by William Oday
Everything had its place and was addressed in sequence. The sequence was meditative in a way. It also ensured that nothing was forgotten.
In his experience, the thing you forgot was always the single thing you ended up needing most.
He glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. Half past six. After the call from Miro, he’d fixed a quick dinner for Theresa and Holly, and then rushed through a shower and a shave.
He surveyed the array, satisfied that everything occupied its proper place. He picked up the 9mm Glock 19 and checked the chamber. Empty as expected. He slammed a fifteen round magazine in and racked the slide. He inched the slide back to verify a round was chambered. It was. Next, he slipped it into the Tuk holster and then slipped that inside the waistband of his suit pants.
Downtown Los Angeles wasn’t a war zone last he checked. You didn’t walk around brandishing weapons. That invited more trouble than it solved.
Next, he clipped an extra magazine to his belt. Then came the 9mm Glock 26. He slipped the subcompact pistol into an ankle holster on his right leg. Next came the Bonowi 26” collapsible baton attached to his hip. In less than a second, he could have it off his hip and snapped into business mode. A big stick was often all the encouragement a situation required.
And a big stick didn’t make local law enforcement jumpy like wielding a firearm did. The last thing Mason wanted was another altercation involving deadly force.
Next came the Cold Steel Recon one-handed tactical knife. After clipping it to his belt, he attached four pairs of disposable handcuffs at the small of his back. Close protection officers used them because while you might want to collar a bad guy, you didn’t usually want to wait around for the boys in blue to return your cuffs.
His brain clicked off the list as he continued the ritual and ended with slipping on the suit jacket. He straightened the black tie over the sky blue shirt. He inspected himself in the mirror. His belly grumbled, confirming it didn’t care what he looked like, only that it had skipped dinner.
“You two about ready to go?” he said loud enough to echo down the hall to Theresa’s room.
“Just about,” her reply echoed back.
They were leaving when he did to spend the night at Holly’s. He would’ve turned Miro down if it hadn’t been an option. There was no he was going to leave his daughter home alone with Cesar and his thugs on the loose.
Especially not after spotting the suspicious Impala rolling down the street.
He made a mental note to call Beth once he got on the road. He didn’t want her home without him either. Not until he could figure out how to deal with the situation.
Mason gave himself a final look in the mirror and nodded. His stomach grumbled. He’d grab a couple of Clif bars on the way out.
“Hey Dad, Mom’s on the phone,” Theresa said as she pranced into the room and handed him her phone.
“Mason?”
“Hey, honey,” he said as he immediately sensed the turmoil in her voice. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Jane. There’s been an accident and she’s in critical condition. Sorry I haven’t called sooner. We’ve got her stabilized, but it’s touch and go.”
“What happened?”
“I can’t talk about it right now. I’m just calling to let you know I’ll be home late tonight.”
“I actually needed to talk to you about that. Make sure and call me before you head home. I want to be here before you arrive.”
“Why?”
“I’ll explain later. Just do it, okay?”
“Sure,” she replied. “Oh yeah, I have to call Mom and Dad about this weekend.”
“No need. I already did. Your dad laughed about LA being wrapped up tighter than a Christmas present.”
“What?”
“Have you seen the news today? Things are crazy.”
“No. I’ve been busy.”
“I’m sure you have. Well, do what you need to do. Theresa is spending the night at Holly’s house, and I’ll be back before too late. ”
“Thanks, honey. I’ll call when I know more.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Theresa rolled her eyes as Mason returned the phone. She dropped it into her pocket and cast a discerning gaze at his tie. She dug her fingers into the knot, making adjustments only she and her mother could see. She finished the improvements with practiced ease and smiled.
“There. What did Mom say?”
Mason’s stomach clenched. Theresa loved Jane like a family member. She’d be devastated if something happened to her. He wasn’t going to say anything until he knew something more definitive. It was a cop out. But it was his daughter’s heart, and he’d bend a few rules to protect it.
“Mom just said she’s staying late tonight. I’m sorry our weekend plans didn’t work out.”
“It’s okay. I’m getting used to disappointment. Maybe next weekend.”
She was taking it pretty well. Better than expected.
Holly popped through the open door.
“You two are going to behave tonight, right?” Mason said.
Holly waved him off. “Of course, my parents are looking forward to having over their favorite step-daughter.”
Mason’s mouth twisted into a smile. “A pair of princesses, huh?”
“You’re looking like royalty yourself, Mr. West,” she said. “Have big plans tonight with the Mrs.?”
“If only. I’m working tonight.”
“Do you have your acceptance speech ready?”
“What?”
“For the Oscars. You look dressed up fine enough to be attending a Hollywood glam fest.”
Theresa pushed her shoulder.
“What?”
If Mason didn’t know better, he’d think his daughter’s best friend was flirting. What would Beth do if she heard the interchange? Would she think it was nothing, or ban Holly from their house forever?
“You two have specific plans for the evening?”
“You know, Dad, we’re going to get smashed and go stroll Sunset Boulevard looking for trouble.”
“Very funny. Ground rules—“
“Kidding! We’re going to veg out to a movie and that’s about it. Holly’s insisting we watch Life Before Death. To honor the wounded. Did you hear what happened at Whole Foods today?”
“Yeah, I heard about it.”
Another lie to spare her heart.
“The ground rules are simple. No leaving Holly’s house. No doing anything that would make her parents want to call me to complain. And don’t blame it on Holly.”
He leveled a look at Holly. “Besides, I know Holly wouldn’t do anything wrong.”
Holly smiled so sweetly you’d think angels sprouted from her eyes. “Don’t worry about us, Mr. West. I’ll make sure the troublemaker here toes the line.”
“Great. I should be finished in a few hours and will be available by phone if you need anything.”
Theresa cast him a doubtful look. “You sure it’s gonna be that quick? You’re heading into prime time rush hour traffic.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Life on the west side of Los Angeles was enjoyable, so long as you steered clear of any freeway travel. Once life forced you onto the clogged veins and arteries of the city’s circulatory system, slow and endless torture was guaranteed.
Mason checked his tie in the mirror. His knots really were inferior to both Beth’s and Theresa’s. He caught Holly’s gaze in the mirror.
“Mr. West, did you know you were a real life James Bond?”
“Holly, did you know you were a real life Eddie Haskell?”
His joke met a blank stare.
“Who’s that?”
“Never mind.”
He turned back to them.
“Girls, stay at Holly’s, and stay out of trouble.”
Theresa traced her finger in a circle above her head. “You know me.”
He did know her. The lifting light
of his life. Her heart was generous in ways Mason couldn’t fathom. She got it from her mother. She was a good kid. No, a great kid.
Max trotted in with a slobbery tendril jiggling from his lips. He lay down on the floor in the middle of them with his giraffe stuffie clamped in his mouth.
Mason didn’t want to see what would likely happen next. “Time to move out,” he said. “Are you two ready to go?”
“We’re waiting on you,” Theresa replied.
The trio gathered their belongings and headed out the front door.
“I’ll drop you off.” he said as he corralled Max inside and locked the door.
“Dad, it’s just a couple of blocks over. I’m fifteen years old.”
He didn’t need the reminder. He considered forcing the issue, but decided against it. They’d be there in minutes. “Fine. Straight there. No delays or detours.”
Holly grabbed Theresa’s hand. “I’ll keep her on the straight and narrow, Mr. West.”
Mason kissed Theresa’s forehead. “Love you. Be safe.”
Theresa rolled her eyes like he was being melodramatic.
Maybe he was.
Holly waved and dragged her away. “Looking good, Mr. West. See you later.”
Mason watched them as they strolled arm in arm down the street. The two were almost sisters. And like sisters, they excelled at getting each other into trouble.
28
As predicted, traffic was a snarled mess all the way over. The road closures to the north and east turned the freeways into constricted arteries where the blood didn’t flow fast enough to keep the greater organism going. Mason had taken as many side streets as possible to avoid having an aneurism.
There were few things in life more frustrating than navigating rush hour traffic in a city that was densely populated, enormous, and also in love with the automobile. Public transportation never caught on like it did in New York, San Francisco, and other more reasonable cities.
Mason stood at the hotel room door and pounded on it for the fifth time. He closed his eyes in frustration. “Hello! Is anyone in there?”
He’d been standing at the door for the past few minutes working to calm his heart rate as it inevitably spiked higher. His muscles ached to kick the door down. He knew someone was in there, presumably Iridia, because he heard the shower running.
He was determined to deliver Iridia as quickly as possible because it would get him back home faster and because it would mean minimal time with a supermodel client. He lifted his hand to bang on the door again when the lock clicked from the inside.
A muffled voice drifted out. “In the shower. Come in, come in.”
Her accent put her in Eastern Europe. Ukraine maybe.
Mason pushed the door open and stuttered mid-stride as a tall, leggy woman glided across plush cream carpet. It wasn’t her height that surprised him.
It was her total lack of clothing.
A coiled-up towel perched on top of her head. That was the only stitch of cloth to be found. Her firm backside swayed as she walked back down an entry hall that opened into a large living area.
“Put it on the table,” she said with a lazy wave of her hand.
Mason followed her in, doing his best to keep his eyes glued anywhere but her shapely rear. “Excuse me?”
She looked back over her shoulder and a crinkle formed in her perfectly plucked brows.
“Where’s the champagne?”
“What?”
“I ordered champagne. Did you forget it?”
She thought he was room service. She was clueless. He should leave now. Before this got truly horrible.
“My name is Mr. West. I’m here to take you to the Santa Monica airport. A chartered jet awaits you there.”
“Oh, you’re the chauffeur.”
His teeth ground together. “No, I’m Mr. West, your close protection officer, ma’am.”
She turned and approached him. Also completely naked on the front side.
It took every ounce of willpower to keep his eyes from dropping.
She stopped in front of him, her gaze inviting his to move lower.
There was no way that was going to happen. The first moments with a client established so much about the working relationship. He wasn’t going to go there.
Besides, his peripheral vision provided more than enough detail.
“A bodyguard? My father is so paranoid. I mean really.” She touched his tie as her chin dipped and head tilted seductively to the side. “But you are handsome.”
She ran the tips of her fingers over her small, firm breasts and down her slim torso, resting them on her hips with practiced ease. Her pale skin gleamed with moisture.
Mason steeled his focus, staring into her eyes and nothing else. Long, dark lashes blinked over crystal green eyes. Like splashes of the ocean caught in the mid-day sun. It wasn’t difficult to understand why she’d made it big in modeling.
He reflected on the situation. Beth would be angry. Not because he’d ever do anything. Just because she wouldn’t like another woman flashing her goods at him. Miro’d be upset too. Because he’d missed out.
“You’re too handsome to be a bodyguard.”
“Would you mind putting some clothes on? As far as I’m aware, TSA regulations haven’t gone so far as to require nudity before boarding a plane.”
She bit her lip and batted her lashes.
“Would you like to strip search me?” She pulled the towel on her head free and sandy-blonde hair cascaded down creamy shoulders. She rolled the towel and twined it around her wrists. His handcuffs would have worked better, but he wasn’t about to suggest it.
If only Miro could see this. His head would explode.
She licked her lips. “I’m a bad girl.”
Of that, he had no doubt.
He pointed to the silver band on the ring finger of his left hand. “I’m here to see that you get to the airport in a safe and timely fashion, ma’am. I’d appreciate it if we could focus on that.”
She dropped the towel and retreated into the living room. She picked up an open champagne bottle and emptied the dregs into a tall crystal flute. With a single gulp, she finished it.
The faster this was over, the better.
“Are you packed, ma’am?”
“Packed?”
“For the airport.”
“Oh no, we can’t go to the airport.”
Of course. What else did he expect her to say?
“That’s why I’m here, ma’am.”
“Yes, well, that’s Daddy’s plan. It’s not my plan.”
Mason ground his teeth.
Never actor and never models, much less supermodels. He lived by that rule and business had been far smoother for it.
“What’s your plan, ma’am?”
“Stop calling me ‘Ma’am’. Makes me feel like a dried up mummy. Do I look like a mummy?”
“No, you look nothing like a mummy.”
“Then call me Iridia.”
“Okay, Iridia.”
“What should I call you? Mr. West is so stuffy.”
“Mr. West is fine.”
“Do you really want to make this difficult? I can be very difficult if I want to be.”
That was the last thing he wanted. But it wasn’t looking like he’d get his wish.
“Mason.”
“Was that so hard, Mason?”
“Great. Now, Iridia, what’s your plan?”
“To be famous, of course. Isn’t that what everyone wants?”
Mason groaned. He hoped it was mostly on the inside. “I wish you the best, but I’m not sure how that affects you boarding a flight this evening.”
“It has everything to do with it! I have a meeting with Bryce Eaton this evening.”
She said the name like that explained everything. Any vague interest his primitive male brain had in her female form sunk beneath a thick layer of extreme irritation.
He held her gaze with no problem. He hoped she sensed his fr
ustration.
“He’s a director. You’ll love him. He’s the talk of the town. Had a movie last summer gross a billion worldwide. He’s big time. One word and he can make your career.”
She clearly sensed nothing. In his experience, the bigger the big time, the bigger the idiot. Iridia herself was adding evidence to that theory.
“I’m sure he’s a charming individual, but I have one job and one job only.”
“To do what I say.”
No. That’s what all the famous people thought. It was part of what made working with them such a nightmare.
A close protection officer wasn’t a slave. The reverse was the case. His job was to stay out of the way and only make requests that mattered. Ones that impacted the safety of the protectee.
“Wrong. My job is to keep a mob from ripping your limbs from your torso.”
Her mouth dropped at the thought of her million-dollar-body ending up in a million pieces. “I didn’t fly out here from New York to miss this meeting. You’ll have to tie me up and drag me out kicking and screaming!”
She seductively bit her lower lip and offered her intertwined wrists.
“I’m not going to do that, Iridia.”
“Your loss,” she said with a shrug. Her breasts heaved with the movement.
Couldn’t she just get some clothes on already?
His submerged male curiosity threatened to bubble up to the surface. She was physically gorgeous. Even if he was married and she was an idiot.
Mason decided to surrender a tactical victory to gain the larger strategic victory of getting her clothed and in the general direction of going somewhere.
“Okay. Where and when are you meeting this director?”
She laughed like the world waited on her every word. “We were supposed to meet over an hour ago.”
“Wonderful. Where?”
“Mason, you’re going to love it! I swear! There’s not another spot like it in the city. Give me a minute to slip into something.”
He wanted to press for more information, but absolutely wasn’t going to derail some measure of forward progress. He followed her through the living room as she headed toward a bathroom that looked like a grenade had gone off in it.
She pulled up to the mirror and admired herself. Still naked and in plain view of where he stood. She applied dark mascara above her eyes with the precision of a heart surgeon. “Be a doll and pack my bags for me. Makeup takes forever and I don’t want to miss my flight. My bags are in the closet in the front bedroom.”