Rich: Benson Security 5

by Janet Elizabeth Henderson

  “They won’t.” He had to believe that as long as the blackmailer was communicating with them, they’d leave some clue as to who they were dealing with. Everybody slipped up at some point. It was just a matter of patience.

  For years, his friends had joked about his endless patience. Between Rachel and these investigations, they were about to find out just how much he had to go around.

  “Harry called me at the crack of dawn, so I stopped off at the shop on my way to work and got you this.” Elle handed him a bag with a sportswear logo. “It’s a protective cup—I had to guess your size.” She grinned. “If you wear it all the time, it should offer some defense against Rachel when she finds out you involved Harry. Of course, it won’t save you from her putting your balls in a vise while you sleep.”

  “Thanks for the nightmares.”

  “Just calling it how I see it.”

  Harvard handed back the bag. “As much as I appreciate you thinking of me, I don’t want to go walking through the building with it.”

  She patted the bag before stuffing it in her desk drawer. “It’s here when you need it. Which should be very soon. Because Harry’s on his way.”

  “When’s he due to arrive?”

  “Around lunchtime. I’ve set up his cover as working with the company that installed the server. He’s coming in under the pretense of doing some routine maintenance.” She frowned. “I haven’t clued in the head of security about his arrival. Terrance thinks this is a legitimate job.”

  Harvard focused in on her, reading the non-verbal clues, just as he’d been trained. Weighing them with her words to get the whole story. “Is there a reason you’re keeping him in the dark?”

  A gentle pink stain covered her cheeks. “I don’t like him.”

  And from the looks of things, it was way more than simple dislike. Elle was suspicious of the man; she just didn’t know why, and that meant she couldn’t put it into words. It was instinct. One she obviously wasn’t used to listening to. But Harvard had learned never to underestimate his own instincts or those of the people around him.

  “He doesn’t need to know,” he assured her. “The investigation into Rachel’s past has nothing to do with the job he’s been briefed on. It’s a good idea to keep it that way.”

  Her shoulders slumped a fraction, signaling relief. “Do you want me to come down to security with you to look over the footage from outside West Building?”

  “Not right now. Ryan and I can narrow it down. We’ll call you in when we find something.” He grinned at her. “Then you can do your magic and clean up the images enough to, hopefully, get us something to go on. Sooner we close this investigation, sooner we can focus on more important stuff.”

  “Like wooing Rachel?” She waggled her eyebrows at Harvard.

  “Yeah, and eliminating the threat to her.”

  Elle nodded solemnly. “That too.”

  Glancing back at Rachel’s door, he lowered his voice. “Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her out of your sight. I don’t like that someone was able to get close enough to slip a photo into her handbag. If she goes to the restroom, you follow. If she bitches—and she will—tell her it’s the team leader’s orders.”

  “If I tell her that, you can definitely kiss goodbye to a repeat of whatever you did to get that hickey. Just saying.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can handle Rachel.”

  Elle snorted. “Famous last words, huh?” she said to his back as he let himself out of her office.

  After taking the elevator down to the basement, he walked along a plain gray corridor and let himself into the security hub, using his pass. One that Ryan had helpfully coded for full access to all areas of TayFor.

  The security hub sat opposite the IT department, and both were overseen by the head of security, Terrance King, a man who’d been with TayFor since leaving the police force over a decade earlier. Security and IT were definitely King’s domain, and he never let anyone forget it. Which was one of the reasons Harvard had come looking for the man.

  He was easy to find, standing right in the middle of the surveillance room, watching the wall of screens over the shoulders of his staff who were tasked with monitoring them. And neither staff member looked relaxed about having their boss at their backs.

  Although the former police officer was in his fifties, Terrance kept himself in shape through daily workouts. His hair was graying at the temples, which Harvard suspected he liked, as it gave him an air of respectability that only came with age. He was a generically handsome man, kind of like a grandfather version of Ken Doll.

  Glancing over his shoulder at Harvard, he frowned. “You could have given me a heads-up about raiding the security footage.”

  The two security guards instantly perked up as they blatantly eavesdropped. Something they couldn’t help but do when Terrance stood right behind them. It was sloppy professionalism on his part, which made Harvard think Ryan was right—the man’s ego was getting in the way of his better judgment and their operation.

  “How about we take this into your office,” Harvard said coldly. It was an order, and everyone in the room knew it.

  The two guards instantly became very focused on their task in an obvious attempt to fly under their boss’s radar. Interesting. Looked like Terrance was the kind of manager who took out his frustrations on his people.

  “Get back to work,” Terrance snapped at them, even though it was clear they were working.

  It was on the tip of Harvard’s tongue to tell the man to stop being an asshole. But he wasn’t there to educate Terrance on how to lead a team. He was there to get his own job done. And if that meant stepping all over Terrance’s ego to achieve what he needed, then he could live with that.

  Terrance straightened his back and gestured toward his office. “If you’ll follow me. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about several issues that have arisen around Ms. Ford-Talbot’s protection.”

  Harvard didn’t bother to pull him up for pretending the meeting was his idea. He’d let the guy give the impression he was about to chew Harvard out over something that had put his nose out of joint—this time. But he could have told him that you didn’t earn the respect of your team by puffing out your chest and pissing in corners to mark your territory.

  “What the hell?” Terrance snapped as he closed the door behind them.

  He stalked around his vast mahogany desk, which wouldn’t have looked out of place in the CEO’s office, and sat in his leather office chair. It was an interesting setup for head of security and fit in perfectly with his tailored suit and polished shoes. The man had ambition, a taste for the good things in life, and an overly developed sense of his own worth.

  Terrance pointed at Harvard. “You are only here with my cooperation, which means you don’t get to come into the office before work to download security footage without my permission. The CEO will hear about this. Benson Security has overstepped the line, and it’s time for you to go.”

  If Terrance had hoped to intimidate with his threats, he’d picked the wrong guy. “Funny thing, I came in here to talk to you about lines.” Standing on the other side of the desk, Harvard casually picked up a glass paperweight and studied it. “This is your only warning. Don’t risk my team by exposing their covers. Don’t interfere with our investigation. Keep your opinions to yourself and bend over backward to be helpful, or…”

  “Or what?” His lip curled into a sneer.

  The glass paperweight seemed a strange choice for a man like Terrance, because tucked inside the heavy orb was the three-dimensional rendering of a flower. Harvard cocked his head. It looked like purple heather, but not quite. Patchouli, that’s what it was. He turned it over and read the inscription on the base: Welcome to TayFor. He returned it to the desk.

  Harvard unbuttoned his suit jacket and thrust his hands into his pants’ pockets as he sauntered over to look at the photos on the wall. It was a gallery dedicated to Terrance’s ego. Photo after photo showed him standing beside so
mebody famous. It was clear that working for TayFor afforded the man many perks that other jobs couldn’t. Access to the elite definitely being one of them.

  “You spent a few years in the army before you joined the police force,” Harvard said conversationally, his attention on the photos.

  “What the hell has that got to do with anything?” Terrance snapped.

  “Just making conversation. I was never in the armed forces.” He turned to look at Terrance. “Not officially anyway. Did a couple of operations when I was with the CIA that blurred the lines though.” He sauntered to the door. “Did you serve in a hot zone? No? Shame. It forces teammates to bond in a way that’s stronger than family. You come out of it knowing you have brothers at your back. It’s a good feeling.”

  “Unless you have a point to make, get the hell out of my office.”

  Harvard inclined his head. “Officially, having already served your country, you’re eligible for recall if your government deems it necessary. Now, it just so happens that one of the men I consider a brother is pretty high up in your military. Not so long ago, he was saying he needed men with experience for tours in Afghanistan. Men with some life under their belts, who wouldn’t go off half-cocked and get their fellow soldiers killed. Men like you.”

  Terrance leaned back in his seat, trying to appear relaxed, which he might have pulled off if his jaw hadn’t been clenched so tight. “You think you can have me recalled and sent to Afghanistan?” he mocked.

  “No.” Harvard flashed a friendly smile as he opened the door. “I know I can.” With that, he walked out, closing it quietly behind him.

  The two guards manning the desk shot him curious but wary looks. Harvard nodded to them. “Doing a good job there,” he said. “Staring at screens all day long isn’t easy. Has your chief got you swapping out every few hours?”

  They shared a look before the man nearest to him spoke. “Uh, no. We work on a weekly rotation. Night shift for a week. Patrol, front desk, security checkpoints. That sort of thing. Each one lasts a week, sometimes more. Depending on who’s on.”

  “Or who doesn’t turn up,” the other guy said.

  “Well,” Harvard said pleasantly, wondering how Terrance had managed to get this job when it was clear he had no idea how to do it, “that’s another option.” Not one he’d use, but this wasn’t his circus, and they weren’t his monkeys. “You know where Ryan is?”

  “Sure,” the first guy said. “Conference room. Down the corridor, third door on the left.”

  “Thanks.” He squashed the urge to give them tips on staying vigilant and keeping track of details while they were on desk duty. If Rachel were there, she’d have smacked him upside the head and asked what the hell was he thinking taking on more work when he had enough of his own.

  Thoughts of Rachel filled his chest with warmth and his head with images that were pure distraction. He took out his phone and dialed her number.

  “What?” she barked when she picked up.

  “You okay?” he asked as he thumped on the locked door to the conference room.

  Ryan threw it open and motioned him inside.

  “Of course I’m okay,” Rachel snapped. “What do you want?”

  His eyes took in the multiple stills from different cameras that Ryan had up on the projection board. “Nothing. I just missed you.”

  She hung up, making him grin before he focused on the screen. “Looks like our Samantha was texting on her way into the building.”

  “Yep. Not only that, but we also have Charles shouting at someone on his phone just under Rachel’s mum’s window.” The screen changed, and sure enough, there was Mr. Racism himself, cheeks ruddy and spittle flying as he screeched into his phone.

  “What’s that?” Harvard pointed to the blank space opposite Charles. “Are those shoes?”

  Ryan zoomed in on the bottom left-hand corner, and sure enough, there were the toes of a pair of men’s dress shoes peeking out from one of the side doorways. The doorway was locked, but it would be a good place to shelter for a moment, out of sight of the cameras.

  “We got a visual on that door?”

  Ryan tapped at his keyboard. “No camera.” He frowned at Harvard. “Why would they leave a gaping security hole like that? Far as I can see, the door’s locked and alarmed, but there’s no camera on it.”

  “Why indeed,” Harvard mused as the hairs on his arms became electrified. “Do you recognize those shoes?”

  Ryan looked at him like he was nuts. “Do I come across as somebody who notices other men’s shoes?”

  No, he didn’t. But Harvard would bet if the man had a sandwich in his hand, Ryan could describe the filling. “Go back ten minutes, see if we can get a shot of whoever that is before they hid in the doorway.”

  As they spooled through the footage, Harvard felt that familiar knot in his stomach that told him he was missing something. And he hated to miss details. Suddenly, one of the camera feeds from outside West Building turned to static before coming back on, then going off again. It cut in and out for about fifteen minutes.

  “Signal jammer?” Ryan said. “Pointed at the camera covering the door?”

  “While Charles was walking and waving his arms around? That would be hard to maintain and obvious to anyone watching. Can you go check the camera?”

  Ryan was out of his seat and heading for the door as Harvard dialed Rachel again.

  “Stop. Calling. Me,” she said. “It’s clingy and annoying.”

  That was his girl, always making him feel wanted. “I need you and Elle down in the security department conference room.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?” was her irritated reply before she cut the call.

  With a smile and a shake of his head, Harvard turned his attention to the image showing the man’s shoes. Where had he seen them before?

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Seriously?” Rachel said to Harvard as he pointed at the screen in the utility closet that security called a conference room. “You brought me all the way down here to identify shoes?”

  The infuriating man just folded his arms and stood there, staring at her.

  “Fine,” she huffed. “They’re Gucci Horsebit loafers. I can’t tell the color because…” She waved a hand at the black and white images. “I can tell you that they’re regular calf leather and not crocodile skin.”

  His smile was slow and far too sexy for the workplace. Rachel glanced at Elle to see if she’d noticed, but her attention was on her laptop—as usual.

  “You have a family member who’s partial to those shoes?” Harvard asked.

  Rachel couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Um, all of them? Those Gucci shoes are a wardrobe staple. I can’t think of one man in my family who doesn’t own a pair. They’ve sold like hotcakes ever since John F. Kennedy wore them, and they’ve been one of Gucci’s flagship designs since they first released them in the fifties. And, of course, the horsebit name is a nod to their history of making saddles.”

  “Of course.” Elle snorted. “How do you know this stuff?”

  “Doesn’t everyone know about Gucci?”

  “No, Rachel.” Elle gave her a look that said she clearly despaired of her. “Not everyone has Gucci’s history memorized.”

  Rachel shrugged. “Whatever. Now, is someone going to tell me what you found?” She glanced around. “Where is Ryan?”

  “Right here.” He walked into the room holding a ziplock plastic bag with a tiny black box inside. He flashed Rachel a grin. “Did you miss me?”

  “Why is everybody asking me that today? I don’t miss any of you when you’re gone. Usually, I’m just thankful.”

  “You wound me.” Ryan handed the bag to Harvard. “Found that attached to the camera. It’s a basic jammer with a receiver. Set it up with your mobile phone, and you can use an app to switch it on and off. You can buy them everywhere.” He sneered at the box. “It’s like our thief went into Currys and loaded up on over-the-counter tech. This is bargain-basement s
tuff. I can’t believe they got away with stealing for this long.”

  “I know, right?” Elle said with equal disgust. “That’s exactly how I felt when I found that low-tech piece of rubbish glued under Francesca’s desk. It’s insulting. Couldn’t they have put a bit of effort into their illegal activities?”

  Rachel caught the confused expression on Harvard’s face. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Currys?” he said.

  “Britain’s Radio Shack.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Did you see that?” Ryan said to Elle. “They’re totally sleeping together.”

  “And the bet is off. Remember that. I don’t owe anybody any money because the bet is off.”

  Ryan hung his head. “I could have been rich.”

  “Dear, sweet, man-child,” Rachel said. “A few thousand pounds isn’t rich.”

  “No,” Ryan said. “But then, it’s all relative isn’t it? Not everybody has your millions. What does it feel like? Being rich. Just for a second, let me live vicariously through you. Describe it to me.”

  “Being rich means never having to put up with idiots, unless you choose to,” Rachel said. “You can either pay them to go away or remove yourself to an island.”

  Ryan nodded in all seriousness. “I need to get rich.”

  “Okay,” Elle said. “I can’t clean up the images any more than we have. You need to talk to the head of security, Rachel. TayFor needs better quality cameras with a higher resolution if they want to do the job properly.”

  “I’m sorry.” Rachel flattened a hand to her chest as though shocked. “Did you forget I don’t actually work here?”

  “Wow.” The blue-haired wonder narrowed her eyes. “Sex makes you meaner.”

  “Maybe Harvard isn’t doing it right.” Ryan turned to him. “If you want any pointers, shout out. I’ve got your back.”

  “As much as I appreciate the offer, I think I’m okay.” Harvard grinned.

  “Hear that?” Ryan mumbled to Elle. “He’s okay.”

  “Children,” Rachel snapped. “Focus. What do we have?”