He pulled out his phone and called Jaxon.
“Busy?”
“No, what’s up?” his best friend responded.
“I need to catch some sleep. I need a babysitter outside of my current client’s apartment door. I thought since you’re just down the street…”
“Give me the address.”
“Thanks, Jax.”
“No problem.”
The big, dark-haired man arrived and stepped off the elevator about fifteen minutes later.
“I’ll leave this for you,” Jaxon said, setting up a folding chair.
“Thanks.” He smirked when Jaxon carefully lowered his massive frame into the chair with a creak.
He’d met Jaxon years ago when the guy had come to work for Logan. Jaxon matched his own height and build and had dark hair. Tattoos covered his upper arms to add to his bad boy appearance. Not to mention, Jaxon rode a custom Harley Davidson. His best friend was a chick magnet.
“I shouldn’t be too long.”
“Get some sleep while you can.”
“Thanks.”
Ryder left and located a hotel a block away, tossed his bag on the bed, and called Logan.
“Are you back in California?”
“No, I’m staying here for a few days. Are you at Harrison’s apartment?” Logan asked.
“Hell no, he wouldn’t even let me through the door.”
Logan laughed.
“It’s not funny.”
“It kind of is.”
“His fucking security system for both the office and the apartment building he lives in is down for an upgrade, did you know that?”
“Okay, that’s not fucking funny. Tell me you’re joking,” Logan said flatly.
“I’m not. I put Jaxon at his door while I get some sleep.”
“Shit. Dean said the company was upgrading, I thought it was only the office building and parking structure.”
“It’s not. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”
“Night,” Logan said and rang off.
Ryder took a quick shower and headed back to check his phone. Harrison had sent him a squinty faced emoji.
All okay? he replied.
Yes, but there’s a beast outside of my door.
Ryder chuckled.
That’s Jaxon, he’ll protect you until I return.
Kay.
He sighed and set his phone on the end table and stretched out on the bed.
He relieved Jaxon around three a.m. Kicking back in the folding chair Jaxon had left, he skimmed through Grindr. If he could ignore the smart assed snob he was assigned to protect, this might turn out to be a kick back job after all. He might even get a hookup while he was in Denver.
The job seemed fairly easy if they kept to this routine. Perhaps he could catch a nap on that comfortable looking couch in Harrison’s office. Sure, it was against procedures, but Logan kind of expected things like that from him and really, who was he to disappoint?
“Good morning,” Harrison said, stepping out of his apartment at seven a.m. and locking his door. The man was dressed in an expensive light gray colored suit with his blond tipped hair gelled and spiked.
“Morning.” He hastily shoved his phone away and stood. Striding to the elevator, he pressed the button for the ground floor.
“Good morning, Mr. Trudel,” the doorman called out, standing behind a small podium when they reached the lobby.
“Hey, Thomas. This is Ryder Freeman, he’s…my bodyguard.”
“Are you having trouble, Mr. Trudel?” The older man’s brow creased. With shock white hair and a long mustache, Thomas was dressed in all black except for a burgundy colored waistcoat.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” Harrison smiled and patted the older man on the shoulder.
“Yes, he is having trouble,” Ryder cut in. “I’d appreciate it if you could let me know if you see anyone going up to Harrison’s apartment who doesn’t live here or if you see anything suspicious,” he told Thomas, giving him his cell phone number.
Harrison glared at him and crossed his arms with an angry sounding huff. So what? The guy needed to start taking this shit seriously.
“Very good, sir,” Thomas said as he took the number and offered his hand.
“Thank you.” Ryder shook the older man’s hand and stepped ahead of Harrison. They entered the hallway to the parking garage.
Thirty minutes later, he found a spot out front of the office building to park in case they went to lunch later. A few moments later, he had Harrison safely tucked into his office without incident.
One thing he’d already noticed about Harrison, the guy didn’t talk endlessly.
“You can wait in the reception area. There’s a table in the kitchen too,” Harrison said and dropped his briefcase on the desk with a snap.
“Nah, I’ll stay in here for a while.” He smirked.
Harrison glared, popped a few pills, and buried himself in his work.
Ryder could have waited in the reception area, but he knew it irritated the guy and for some reason, he enjoyed seeing Harrison’s temper way too much.
The view from the office really was spectacular, and from where he stood near the door, he could see all of Denver and the snowcapped mountains in the distance.
A few minutes later, a rapid knock sounded on the door before a woman burst through.
“Have you talked to your lawyer about changing the will?”
Ryder spun and blocked the woman’s path. She shrank back with a stumble.
“It’s okay, Ryder. Meet Sheila, my father’s widow.” Harrison’s tone sounded flat. A tone Ryder had yet to hear him use.
Widow, not stepmother. He filed that fact away and observed the woman. Sheila Trudel dripped with jewels. The purse she clutched cost about three months of his wages. Not one strand out of place on the perfectly coifed, fake blonde hair.
Ryder gave her a bored look and crossed his arms. She sniffed at him, nose angled with disdain, and then turned on Harrison.
“Well? Did you see the lawyer about the will?”
“No, Sheila, I haven’t.”
“Why not? I’ve been waiting a year for you to fix that damned thing!”
Harrison gave a tired sounding sigh and rubbed at his face. A face too young for fucking worry lines.
“You’re well compensated.”
“It’s ridiculous. I was his wife,” she argued, keeping her voice down, as if afraid of being overheard.
“Of two years.”
“You promised!” she hissed.
“I did no such thing,” Harrison said and tossed the pen he was holding onto the desk.
Twin red spots rose on the woman’s cheeks and her fake nails dug into the expensive purse.
“You and I both know the will is iron clad. There’s no way out of it,” he continued.
“You could try,” she pressed, fluttering her fake lashes.
“You get a ten thousand dollar a month expense account for the rest of your life, unless you marry. That’s it. I’m sorry.”
“What’s going on?” The guy from yesterday, the one called Toby stepped through the door.
Ryder shifted, making sure to step in the other man’s way. Toby’s nostrils flared and a muscle ticked in his jaw.
“Harrison?” The red-head swung his gaze from him over to Harrison.
“Let him through, Ryder.”
Ryder gave the guy a flat stare and stepped back. Toby puffed up and strode on past.
“What’s going on?” Toby asked Harrison.
“None of your business,” Sheila said haughtily to Toby.
“Harrison?”
“It’s nothing.”
“You after his money again?” Toby sneered at the stepmother.
“You stay out of this, you leech,” Sheila whispered harshly at Toby.
Ryder’s gaze slanted back to Harrison, and by the look on his face, this type of scene wasn’t a new one. He zeroed back in on Toby, the biggest potential threa
t in the room.
“Leech? That’s rich coming from a gold digger,” Toby said with a face that had turned almost as red as his hair.
Sheila advanced on Toby, presumably to slap the guy.
“Stop it!” Harrison’s voice rose, and Sheila stopped and visibly collected herself. Toby’s mouth dropped open and snapped shut.
What the fuck? How many times a day did this shit happen?
“Ryder?”
“Yes?” Ryder rasped, unable to stop the sudden urge to shield the man.
“Can you please show Sheila and Toby out?” Harrison answered, sounding relieved.
“Of course.” He turned and gripped the door and gave the pair a ruthless stare.
Sheila huffed and marched past him and disappeared down the hallway, but the friend didn’t move.
“Harrison, I thought we were getting breakfast,” Toby said and placed a hand on Harrison’s arm.
Ryder tensed but held back. Just because the asshat rubbed him the wrong way didn’t make Toby a threat to Harrison.
“Not this morning. I’m sorry, Toby. Maybe tomorrow.” Harrison sighed, smiled at Toby, and then turned back to his laptop.
“Yeah, okay.” Toby frowned at Harrison’s bent head and then stalked out the door.
Ryder carefully closed the door and made his way over to the small, comfortable chairs he’d first seen Harrison in. He dropped down to sit. Feeling eyes upon him, he glanced up, but Harrison looked away.
They spent the rest of the day pretty much in silence. Harrison ordered lunch in so they weren’t on the streets. That was a plus.
Around five o’clock, Harrison packed up his briefcase.
That surprised Ryder. He’d expected the man to work until ten again.
It was a quiet ride in the elevator. Ryder silently categorized all the people he’d observed coming and going in the young man’s life. With friends, family, and people like the step mother and friend, it was a wonder Harrison had any patience left.
He studied the quiet man beside him. Even if the guy was rich and spoiled, the sad droop of Harrison’s pretty mouth made Ryder’s hands tighten.
The elevator doors pinged and they stepped out into the front lobby.
The janitor waved at them and Harrison waved back.
They reached the door and Harrison made a move to go out first.
“Look,” he gripped the man’s arm hard, “I go through every door first.”
Harrison made a noisy sigh, but nodded. Tugging on the ridiculous hat, the man waited with a pointed look.
Ryder gnashed his teeth and surveyed their surroundings. Once satisfied, he guided Harrison down the sidewalk. Reaching his jeep a few cars away, he tucked Harrison inside.
With a casual glance back toward the building, he found the friend, Toby, and the janitor, John, on the steps looking their way. He’s seen the janitor, but he hadn’t seen Clark. Had the guy been watching for them?
Snapping the door shut, he lifted a hand and waved, letting them both know he’d seen them. Toby turned away and John lifted a slow hand to wave back. Striding around the jeep, he slid behind the wheel.
“Does that happen a lot?” he murmured to a very quiet Harrison.
“What?”
“The episode this morning.”
Blue eyes glanced up at him with confusion, as if the man had been deep in thought. “Oh! The embarrassing scene with my stepmother and Toby arguing in my office?” Harrison’s laugh sounded harsh. “Yes, try every other week.”
“Money does bring out the worst in people,” Ryder said gruffly.
Harrison’s shoulders drooped. “Tell me about it.”
“Why not let the money hungry widow have it then?” He started the jeep, but sat there while it idled.
“I couldn’t if I wanted to. If I don’t inherit, it’s forfeited and the company is sold off to the public.”
“What?” Okay, he couldn’t stop the bit of surprise in his voice. That must have been in the unread details.
Harrison sighed. “My father’s wish was for me to control Trudel Industries as a married man or not control it at all.”
“That’s…” he wanted to say shitty, controlling, overbearing, and definitely down right strange to have a father governing his marriage from the grave, but he didn’t as it wasn’t his place.
“Crazy, I know.” Harrison fiddled with the air conditioning vent. “Money causes nothing but problems.”
Ryder almost snorted. Harrison sounded just like his ex, always bitching about money problems while possessing a wealth that made most people’s mind boggle.
Big, sad blue eyes gazed at him. Refusing to respond to the small heart tug, Ryder suddenly regretted starting the damned conversation.
What the hell was the guy trying to do, gain his sympathy?
Poor little rich boy. Yeah right, give me a break.
He checked the surrounding area before he pulled away from the curb. He had no doubt Harrison would be singing a very different tune if the guy suddenly found himself penniless.
Harrison
Early the next morning, he stood clutching the incident report and hospital papers from the other day, his head pounding from the noisy police station.
“Why can’t I do this later, like tomorrow?” he complained for the tenth time. Not that it did a damned bit of good, as Ryder just ignored him. So, he was a bit surprised when the bodyguard finally answered.
“Because they’ve assigned detectives to your case this morning.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s my job to know.”
Harrison made an annoyed sound in his throat.
“You need to speak with the detectives and I want to go over the evidence. I can’t protect you adequately if I don’t know what I’m up against,” Ryder responded.
Okay, that makes sense. Several minutes went by where he stood toying with the white bandage on his hand.
The hot and heavy breathing on his neck was so sudden, he whirled around with a gasp. His hat toppled to the floor. Nobody was there, the space was empty, but that didn’t stop him from gazing wildly around.
“Okay?” Ryder picked up his hat and closed a hand at his elbow.
“Yeah,” he croaked. It had been happening to him over the past few days. “Just keep feeling like somebody’s behind me.”
“That’ll take time to go away. I’ve got your back,” the big man said, his grip and words reassuring, but still, Harrison tugged away. He took his hat back and turned to face the front desk, his growing awareness of the man only added to his anxiety.
The busy station did nothing to calm him down. Just about ready to demand they leave, he heard his name called.
“Mr. Trudel?” A woman’s voice drew him from his panic.
“Yes?” He gulped as a young dark-haired woman walked around the entryway desk with her hand outstretched. Her hair was in a smooth, tight ponytail, and she wore a smart looking suit with low heels. Her smile looked a bit tired.
He shook the woman’s hand.
“Thanks for coming down. I’m Detective Sue Williamson, and this is Detective Don Carson.” The woman gestured to a man behind her.
“Hi Mr. Carson.” Harrison smiled with relief at the familiar face of the older man.
“Harrison! How are you holding up, son?” Carson’s mustache twitched as he quickly tucked in the tails of his wrinkled shirt and reached for his hand.
“I’m doing well.” He returned the firm handshake.
“You know each other?” Williamson asked.
“Carson investigated the yacht explosion that killed my father eighteen months ago.”
“What was the cause?” Williamson asked Carson curiously.
“Turned out to be a faulty gas leak on a new stove,” the detective replied, shaking his head.
As wealthy as his father had been, Henry Trudel had insisted on doing most of the work on the yacht himself instead of hiring a professional.
“This is Ryder Freeman,
my bodyguard,” he introduced the quiet man at his side.
“Do you mind if Mr. Freeman accompanies us into the interview? The questions may be intimate,” Carson asked.
Harrison chewed his lip and shook his head. “No, that’s okay. He needs to know in order to protect me.”
Carson reached out and shook Ryder’s hand and then clamped Harrison on the shoulder before leading the way into an office at the end of the hallway. The door shut out the noisy bullpen, and Harrison took a seat along with everyone at the table. He ran his fingers through his hair to fluff the flattened strands, but the gel he’d used that morning just made them stiff. Giving up, he folded his hands on the table.
The letter he’d received, along with the dead flowers, were in protective coverings and sitting on the table. There looked to be samples of the red substance on his windshield, and the glass bottle he’d kicked and broken was in a plastic container marked evidence. The words “you’ll pay” written on his windshield had been captured by a five by eight photo.
He turned his eyes away from the evidence. All of it gathered together was more than a bit alarming.
“I’m part of the crime unit assigned to investigate your stalking threats, and Carson has asked to help if that’s okay with you,” Williamson said.
“Thank you,” he told Carson, who gave him a kind smile. “Stalking?” Harrison rubbed at his arms and shifted in his chair.
“Any type of continuous threat such as the notes, dead flowers, appearance of blood on the car, and the following attack is considered stalking,” Williamson said quietly. “As you probably realize, this type of suspect’s behavior can often have dangerous consequences.”
He stared at her mutely. What was he supposed to say to that?
“We understand that your security system and cameras are being upgraded, so there’s no surveillance video from the parking garage.” Williamson said.
“That’s correct. Everything is offline for two weeks at least.”
“I spoke with your head of security, a Brian Sanders, he confirmed that the parking garage bulbs in the ceiling from the elevator to your car had been unscrewed.”
He stared at her. Carson grunted and wrote in his notebook.
“What is the red stuff?” he finally asked, gazing again at the evidence that was gathered from his car.
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