Bulletproof Princess

by Craig, Alexis D.

  “Good,” Grambling nodded, oblivious to the dark turn of his musings, “then you can understand how important it is that you take care of this.”

  The last part of his sentence brought Mack back to the present. “I’m sorry? Take care of what, precisely?”

  His bossed hummed in impatience and damn near stomped his foot. “I need you to put her in your car and meet Gonsalvez at the airport. I took the private jet in, and you’re gonna take it back to Phoenix and put her in a safe house. It’s all arranged.” Edict issued, he turned on his heel to head back to rejoin the group on the benches.

  Mack’s thoughts whirled in every direction as his mind quickly did the math on Grambling’s pronouncement. Whatever was going on had to be huge for him to have just hopped on the jet and brought his partner, Angela Gonsalvez, with him. There was no way he was going into this blindly. He took a step forward and grabbed the other man’s wrist and yanked him back. The look of utter shock on his face was priceless. “We’re not finished.”

  His boss’s lip curled in disdain as Mack dropped his wrist. “Are you confused, Jefferson? I gave you an order.” He rubbed his wrist where it had been gripped like he was nursing a bruise.

  Stalking over until he was bare inches from him, Mack towered over the shorter man, bringing to bear all the menace he could without courting insubordination paperwork. “I heard you,” he whispered. “But I don’t think you understand the ramifications of this situation.”

  Clearly, no one had ever spoken to Grambling like that before, if his startled blink was anything to go by. He rallied, though, bringing the mantle of his authority around him like a cloak. “What’s there to understand? You pick her up, you take her to a safe house, and you do what you’re told.”

  Though he fought like a champ, Mack lost the fight against the snicker he had at hearing the attempt at forcefulness in his boss’s voice. “Not when what I’m told makes no fucking sense.” He waited for signs his barb hit the mark before continuing with the line of logic that escaped his boss. “She is on every radio, every television, and every magazine stand in the country, hell, the world! Her music is loved by millions, regardless of their questionable judgment. She is a multi-platinum recording artist and a multi-billion dollar enterprise. How do you plan to put a woman whose face is better known than POTUS into WITSEC? Where are you gonna hide her? On the moon? Because I don’t think the Martian colony is quite ready yet.”

  Austin Grambling was many things, but a capable leader and an astute planner were not part of his resume. Mack could tell he hadn’t gotten that far in the logistical math. Finally, his boss merely snarled and turned on his heel to return to the group. A single evil eye over his shoulder was the only indication that Mack should follow.

  Mack grudgingly joined the collection of people, two detectives—the requisite old priest and young priest, a bruiser of a guy who was probably either their driver or personal bodyguard, and two young women, one of whom he’d know in his sleep due to the Maxim issue in his bedroom. He was the first to admit she was pretty, like an antique vase: beautiful to look at, but nothing inside so far as he could tell. Her friend who hovered over her was equally pretty in a shorter, curvier way.

  Watching her interact with everyone was like viewing pictures of a heliocentric galaxy. Everyone seemed to orbit around her center and be pulled to her by gravity to a degree. Surrounded by her minions, her people, it seemed to him she should have been shielded from whatever tragedy she may have come across. Instead, the real world, his world, had reached out to take a swipe at her, and it was his job to pick up the pieces.

  “Miss Whitfield,” Grambling started in his most cajoling tone. Mack wondered if he should be handing out insulin syringes.

  “Chief Grambling.” Her tone suggested she liked his boss as much as Mack did.

  “This is Inspector Jefferson, and he will be taking you someplace safe.”

  For a job that was predicated on secrecy, Deputy Chief Inspector Grambling apparently had no problem outing him. He stepped forward into the fray to offer his hand to his new charge. “You can call me Mack. It’s nice to meet you.”

  It has hard to tell under the flickering fluorescents of the precinct hallway, but he could have sworn she was blushing when she shook his hand. “Cassie, likewise.”

  Her saucy little friend in the rolled up jeans that glittered like a disco ball had no compunctions and a suggestively flirty smile. “Trista Mayfield, Cassie’s assistant. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Mack nodded and stepped back, more comfortable in the shadows than center stage for this part of his job. He quietly introduced himself to the detectives and the driver, because regardless of how he’d been raised, ‘the help’ were real people to him.

  Grambling clapped his hands, drawing all eyes to him. “Okay, now that we’ve got that unpleasantness out of the way, Miss Whitfield, do you have bags with you or do we need to send someone to get your things?”

  The petite blonde straightened away from the guitar she’d been clutching like a lifeline. “My things? I’m sorry? I thought I was just going back to my room.”

  The unpleasantness coughed to cover his chuckle. His boss was horrible at this; maybe he’d be better working in a federal court. “Yes, what Chief Grambling meant to say was I’ll be taking you to the airport, and my partner and I will be taking you someplace safe. I’m sorry that wasn’t more clearly conveyed.” It took some doing, but he deliberately avoided acknowledging his boss’s death glare.

  Physically inserting herself in front of Cassie, Trista had gone from flirty party girl to barracuda with a kinked tail. “And just where will you be taking us?”

  Regardless of how much Mack appreciated her friend’s display of protectiveness, he knew he was going to have to be the bad guy here. Maybe that had been Grambling’s plan all along, to make him do all the asshole heavy lifting. “I wasn’t speaking in the plural, Miss Mayfield.”

  Rushing to fill in where he’d clearly been caught lacking, Grambling supplied, “And I regret any confusion on that part. She witnessed a crime, and given the circumstances surrounding the crime, the people surrounding the crime—”

  It was exhausting watching his boss tap-dance around the details of a crime he’d yet to hear in full, but the longer they stayed at the police station, the more likely the perceived danger would come to fruition. Tired of his boss’s encroachment on his personal time and his subsequent ham-fisted handling of the incident, he cut right to the bottom line. “He’s saying, Miss Witt,” he used her stage name deliberately since she seemed to prefer it, “witnessed a crime and is probably in danger.” Mack let that sink in to the crowd as he looked Cassie up and down. “Now, do we need to go get your bags, or can we leave?”

  Trista shook her head even as he spoke. “Cassie can’t just leave her life. Her CD drops in two weeks, there’s promos and concerts and tours to plan, and all of that is light years away from the fact that she still has to grieve the man who brought her this far. Cassie Witt does not have a life she can just arbitrarily put on hold indefinitely. That’s not how this works.”

  Bless her pragmatic heart, Mack fought against nodding as the young woman listed every reason why this was a horrible idea. She wasn’t wrong, but the one lobbying hardest was the one with the stony mask of implacable idiocy, also known as Chief Grambling. However, the final decision fell, as it should, to the one whose life would be most inconvenienced. “Cassie, what do you want to do?”

  * * *

  In her normal life, having fifty thousand things to do at once and only three hours to get them done was de rigeur. Trista kept her running on schedule, and Clint made sure that schedule was full to the brim. Her father had done the same thing, but the one thing that differentiated Clint from her old man was the question: what did she want to do? Everything in her life after her father was her choice, and she liked it that way. Cassie wasn’t Type A; she was more like Type B+. A- on a bad day.

  The fact that this Ma
rshal, whom she didn’t know from Adam, asked her that said a lot about him. His boss, Chief Ferret-face as she called him in her mind, wanted to use her to bolster his career. She had a sixth sense for users after her dad—and her ex, she thought absently—so she was wary of putting her faith and trust in him.

  Inspector Jefferson, however, was another matter entirely. Mack had stomped into the station, and she could see the irritation radiating off him in his walk, the way he carried himself. He’d been none too happy to come to his boss’s aid, but he’d come nonetheless, which spoke of loyalty. To the job if not the man. He didn’t talk a lot, preferring to be watchful and act when necessary. And now his light eyes watched her for her answer, but never pressed. It was refreshing.

  Trista shifted by her side, waiting for her answer, as well. She was her best friend, and never had anything but Cassie’s best interests at heart as far as the business was concerned. Cassie knew what was at stake, but at the same time, she also knew if the guy she saw hurt Clint got to her, there’d be no more Cassandra Whitfield, much less Cassie Witt. “What do you think, T?”

  Trista eyed the Marshals before taking Cassie by the wrist and leading her a short distance away. After a quick glance over her shoulder, she asked in hushed tones, “Cass, what do you wanna do? This is all up to you. I know we have a lot of stuff coming up, and your new single comes out tomorrow, but none of that matters compared to your safety. I say this as your best friend, not your employee. If you need to go with them, go with them. I will figure something out. Don’t stay just for me.”

  Her friend’s selflessness was incredible, and exactly what she needed to hear to steady her. “I don’t know how long this is going to take.”

  Trista’s silver eyes widened in alarm. “You’re not going away forever, are you?”

  They were both talking like her leaving with the Marshals was a foregone conclusion. “I wouldn’t think so, but I don’t know how this kind of thing works.” In all honesty, the idea of being in limbo terrified her almost more than the guy who may be after her, but she didn’t want to voice that fear to her friend.

  Trista looked over her shoulder at the men and then down at their joined hands. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll buy us some time and tell the world you’re taking some time off to mourn your manager who you were very close to. That’s not a lie, and hopefully this will all be over before I have to think up a new story. Work for you?”

  Cassie smiled at her best friend and hugged her tightly. “Tell me we’re gonna be okay.”

  “We’re gonna be okay,” Trista responded without hesitation. Plan in place, they rejoined the men who were milling around the hall, with Mack and Tim the driver discussing the Maybach avidly.

  Mack seemed to sense their return, and Cassie could feel the second his eyes were on her. “What’s the word, ladies?” His light tone belied the seriousness of the situation. She liked that he didn’t seem entirely dependent on her acquiescence or willing to twist her arm to make her go.

  “My stuff’s up in the penthouse suite at the Bellagio. I figure if I go up and get my stuff, I can be back in ten minutes, tops?” She figured being low maintenance would work in her favor since she had no problem lugging her own stuff around, and did so frequently before she was in the limelight.

  He glanced back at his boss who looked like he could finally exhale, and who nodded stiffly. When he turned back around, he walked over to stand beside her. “We’ll be back in ten minutes.” He offered her his arm as they walked down the hallway of the precinct, looking for a media-free side door. “Wheels up in thirty!” Grambling called after them.

  “Whatever,” they muttered at the same time, then looked at each other and grinned.

  Chapter 3

  Cassie was a lot less work than Mack had anticipated. Low maintenance, funny, self-effacing, even in the face of fabulous wealth. It would take longer to fly the forty-five minutes between Las Vegas and Phoenix than it did for her to gather her belongings and leave the hotel. She’d even been amenable to him taking her cell phone for the time being. Color him impressed.

  They met up with his partner Ange at the airport. Angela Gonsalvez was almost as tall as him, with long curly black hair and blonde streaks. She looked like a model, and moved with a grace that distracted from the fact that she was a trained killer, late of the Fugitive Task Force. The gun on her hip was a department issued .45, one of few, and the one in her fashionably high-heeled boot was the same caliber. A transfer from the Chicago office, Mack always suspected she had eyes in the back of her head in addition to her marksmanship skills. He’d given thought to sleeping with her, but was not ashamed to admit he was terrified of what she’d do to him after the inevitable break-up. When they boarded the flight, the only reaction from her was to look up from her magazine with a raised eyebrow and nothing else.

  “So where are we headed?” Cassie took her tablet out of her purse and extracted some headphones after some brief introductions. The seats on the Gulfstream were luxurious, and while Ange was stretched out on the couch with her Guns & Ammo, she made herself comfortable in the giant leather seat that faced him across the table.

  “Back home,” he replied obliquely. It was almost not worth the cost in fuel to fly between the two cities, but it was better than a five hour road trip with Ange and her music trivia. Though they’d only been partners for the better part of a year since his former partner transferred out to D.C. with his family, he knew road trips with Angela were things to be avoided if possible.

  “And where is ‘home’ exactly?” She didn’t look at him as she asked, fiddling with her seatbelt.

  “Phoenix, with further to be determined,” Ange responded without looking up from her reading. Heart of a saint, that one.

  Cassie frowned at his partner and stared out the window as they left the ground. When they leveled out, he could feel her glass-green eyes watching him. “So am I officially in Witness Protection?” She seemed calm enough, resigned to whatever had to be done, wherever that happened to be, but he could detect her nervousness as she tried to hide the way she wrung her hands in her lap.

  “I think that’s one of the things that needs to be determined. There are special circumstances, obviously.” The corner of his mouth kicked up in a half grin. He despised lying, but suddenly seemed to be skating by on partial truths quite ably. Something else he had to thank Grambling for.

  Cassie seemed to shrink back into her seat at his answer, putting her earphones in and watching the blackness out the window. Just as well, really, because it gave him time to study her. When Grambling said he’d be protecting Cassie Witt, he expected the full Pop Princess package complete with purse-size dog, armada-size entourage, and a child-size IQ. So far he could speak to the lack of veracity of the first two enough to believe he may have been misled about the third as well. Maybe it was his jaundiced view, but surprises were rarely as pleasant as this.

  And she certainly was not hard on the eyes. He’d seen a lot of beautiful women, both on the job and off, but something about her intrigued him. Not enough to pursue it, obviously, her being his Witness and all, capital ‘W’, but he was honest enough to admit to intrigue. Maybe even a bit of fascination, nothing beyond that.

  “What’d you see?” he asked, breaking the silence before they started their descent into Sky Harbor, halfway between Phoenix and Tempe. By now, in a normal situation, he would have been briefed and up to speed on her and her needs, but the fast-forward pace of this whole thing made him curious. He felt Ange’s steady gaze over the top of her magazine, but she didn’t speak.

  Cassie’s eyes fell from the window to her hands as she shifted in her seat. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” she replied softly. Her eyes strayed for a moment to the lattices of lights out the window that stretched across the desert floor. “I can’t talk about it right now.”

  Mack had never seen a person more in need of a hug. Cassie looked so lost and alone in that moment, and it tugged on heartstrings he tho
ught he’d cauterized a long time ago. Anything he had to say was covered by the jolt of them touching down on the tarmac and the rev of the engine as they slowed on their approach to the hangar.

  Ange hopped up from the couch and smoothed her hair before stuffing her magazine in her giant leather purse. “So, did The Great One tell you which safe house we’re going to?”

  Mack curled his lip. “No. He pulled me out of a dinner engagement.”

  His partner raised her eyebrows suggestively. “Oh, anyone I know?”

  He narrowed his eyes and cast a quick glance at Cassie, who seemed to be lost in her own world. “Actually, yeah. Bex and Eli Miller from the Vegas office. I was detailed there while they remodeled here.”

  She looked like she didn’t really believe him, but nodded to be polite. “I see.” Flipping her hair over her shoulder like a shampoo ad, she turned to Cassie. “Come on, chica. We got places to be and I am freakin’ starving.”

  Cassie shook herself and rose from her seat with all the grace of a movie star. “Okay.” Her continued silence was worrisome, but not so much that it couldn’t be addressed tomorrow when her status was made official and the rest of the circumstances surrounding her entry to the program were sorted out.

  They all piled into Ange’s immaculately kept Jeep she affectionately called Ruby. Mack would have preferred his Ram, but that was just a personal bias toward continued breathing, since she drove like she was still in Chicago and possibly being chased by demons. Cassie didn’t speak until they arrived at the safe house, a bungalow on the northern edge of Old Town Scottsdale.

  Near enough to shopping and yet anonymous enough to not draw attention, in theory. The corner lot had gravel instead of grass, and was landscaped with ample desert flora. It was a cute little stucco house in a cute little neighborhood. And the inside was armed to the teeth. All potential entry points were alarmed and wired up to cameras. The yard, the street, the backyard, everything about the place was evaluated for tactical position, and there were all kinds of caches inside to help keep out any unfriendlies. In theory, it was the perfect place to keep a person for a short period of time.