Nash Security Solutions

by Lola Silverman

  Stedman snorted. He clapped Ralston on the back and then laughed heartily. “That’s one hell of an imagination you have there, son.”

  Son? Ralston had never heard his father use the term so flippantly before in his life. Usually it was a reminder or an admonishment. Sometimes the word was even used as an insult. Never had it been such a strange combination of friendliness and—what was that—approval?

  “You know.” Stedman apparently wasn’t done. “The old man—Sokolov, I mean—isn’t really all that concerned over business matters anymore. It’s pretty common in these old Russians, especially in the Bratva. As the leader gets older, he delegates more and more responsibility to his second-in-command.”

  “Anton,” Ralston said darkly. “Yes. I remember.”

  Stedman gestured to one of the couches in what had once been a drawing room and had become the main venue for entertaining in Stedman’s home. Ralston sat down and tried to force himself to look comfortable. It was quite a trick considering the stiffness from the collision was now starting to set in. By tomorrow, Ralston would feel like he’d hit a truck instead of a tiny piece of sheet metal called a late model sedan.

  “Anton isn’t the devil that Nash has made him out to be,” Stedman said flippantly.

  Nash had never actually made Anton out to be anything of the sort, but Ralston nodded just to keep his father talking.

  Stedman snapped his fingers, and an older gentleman entered from the direction of the butler’s pantry. “Woodhouse, please make us some coffee.”

  “If Anton isn’t a devil, then why did you want to hire Nash and his company to decimate Anton’s men?” Ralston raised an eyebrow at his father. Finally. Answers. This was all going to be worth it. He was certain of it.

  Stedman shrugged. Moments later, Woodhouse came back with a silver tray laden with coffee cups, a carafe of steaming hot black brew, and containers of sugar and cream. Stedman gestured to Ralston. “How do you take your coffee?”

  “Black.”

  “That’s my boy,” Stedman blustered.

  Once again with the weirdly warm references to their familiar relationship. What was up with that anyway? Ralston tried to set that aside. It was possible that his father was doing it just to keep him off balance, and unfortunately, it was sort of working. Ralston needed to remember that Stedman was no fool. He would use every single weapon at his disposal, even Ralston’s natural desire for acceptance from his father. It was a shitty truth, but that didn’t change a damn thing.

  “Well, son.” Stedman handed Ralston a mug of steaming hot coffee. “How about we cut to the chase and you tell me exactly what you want from me this morning? We’ve talked about Anton. We’ve talked about the old man Sokolov. I’m assuming there’s a list of things that you would like to know about my organization. Why don’t you just ask and save us this song and dance?”

  Well now, that sort of took the warm and fuzzy right out of this particular conversation. Ralston marshaled his thoughts and decided there was no point in overdoing the tact. He wanted to know some things. Might as well just come right out and ask.

  *

  Saturday morning dawned bright and clear. Analise rolled over in the guest bed inside Ava’s home and tried not to be gloomy. She had a clear plan to get close to Ralston—sort of. This was the time for action. It wasn’t the time to lie here in bed and stare out the window like some brooding maiden. No matter how tempting it might be to pretend that all of this was just a bad dream.

  “Time to get up, sleepyhead.” Ava popped into the bedroom. “I want you downstairs in ten minutes dressed and ready to go.”

  “Go where?” Analise couldn’t imagine where there was to go right now. It was morning. The fundraising party where she was scheduled to somehow weasel her way back into Ralston’s life wasn’t until seven o’clock this evening.

  “If you think you can catch Stedman’s eye and make him think you’re a fit match for his son by showering and just putting on a dress, you’re out of your mind.” Ava walked all the way into the room and put her hands on her hips. “This is going to take some doing.”

  “Don’t make it sound like such a chore,” Analise grumbled as she sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed.

  Ava snorted. “Don’t worry, I’ve called in reinforcements.”

  “Reinforcements?” Now Analise was feeling rather bewildered. Was she really that much of a disaster?

  “We have to turn you from a normal girl into a society debutante.” Ava was nodding. Then she picked up a lock of Analise’s hair. “Believe me. It’s basically like dressing a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

  Analise certainly liked the sheep reference a little better. Surely being the wolf wasn’t all that bad. She got out of bed and started pulling on her clothes. She could do this. Right? It was part of the plan to save Ralston from himself. Sort of. At least that’s what she had to keep telling herself.

  Less than twenty minutes later, she was telling herself that emphatically every five seconds as Ava’s driver pulled up in front of one of the largest department stores in Boston.

  The huge building was thronged with shoppers and tourists alike. The first-floor display windows were packed with mannequins wearing the latest in trendy spring fashions. Analise was struggling not to hyperventilate. This was the kind of place her mother adored. It gave Analise hives.

  “I can’t do this,” Analise muttered to Ava.

  Ava patted her arm right before dragging her out of the vehicle’s backseat and onto the sidewalk. “Just think of it as a battle to be won in the war to win Ralston.”

  That made it a little more bearable, but not easier. Then Ava marched into the store. They passed dozens of women, and Ava either shoved them aside or squeezed past without even looking at them. Most just cleared away for the petite woman who walked like a woman on a mission.

  Francesca met them right inside. Her eyes brightened when she spotted Ava. “There you are! I’ve gotten started already. Minnie was on duty today so she’ll be our personal shopper.”

  “Perfect!” Ava gushed. “Minnie has a wonderful eye for color.”

  Analise was absolutely lost. Eye for color? As in this Minnie person would know what color of clothing that Analise should purchase? She cleared her throat and managed to get Ava and Francesca’s attention. “I was thinking a black dress, you know? Black goes with everything.”

  The two women exchanged a look, and Ava sighed. “See? I told you.”

  “Sweetie,” Francesca told Analise. “Just hold on and settle in for the ride. All right? If you want to win Ralston Hyde-Pierson, you need to play the game better than everyone else in the room.”

  Analise opened her mouth to say something, but the words never came out. She was whisked away into a world of color swatches, fabric textures, and the pinches and pokes that seemed to go along with custom tailoring a dress.

  At one point, Analise was pretty sure she was going to pass out from dizziness. She was standing on some kind of block in a room papered with mirrors. Ava, Francesca, and two sales ladies were all muttering and giggling together as they sandwiched Analise into a dress made out of some kind of stretchy pale blue material. The mirrors were giving Analise vertigo.

  She must have made a noise because Ava finally turned around. “Did you have an opinion?” She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

  “I think I’m going to pass out,” Analise told Ava. “I’ve been through a dozen or more firefights and I’ve even been shot four or five times, but I’ve never been this exhausted before in my life.”

  The sales ladies were all twittering behind their hands. Ava smiled, but it was Francesca that spoke. “That’s because being a soldier meant dressing for comfort and utility. Being a lady means dressing to look good and grab a man’s attention.”

  “That seems really impractical,” Analise muttered.

  Ava gave a sage nod. “Wait until we hit the salon in ten minutes for your hair and nails appointment.”

  �
��I’m sorry,” Analise said, totally confused. “Did you say nails?”

  Francesca grabbed hold of Analise’s hand and examined her cuticles. “Oh yes, sweetie. We’ve got to get those hands buffed up and those nails evened out. You’ll thank us tonight.”

  “Thank you?” Analise doubted that would ever happen.

  The sales ladies started to unwrap the half-tailored dress from Analise’s body. Francesca tossed Analise her T-shirt. “When you’re in a room full of snooty bitches, the one thing that can make you feel prepared for battle is to look better than anyone else in the room.”

  “Trust us,” Ava said, picking up where Francesca let off. “We’re going to have you looking better than anyone else in Boston tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Analise didn’t normally have her head turned by women dripping diamonds or a reception hall decked out in finery, but then this was not a normal kind of party. The huge gala event was being held inside the Hampshire House. The old mansion had multiple levels of well-appointed rooms, two bars that included a generous basement pub, and so much old-world charm that Analise was afraid to touch anything. The chandeliers hanging overhead gleamed with antique crystal. The waiters wore tuxedos, and the guy at the door was checking invitations.

  Crap.

  Ava had warned Analise that this might happen. But it was all part of the scheme to seem like the resourceful and necessary personal bodyguard to Ralston Hyde-Pierson. Keeping her pace very controlled and almost lackadaisical, Analise sauntered around the left side of the building in search of the service exit.

  It wasn’t hard to find. The bright light spilling through the alley came from a brilliant LED bulb in the outdoor lamp situated just above the service entrance. There was a little well of sorts and a flight of stairs, but it wasn’t dark or dank. In fact, there was a young man dressed in a white apron smoking a cigarette in the alley. He had his nose buried in his phone and looked to be in his late teens with a bad case of acne. Analise couldn’t help but hope that this kid was a dishwasher as opposed to a cook in the kitchen.

  He still hadn’t noticed her even though she was less than ten feet away. Analise wriggled a little bit to put her boobs on especially prominent display. In this dress it certainly wasn’t difficult. “Excuse me?”

  There was something really flattering about having a young man—even a not so attractive one—go obviously speechless at the sight of her. The kid’s mouth popped open and his cigarette tumbled to the ground.

  “Oh, shit,” he yelped as the lit cigarette bounced off his uniform pants. Quickly stomping his foot down on the lit end, he ground the butt into the cement. “Can I help you, Miss?”

  Analise couldn’t help it. She played it up just a little more by winking at the kid. “I need to sneak back in if you don’t mind. I don’t want my date to know that I slipped out.”

  “Uh, sure?” The kid hastily stepped aside to let Analise pass. “Oh! Let me get that for you.” He lunged toward the door, which was propped open. “Are you all right to get upstairs to the party?”

  “I’ll find my way,” she told him in that weird extra-breathy voice that movie starlets always seemed to use. “But thanks.”

  Analise gave the kid’s shoulder a squeeze and then slipped inside the building. It had been easy as pie in this getup. Maybe there was something to the whole dressing-up gig after all.

  The kitchen was on the basement level behind the pub and busy as hell. There were people hopping to and fro while carrying huge trays full of appetizers and drinks. Buffet servers were getting the chafing dishes ready to go, and Analise was sure she’d never seen so many wine glasses in one place before in her life.

  Her presence was relatively unnoticed as she headed for the narrow spiraling staircase she had seen on the building’s online map. It was just to her left behind a curtain. One quick trip up a flight of stairs and she found herself on one of the main levels. Now she just had to find Ralston. Of course, that would be easier done if she could just find Chelsea. The woman was loud and wanted to be the center of attention just about as badly as anyone Analise had ever heard of.

  Standing in the stairwell just behind a huge potted banana plant in a gilded pot, Analise stared at the people milling and meandering their way through the rooms of the Hampshire House. They were just about as opulent and over furnished as the venue itself. The women had glittering gems on their earlobes and around their necks and wrists. The men had just as much bling on their cuffs. It was as if money meant nothing to these people.

  I’m not supposed to be hanging back. This is where I prove that I can belong.

  The thought ghosted through Analise’s mind right about the time she spotted Chelsea in a tight, white dress and spike heels. She was holding court with half a dozen other young women around her age. Her age? Their age. Sometimes Analise forgot that she wasn’t pushing fifty even though it felt like it first thing in the morning when she got out of bed.

  Straightening her shoulders, Analise thought about the nods of approval she had gotten from just about everyone at the department store, not to mention Ava and Francesca. She fit in perfectly at this party in her ice blue dress, low kitten heels, and wearing Ava’s gems. Now it was up to Analise to make everyone else here realize that she belonged.

  Stepping clear of the stairs, Analise snagged a glass of champagne from the nearest tray and took a sip. She felt dozens of male gazes float her way and stop. This was what it was like to hold a room. Not bad, really.

  Letting her hips do the talking, Analise searched for Ralston. Chelsea would not have let him go far. As she crossed the room right in front of Chelsea and her little court, Analise spotted Ralston with his father and several other oily-looking gentleman in a back corner near the bar. Perfect. At least it was until Chelsea spotted Analise and gave a gasp so loud that she actually stopped every conversation in the room.

  “You!” Chelsea shouted. “What are you doing here?”

  Analise turned and gave Chelsea a cool up-and-down look to prove the drama queen didn’t intimidate her. “Me?”

  “Yes, you!” Chelsea said again. Her little squad fanned out at her sides as though she needed backup for this confrontation. “They don’t allow whores in here!”

  Analise chuckled and took another sip of champagne. “And yet you stole your outfit from a whore’s wardrobe and they let you in.”

  Chelsea’s shocked sound of outrage could not quite be heard beneath the rolling laughter from the room at large. It appeared that—as Ava had predicted—the entire assembly of guests were watching with avid interest. It would seem that bored rich people adored nothing quite so thoroughly as a good dose of drama at someone else’s expense.

  RALSTON STARED IN confusion as the gentleman he had been having a discussion with abruptly stopped talking and refocused every bit of his attention on something happening in the middle of the room. Turning, Ralston realized that everyone in the room was absorbed by what appeared to be an impending catfight.

  “Ralston,” Stedman Hyde-Pierson said in a low voice. “Isn’t that your former bodyguard?”

  Shit. There was absolutely no way of trying to deny the obvious. Although once Ralston got a good look at Analise, he could hardly resign himself to thinking it was the same woman. Not that she didn’t always look good to him. She was strong and secure in her own brand of femininity, and pretty much a badass at anything she tried. But the woman in the floor-length ice blue dress was drop dead gorgeous. Analise’s hair was pulled up and away from her face. The style highlighted the elegance of her cheekbones and the delicate structure of her face and neck. She looked like every man’s wet dream come to life.

  “Stunning woman.” The man Ralston had been conversing with—Sergei Yurevich—gave Analise a long appreciative rake from head to toe.

  Stedman Hyde-Pierson nodded his head with enthusiasm and a bit of pride. “That’s my son’s future bride.”

  “I’m not talking about the Ettinger girl,” Sergei said wi
th a snort. His usually muted Russian accent grew more pronounced with each word. “You couldn’t pay me to spend five minutes in her company.” Sergei cast Ralston a quick look of pity. “I don’t know how you stand her, Ralston. I’m never sure which is worse, her or her mother. One of the two certainly has my vote for the most vapid and annoying woman in Boston.”

  Stedman looked startled by Sergei’s comment, but the show still unfolding before them precluded any more commentary on Chelsea Ettinger. The woman herself was already making enough of a spectacle.

  “Where is security?” Chelsea was snapping her fingers at a waiter who conveniently pretended not to see her. “Excuse me? Someone needs to get security to see this woman out. She doesn’t belong here.”

  Ralston’s gut tightened in apprehension, but Analise looked unbothered. “They’re checking invitations at the door,” she reminded Chelsea. “Surely that means the only people in this building are the ones who belong. Besides, don’t you think it’s a little pathetic to be so insecure that you must call for security just because a little competition shows up?”

  “You’re not competition!” Chelsea actually stomped her foot. “That’s preposterous!”

  Analise lifted one delicate shoulder in open disdain. “Then stop your whining and go back to holding court with your little friends. I have better and more important things to think about this evening than your insecurity issues.” Analise smirked. “I think I saw your therapist downstairs in the bar. Shall I tell him you’d like an impromptu session?”

  Chelsea stomped toward Analise. “You bitch!”

  “Ah, ah, ah,” Analise warned, wagging her finger at Chelsea and lifting her champagne glass away from the other woman lest it be knocked about. “Fighting in public is hardly ladylike.”

  “Ralston!” Chelsea snapped.

  Ralston felt like throwing up. He was utterly at his wit’s end with this woman. He looked at his father and raised his eyebrows. “Are you truly certain this is worth the financial gains? You do realize that this behavior seems to get worse and worse with each passing moment in time. In ten years, she’ll be throwing tantrums in public places and dragging our name through the society pages in a very non flattering fashion.”