. Oliver didn’t mention what they’d discussed, and Elliot certainly wasn’t going to if he didn’t have to.
The meeting ended on a friendly note, with a fleeting promise from Oliver to find out what he could as he ran off to make his next flight. Lennox had skipped the beers, so he drove them back. If he was a little heavier on the pedal than usual, hey, it was a brand-new Camaro. Elliot understood.
Holly was her typical enthusiastic self when they returned to Elliot’s house, and he still felt energetic enough to take her for a walk himself. “A walk” basically meant following her out to the yard, but he handled the back stairs pretty well and strolled around a few feet behind her as she made her usual circuit from tree to tree, sniffing and digging through the snow and fallen pine needles to uncover canine treasures.
Elliot’s thoughts kept returning to Mischa, even though he was the last person Elliot wanted to be stuck on right now. Oliver’s warning had been pretty pointed, and
part of Elliot wanted to call up his ex and tell him to lay off whatever he was up to. That had been Elliot’s role for years: trying to rein Mischa in until the only option Elliot had had left was either to take part in what his lover was doing or leave him.
Elliot wasn’t good at leaving people, and he’d been far too good at lying to himself. Becoming a criminal had been easier than it should have, and Mischa, in the end, had only opened the door. Elliot had been the one to run through it.
Mischa had been so much more careful than Elliot back then, though. It was surprising to hear he was making waves now; that wasn’t the sort of thing Mischa did. He was as soft and silent as a snake, and just as dangerous as one.
It was only when Elliot actually bumped into Holly that he noticed she’d stopped moving. In fact, she seemed to be eating something.
“What have you found, silly thing?” he asked, kneeling down next to her. Hopefully it wasn’t part of a snake; she’d been way too interested in the last corpse to grace their grounds.
The light was poor, but as he leaned in, Elliot could still make out the shape of― “What the hell? Holly, no.” He pushed her away from the cube of beef she’d been attacking. “No.” What on earth was fresh-cut meat doing out here? Elliot picked up the meat—it felt oddly gritty. He held it a bit closer to his face and sniffed. It smelled like garlic.
“Oh shit.” He had Holly in his arms in a second, running back to the house at full speed. “Lennox!”
The door banged open. “Elliot! Jesus, what’s going on?” Lennox helped him inside, and Elliot dropped the piece of meat onto the counter before sitting down and starting to examine Holly closely. “What happened?”
“There was . . . that, the meat, it was outside and she ate some of it and it smells like fucking rat poison, and I don’t know how much she ate.” Holly didn’t appear sick, but he had no idea how long it took for rat poison to take effect.
Lennox went over and examined the piece of meat, then grimaced. “I can see the powder on it. We’ve got to get her to the vet.”
“She seems okay . . .” Holly began hacking, bits of partially chewed meat winding up on Elliot’s lap. Spoke too soon. “Fuck, yes, we have to go.” Good thing Lennox hadn’t bothered to take off his coat. Elliot slung his own on and led the way to the Camaro, but let Lennox drive so he could keep holding Holly. Lennox started it up and peeled out of the driveway, heading back into town at a screaming speed.
“Where’s your vet’s office?” Elliot barely heard him; Holly was lying down now, making a whimpering noise that hit him straight in the heart. He stroked her head and held her close, helpless to do anything else. “Elliot, your vet, where is it?”
“Ah . . .” He reengaged his brain with difficulty. “Fifth and Main. Friendly Paws Animal Hospital. God, who would do this to a dog? Holly’s the sweetest thing in the world! She’s never hurt anybody!”
“I know.” It wasn’t an answer, but the sound of Lennox’s voice helped calm Elliot down a bit. “I know, and she’s going to be fine. We’re almost there.”
“I don’t―I don’t even know if they’re open.” It was after six at night. “What if they’re closed?”
“Then we find a vet with emergency hours that’s open,” Lennox said. “There are bound to be some close by.”
“But will we be in time? She ate rat poison, and she’s not a lot bigger than a rat. Oh my god.” Elliot felt more panicked now than he could remember being when he crashed himself into the side of a mountain. His fingers were numb, and his stomach roiled with nausea. “What if she dies?”
“Elliot.” Lennox grabbed his arm, not hard but with a reassuring firmness. “She’s not going to die. Look.” He nodded toward the side of the road. “Here we are.”
Friendly Paws was still open, thankfully, and the staff reacted to the emergency with gratifying speed, Dr. Navarro gently taking Holly out of Elliot’s hands and assuring him she’d do everything she could, but they couldn’t come back right now. The receptionist handed over a sheaf of paperwork, probably to act as a distraction, but before he could start on it his hands were claimed by Lennox, holding a wet wipe he’d stolen from the counter.
“You always forget the mess,” he said, calmly wiping away blood and dog drool.
“You always seem to remember it,” Elliot replied weakly. He was shaking, and his own voice sounded like it was coming through a layer of cotton. “I don’t― This is―”
“Let’s sit down, yeah?” Lennox led him over to the benches along the wall of the waiting room, away from the overly interested receptionist. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” And it was awful, but now that Holly had been whisked away, Elliot did feel better, physically. Mentally, though, he was nowhere close to fine. “How . . . my dog. She’s a dog, for fuck’s sake, she has nothing to do with anything. Who the fuck would try to hurt my dog?”
“Someone who knows you love her and is interested in hurting you,” Lennox said with a grimace. “Someone who’s not afraid to trespass on your property, either. That, at least, I can do something about.”
Elliot shivered. “You can’t keep people from approaching the house. We’re surrounded by open space in the back, I couldn’t put up a fence even if I wanted to, and there isn’t time to—”
“Not to stop them,” Lennox amended. He was gently rubbing his hands up and down Elliot’s arms, and though he couldn’t sense their heat, Elliot still felt warmed. “Just to give us a heads-up. I’ll relocate some of your motion detectors, set them up to ping a warning. We’ll know if anyone else gets within twenty feet of the house.”
Elliot snorted. “You’ll get a lot of false positives, then. I get whole herds of deer in the backyard.”
“And I’ll check out every single one of them,” Lennox said with a smile. “Even if it’s only a bunny rabbit.”
“My hero.” Elliot would have teased a little more, but Dr. Navarro appeared in the doorway and he shot to his feet instead. “How is she?”
“It’s a bit early to say for sure,” she began, and Elliot’s stomach dropped so suddenly he thought he might be sick, “but I think she’ll make a full recovery. You got her here very quickly, and fortunately she was able to purge most of what she consumed before she arrived.”
His knees went weak, but he stayed upright. “Can I see her?”
“Sure. Follow me.” She led them to the kennel, where a chorus of barks greeted them as they walked in. Holly wasn’t one of the barkers; she was on her side in a bed on an exam table, a vet tech gently inserting an IV line into a shaved section on her leg, but she licked comfortingly at Elliot’s hand as soon as he was close enough.
Dr. Navarro smiled. “She’s a trooper. You’re lucky the poison wasn’t on something easily consumable, like hamburger. Otherwise she could have eaten a lot more than she did. I assume the poisoning was deliberate, not an accident?”
“No,” Elliot murmured, stroking Holly’s head. Soft orange fur parted under his fingertips. “It wasn’t an accident.”
“Are you going to be filing a police report?”
Lennox stepped in. “We’ll make sure it gets taken care of.”
“How long do you want her to stay?” Elliot asked.
“At least for the night,” Dr. Navarro replied.
“Actually, could she stay a bit longer?” Lennox broke in before Elliot could say anything else. “If not for medical reasons, then just . . . boarding?”
Elliot raised his eyebrows. “Why should I—”
“So we can make sure she’s well taken care of while we finish up our business,” Lennox continued. “We could come get her Monday morning.”
After the Meetup is over. It made sense; if this was an example of what Pullman was capable of, Elliot wanted Holly as far out of the line of fire as possible. “Good idea.” Elliot nodded at Lennox, then turned back to the vet. “Is that doable?”
“I think we can work something out.” Dr. Navarro’s mouth tightened in sympathy. “I don’t
think it’ll be necessary for her health, though.”
“I appreciate it regardless,” Elliot said.
They left half an hour later, Elliot’s wallet light but his heart lighter. Holly had been standing again by the end, which the tech had said was a good sign. Elliot slumped into the car seat and didn’t speak as Lennox drove them back to the house, his head spinning. It shouldn’t have come as such a surprise that Sheridan Pullman and his lackey were willing to kill his dog to fuck with him. They’d almost killed Elliot when they hijacked his car; why would they balk at killing a dog? But it still stunned him, hurt on a deeper level than any violence or animosity directed at himself would have. Holly was the definition of an innocent bystander. She had nothing to do with any of this.
Lennox was right. It was best for her to be out of the way until the Meetup was done, Vanessa’s election was over, and Elliot could go to the police without fear of endangering her.
“We have to go to the police now.”
Never mind, Lennox was completely wrong. “No.”
“Elliot, think about what just happened to Holly!”
How can the man be so obtuse? “What happened to Holly wasn’t a random poisoning in a city park,” he snapped. “It was a calculated attack by a sadist who’s trying to spread his wings now that he’s out of prison, but he’s not going to kill me, and I’m not going to go after him until everything else is finished.”
Lennox’s hands were so tight on the steering wheel that Elliot could hear the leather creak. “You’re making a hell of a lot of assumptions there.”
“You don’t know him like I do.”
“I’m not even sure he is who you think he is.”
“I repeat: because you don’t know him,” Elliot said. “You don’t know how he thinks. I worked for this man for over a year. I saw him screw people over again and again, and no, usually it wasn’t this extreme, but he kept a fixer on the books for a reason. I can weather him, and I will, and then I’ll get his ass arrested once I’ve got enough evidence to do it. He’s sure to try something the night of the Meetup, and that’s when I’ll take him out.”