Vanguard Security_A Military Bodyguard Romance

by S. J. Bishop

  As if on cue, my phone rang. “Hi, Daddy. I was just thinking about you.”

  “Where are you?” he asked, cutting to the chase.

  “Daddy, you know I’m working.” He grumbled something about it being a volunteer job, but I just ignored him. “And, speaking of work, could you send some veggies over? We’re running low, and there are still so many people waiting.”

  “Stefan called. You ditched your security again.”

  “Stefan? Really? That red’s name was Stefan?” I chuckled.

  “Stefan’s his supervisor — oh, never mind. What’s important is that you ran off to that seedy part of town with no protection.”

  I rolled my eyes at him, and although he couldn’t see me, I knew he knew I was doing it. “Daddy, I’m fine. Antony and his henchmen wouldn’t be caught dead in this part of town. It’s probably the safest place for me.”

  “You can’t know that. The salon was—” he stopped. The salon. I imagined my mother having this same talk with Daddy a few months ago.

  “Tell you what. I’ll let your babysitter come to the kitchen… if he brings salad stuff. And maybe some fish. We need healthier options here.” I surveyed the assortment of ground-beef-based items. The smell!

  “He’s already been let go. I’m in talks with another firm. Much higher caliber. Ex-SEALs.” I pictured him saluting on the other end of the line.

  “Great. I can’t wait.” The sarcasm dripped from each word.

  “You’ll see. It’ll be different. But until then, please come home where I can keep you safe myself,” he begged.

  “I can’t. You know I still have three hours to go. I’ll come home after, I promise. Now, the food?”

  “I’ll have Ophelia check the pantry at the restaurant, see what can be cleaned out.”

  “Someone else is bringing it, right?”

  “Ness, you know there’s nothing going on—”

  “I’ll come home right after the food delivery if you don’t send her,” I interrupted. Nothing going on, my ass.

  “Not sure who else I can spare right now. It’s almost dinner rush for us, too.”

  “Daddy.” I stood firm.

  “Alright, I’ll work something out. But you need to treat O better. She still has to run the restaurant.”

  “Well, it looks like I won’t be back at the restaurant if you have your way. I’ll be locked up in the dungeon beneath the house like a good little princess.”

  “The wine cellar is not a dungeon. And you’ll have the run of the entire estate. I’d just prefer it if you don’t leave the grounds until we have your new security team in place. For my sanity.” I heard the fear in his voice, so I let up.

  “I need to get back to work. Thank you for the food, Daddy. And I’ll get home right after my shift. I promise.”

  “Please be safe.” He got in one last beg before hanging up.

  I’d had no intention of going straight home, but now there was no choice. Daddy had been through so much. Sometimes I forgot that he really had loved her, regardless of… his indiscretions. And Antony. I shivered.

  What if Antony really was to blame for my mother’s fall? If he could get to her there, he could get to me anywhere, too.

  For the rest of the afternoon, I spent half my time refilling vegetable trays and the other half looking over my shoulder. Every new face was shadowed in suspicion and fear.

  It was dark when my shift ended. For the first time since I had started working at the kitchen, I was scared while walking to my car. And it wasn’t the so-called bad area of town that had me freaking out. It was La Familia and Antony’s men possibly lurking behind every tree that prompted me to run to my conspicuous new Audi and lock myself in.

  5

  Martin

  I stretched my fingers, releasing them one by one from my Colt 1911 semi-automatic’s grip. I’d been squeezing so hard that the cross-hatch handle pattern had imprinted on my palm. Keeping my arms taut in front of me, I twisted my neck from side to side. Each cracking vertebrae calmed me.

  Closing one eye and focusing down the nose of my .38 with the other, I inhaled. Slow and steady, and hold it. Ready.

  With one fluid motion, I depressed the trigger. It kicked hard, just as I’d expected, and I absorbed the shock with my entire body. Twenty-five yards past the tip my barrel, the top of my target’s head ripped open, revealing a flash of neon yellow.

  “Damn!” Cruz yelled into my ear. “That had to hurt!”

  “You think?” I pushed the button to drag the target back to our booth. I loved watching the hole grow as the target glided nearer.

  “I’m sure I can do better.” Cruz adjusted his eye gear. “Watch.”

  “Oh, I’ll watch… you hit the barrier wall,” I pounded him on the back.

  He dipped his head back into my booth and sucked his teeth. “Hmm. Those eyes must be going in your old age.” He tilted his head at my target. “I bet he’ll live through that.”

  “Keep it up, and you might not.” I watched as he took aim, following the same routine that I had moments earlier. The young soldier had had a good teacher. Me.

  He took his shot and watched the fire expel from his barrel. My other favorite part of weapons training. As his target neared the booth, I saw that his shot had hit dead center. I braced for the jibes to come about that one.

  “Student surpasses the teacher,” he started in.

  “You wish. It’s much different when there’s real blood and guts inside that noggin. Not just neon tape.” I was proud of him, though. It was a nice shot.

  “I guess that’s what retirement does to you. Can you even still swim?” He threw his head back and roared in delight, that unruly mop of black hair shaking uncontrollably.

  “I could kick your ass any day.”

  “Yeah? For about the first thirty seconds before you’re gasping for air.”

  “Thirty seconds, my ass. These lungs have been training for twenty years.” I pounded my chest in full gorilla fashion. “Still got two minutes in me, easy.”

  “Spare me your bedroom tales.”

  “I’ll spare you alright.” I removed the clip from my gun and placed both pieces on the table in front of me. Cruz followed suit. “Let’s go.” I set my watch timer.

  Cruz raised his bushy eyebrows in challenge. He held up three fingers, and we both took our practice breaths. Three. Two. One.

  Inhale.

  We stared each other down, him with that cocky grin on his face. I didn’t want to break eye contact first, but I couldn’t help checking my watch. Forty-two seconds. I watched the digital numbers change slower than I wanted them to. I glanced back up, and Cruz’s grin widened. Damn, show of weakness checking the time.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, almost causing me to expel the breath. I looked at the screen and frowned. Commander Phillips. Showing it to Cruz, I shrugged, my finger hovering over the green icon. Cruz shook his head and raised one eyebrow again, telling me I’d forfeit if I answered.

  Telling myself I had no choice, I was relieved as I exhaled the pain away. “Afternoon, Commander,” I panted.

  I looked up at Cruz who held his in for another five seconds to rub it in, then exhaled as well. “Ahhh! Told ya!” he yelled between breaths.

  “Do I even want to know?” Commander Phillips asked.

  “No, not really, sir.”

  “Is that Cruz with you?” he asked, knowing it would be no one else, Cruz being the only young buck I’d taken under my wing.

  “Just giving him a shooting lesson.” I turned and walked off before he had a chance to yell that his shot had been better.

  “Good. I was hoping to catch you two together. Have you given any thought to that job offer?”

  “Of course not,” I lied.

  “I figured as much. But I got another call from the client today. It seems things have taken a turn for the worse. He’s sure his daughter is being followed by his old partner’s men.” I didn’t respond, so he continued. “He’s offerin
g to pay whatever it takes. He’s already lost his wife to these men. He won’t lose his daughter, too.”

  “And who are these men? What do they want with her?” I betrayed my curiosity.

  “Have you heard of La Familia?”

  “The mafia? Great. You want my first assignment to be against one of the oldest families in D.C.?”

  “Well, like I said, he’s willing to pay whatever it takes. I was thinking you and Cruz could tag team it. He’s worked some other jobs for us, so he knows the ropes.”

  I cringed. “I’m not taking orders from—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “But procedurally, he’ll be ready. You won’t have to worry about training him. It’s a great set up.” I could hear the hope in his voice.

  Cruz had walked over to where I now stood. From the look on his face, this felt like a set up. “Just how much money are we talking?” I asked.

  “A shit ton.”

  “To split?”

  “Each.”

  Really, what could I say to that? I thought of Ma and Carmichael Gardens, with the first of the month fast approaching. “I need to meet this guy before I agree.”

  Since the first conversation with Commander Phillips, when I couldn’t stop myself from considering this job, I’d been thinking of the type of man I’d be stuck working for. What egomaniac thinks he deserves high-caliber security? And what kind of spoiled little brat rich kid would I get stuck babysitting if I agreed to this?

  “That can be arranged. I’ll text you the details,” Commander Phillips said, then added, “I’ll text them to Cruz.”

  Did that old man just make a joke about me not texting?

  6

  Vanessa

  I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t get out of here!

  Ms. Rizzo, my childhood nanny, looked up from her knitting project as if she’d heard the screaming in my mind. She sighed and rearranged her heft in the rocking chair.

  “Daddy has some nerve bringing you back here like I’m some child.” Although I refused to admit it, Ms. Rizzo’s breezy perfume always lifted my spirits. But there was no time for that now. I had anger to cultivate.

  Rolling the green and brown balls of yarn and laying the half-finished blanket to the side, she surveyed me for a moment, then softly said, “I’m sure your father has his reasons.”

  “What has he told you? When will I get out of here?” I prodded, knowing full well she had no answers. Ms. Rizzo had been hired not only for her years of experience in child rearing, but also for her complete lack of curiosity. What others saw as dullness, I knew, from growing up under her care, was blind loyalty to my father and an unwillingness to know anything that could tarnish his good name.

  True to form, her response was, “Just that I’m to keep you safe,” she paused, “and on the property.” With that, she returned to her earthy yarns. The tiny click of tapping knitting needles signaled the end of her contribution to our conversation.

  Still, I persisted. “What does he expect you to do?” Ms. Rizzo was every bit of 65 years old and 250 pounds, if I’m being kind.

  “I’m sure it’s more that he expects you to not give me trouble.” She rubbed her bad hip and smiled at me.

  Not dignifying that display with a response, I merely huffed and stared out my window at the rose garden. My thoughts immediately turned to my mom, as they did with everything on this estate that passed my line of sight. Mom had loved those roses so much that I’d often teased that I was her second favorite. I stood, willing the tears to stay at bay. “I’m going to the kitchen.”

  “Why don’t you let me have one of the cooks bring you something?” Ms. Rizzo stopped rocking.

  “I’ll be fine. The kitchen is still on the property.” I didn’t give her a chance to reply. I was halfway to the stairs before the door closed behind me. Slowing my pace, I savored finally being alone. It struck me as funny how in a house so massive, you could still suffocate sometimes.

  As I reached the top of the circular stairwell, I couldn’t help but look down into the abyss. My room was on the third floor, the same distance from the cold hard ground below as my mother’s favorite salon. Would I fall like she did? How many drinks would that take? Would I know it was coming?

  I shook the all too familiar refrain from my head and held tight to the banister. At times like these, I wished Daddy’s men knew how to speak softer when they talked business. Some things, a girl would rather not know.

  After making a lovely salad for Ms. Rizzo and myself to share, my thoughts turned back to my mother’s rose garden. Ms. Rizzo always loved the yellow ones. Feeling contrite, I retrieved salad shears from the drawer and started for the rear sliding bay doors to gather a nice bouquet for our lunch.

  Dirk, Daddy’s favorite cretin, appeared out of nowhere in front of the door. One hand on the handle and one on an iPad Mini, he blocked my exit.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I was instantly indignant at the nerve of him.

  “We have orders that you’re not to go out on the grounds today, Ms. G. It’s not safe.” His nasally voice grated on my ears.

  “We? Jesus.” My fingers tightened around the salad scissors. “Let me out. You can’t keep me prisoner. I’m only going to the garden.” I held up the scissors a little too fast and close to his face. The fear flashed in his eyes, and I relished the knowledge that he’d never be the man my father wanted him to be.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he held firm, much to my surprise.

  “You forget who you work for, Dirk.” I attempted to push past him, but he didn’t budge.

  “I work for Mr. Genovese,” he enunciated, “and he doesn’t feel that it’s safe for you to venture outside at this time.” Dirk did his best bodyguard pose, his feet wide and his arms crossed in front of him. He was not intimidating in the least, standing two full inches shorter than myself. It looked more like he was clutching the iPad for protection against me. The sight of it gave me an idea.

  “I would hate for my father to know what you watch on that thing when he’s not around.” I stepped closer. Again, he didn’t budge.

  Instead, he smirked. “Your father knows all the best sites.”

  That’s it!

  “Where is he?” I demanded.

  “I believe he’s in the library, interviewing your new security detail.” Dirk tapped the tablet’s screen.

  “Perfect!” I spun on my heels to storm off.

  “It’d be best if you don’t try to give this one the shake. They don’t come cheap.”

  “If they don’t come cheap, it would be best if they could keep up with me.” I slammed the salad scissors down on the bar and stomped up the stairs. Even as I did it, I had a déjà vu moment of me doing this exact thing at about seventeen when I hadn’t been allowed to spend a weekend at an outdoor concert. The heat in my cheeks rose. Daddy’s going to answer for this!

  7

  Martin

  My eyes kept darting to the rear-view mirror. I knew the black Cadillac was still there, even before I caught a glimpse of it three cars behind. Rookie. They’d been on me since I’d left the VanGuard Security office.

  My talk with Commander Phillips had been brief, a gentleman’s agreement to give this job a chance and a slip of paper with the GPS coordinates of the Genovese Estate. Very covert, I laughed to myself. From what I’d heard about La Familia and Marco Genovese, I wondered if it was more than I could stomach. Just because someone had more money than God and could afford the outlandish fees for our services, didn’t mean they needed them. Or deserved them.

  As I contemplated how much longer to let this car think it had me, I wondered what my life had come to. Sure, I had been bored as hell since retiring from the Service, until Ma had gotten sick, of course. I’d always thought I’d find some easy side work teaching defense classes on the side to siliconed housewives and teens ready to fly the nest, an honest paltry living. Instead, here I was running this tail car in circles. Seriously, who follows someone
in a brand-new Cadillac with limo tint?

  Part of me tried to feel bad for Mr. Genovese, hoping to muster enough energy to care about how he’d gotten himself into this mess. I knew leaving the Mafia wasn’t easy. It was certainly a deadly past-time. And while I wanted to commend him for getting out, wanting to go straight, I couldn’t help but fill with anger when thinking about why it had taken him so long. What amount of money made it worth putting your wife and child in danger? Now, his wife was dead under suspicious circumstances, and he was spending ‘shit tons’ of that dirty money to keep his daughter alive.

  I pulled into the parking garage on Canal and quickly switched my Rover out for a dark blue Chevy Avalanche. I was back out in less than five minutes, driving right past the black Caddy and its oblivious occupants. I radioed the plate number and their descriptions to Cruz.

  Moments later, the GPS told me to ‘turn right here’ in that sexy, Scarlett-Johansson-if-she-were-British voice. Phillips sure knew how to woo his targets. As I obeyed her, my eyes were assaulted by the gaudiest, most ornate, iron fence I’d ever seen. The locking mechanism was decorated with two lions poised on either side, waiting to pounce on each other at any moment. I punched the access code into the metal box beside me, and a whiny, male voice asked me to confirm my appointment.

  The gate creaked open, swinging inward toward the house, a glaring design flaw if it was built for security. I added that to my mental list of things to discuss with the client, as I cursed myself for already having a list and calling him the client. Even crossing the expansive property, firmly locked inside its gate, I was trying to find some excuse not to take this job.

  Turning the last corner, I saw it. That, and the answer to just how much money the Mafia paid. Towering five stories high and spanning across the entire width of the property was a massive estate built to impress. Impress whom, though, I wasn’t sure.