Personal Protection

by Leah Braemel

  “You stupid, pigheaded, shit-for-brains asshole, haven’t you figured it out yet? There is no—”

  “Uh, Sam? Chad?” Sandy stuck her head in the door. “You guys want to keep it down—you’re starting to attract a crowd out here.”

  Sam shook his head and stared Chad down. “It’s okay, Sandy. We’re done here. Chad’s leaving right now.”

  Chad cursed once then stalked to the door. “Fine. You want to play it that way, asshole? You’ve got it.” Chad pushed past Sandy, who stared after him open-mouthed.

  “Idiot,” she muttered and shut the door behind her. But Sam couldn’t figure out who she meant. Chad. Or him.

  —

  Her eyes fuzzy from reading the files for so many hours, Rosie stretched and realized Scott was standing at the door. He looked as tired as she felt. Not surprising considering the nightmares he was still suffering. She doubted he slept more than two hours straight in a night. Not that she’d been sleeping much better. The bed seemed so empty, so cold, without Sam beside her. But she didn’t buy this crap about having her move back into 1202 to keep her safe. He was pissed off that she’d gone to the Rouge behind his back.

  “Hey, Rosie. There’s a guy here to see you. Said his name’s Spencer Harper.”

  If Spencer was there, surely Thalia was close by. Just what she needed, the Dominatrix herself reaming her out. “Is there anyone else with him?”

  Scott shook his head. “Nope, just Harper. You want me to tell him to beat it?”

  She glanced at the files stacked in piles on the bed. They’d cleared all the usual suspects weeks before, but the latest spate of threats had them combing the files once again. “No, it’s all right. I needed a break anyway.”

  Spencer stood in the hallway, Kris hovering between him and the monitors. Dressed in a pair of tan Dockers with a white shirt covered by a plaid sweater vest, he looked like he’d just gotten off a golf course. The memory of him tied to a bench while she flogged his ass, and how little she’d been wearing when he’d flogged her sent heat flying up her neck and into her face.

  “Hi, Spencer, what’s up?”

  He tucked a pair of sunglasses into his pocket. “I hope I’m not interrupting you, Miss Ramos, but Thalia would like to see you in her office right away.”

  “I’m tied up right now.” The heat that had been dying in her face rebounded. Not the best way to phrase that considering their history. “Besides it doesn’t look like I’m going to be needing any more of Thalia’s training. But thank her—”

  “No, it’s not that,” Spencer hurried to say. “I believe she has something about Mr. Watson’s stalker that she wishes to discuss. She was quite emphatic that you come with me.”

  She didn’t want to face Thalia for what she was sure would end in a lecture about Sam’s needs, but she couldn’t ignore what might turn out to be the only lead they had. Might as well get it over with. Because she had a feeling that if she didn’t go with Spencer, Thalia would come to her. Besides, she had a thing or two to say to Thalia herself.

  “Hey, Scott? I’m going out for a while, okay?” She snagged her purse and walked down the hallway, aware of how Spencer stayed precisely two paces behind her. Remembered the night he’d come to Sam’s apartment, and how wonderful it had been for part of that night. Right before everything went to shit.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A check of his watch showed him Troy wouldn’t be landing in Bogota for another seven hours. Seeking something to keep him busy while he waited, he meandered into the inner sanctum. Chad had stormed out right after their fight, and Sandy had disappeared. With Troy’s departure, the place was as quiet as a mausoleum.

  Other than Scott, who had shown up a couple hours ago and was yakking on the phone at one of the spare desks, and Kris who was working out in the gym, the central office area was deserted. He wound his way through the IT area, eyeing the computer geek’s cubicles with their collections of action figures—Star Wars, Star Trek, Lord of the Rings and a few SpongeBob SquarePants figures. Beyond them was a double set of revolving doors leading to the raised floor computer room. Which reminded him of tomorrow’s meeting with John Lake, the IT manager, to discuss enlarging the raised floor computer area yet again.

  In the glass-enclosed area monitoring Hauberk’s client security systems, some of his employees yawned as they finished up the last hour of their night shift. The operators manning the main computer console had shut off the lights to the data centre, preferring to work in the eerie glow of their monitors.

  What was he doing here? He had no excuse to keep him in the office. But he had no one waiting for him at home. Not now that Rosie had moved back to the other apartment.

  It was better that way. Better that he not get more involved with her than he already was. But she hadn’t understood that.

  Hell. He didn’t understand it. He missed Rosie. He missed her smart mouth. He missed watching that blue butterfly flutter when she walked naked to the bathroom. Or when it heaved in tumult while he drove into her from behind. He missed watching her sleep as she lay curled up beside him in bed. He even missed the straightening irons and diffusers and bottles of hair lotion cluttering up his bathroom counter.

  But she was safe when she wasn’t around him. And that’s what counted.

  “Hey, Sam?” Scott called moments before Sam entered the mantrap to the firing range. “Got a minute?”

  “Yeah, what’s up?” So much for working off his mood with his Glock. Damn he missed being out in the field. Being useful. But fate had proven he was better behind a desk than he was at protecting someone’s life.

  “I found something I think you should see.”

  Something in Scott’s tone got Sam’s attention. “What?”

  Scott hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “I think I might have found your stalker.”

  While he should feel relief that he wouldn’t require babysitting anymore, finding the stalker also meant Rosie would request a transfer and he’d lose her completely. As if he hadn’t already set her on that path. “All right. I’m comin’.”

  As they walked toward the desk Scott had been using, Scott explained, “We’ve been suspecting someone inside, right?”

  Sam nodded.

  “So earlier today, I noticed my computer updating a program all by itself. I thought maybe I’d been hacked so I called the IT guys. They told me all Hauberk computers have a bot program installed so the geeks can do updates without having to go to every computer. So it got me wondering…”

  Sam stopped. “Are you tellin’ me someone’s hacked into our system?”

  “No.” Scott shook his head. “The system’s secure. But I convinced the manager to give me access to run a search on everyone’s hard drives. Search for photos they’d uploaded. IM conversations they may have stored that might mention you. That type of thing.”

  By this time they’d reached the desk. Scott turned the monitor so Sam could see the undoctored photo of him helping Cynthia Stewart from his Jag.

  “Who’s computer was this on?” he breathed.

  “Chad Miller’s.”

  Sam stared at the screen. Revenge is a dish best served cold. Was Chad seeking revenge for Sam for leaving his sister in a wheelchair for the rest of her life?

  But if Chad was seeking revenge, why wouldn’t he have just shot him years ago instead of going through this circuitous route? They’d been alone so many times when Chad could have killed him without witnesses. Like any one of the numerous times they’d been out on Chad’s boat, Chad could have dumped Sam overboard and no one would have been the wiser.

  Or was killing Sam not Chad’s game? If he wanted revenge on someone, how would he best get it? By going after something they cared about, the nasty part of his psyche whispered.

  He whipped out his Berry and speed dialed Rosie’s number. Damn it, no answer. “Rosie’s at the apartment, right?”

  “Ah, no. Some guy named Spencer Harper came over earlier and picked her up. Told her Tha
lia wanted to talk to her at the Rouge. She went over there a couple hours ago.”

  Dear God. No.

  “We’ve got to get to the club. Fast.”

  “I’ll drive.”

  As they raced to the front door, Sam whipped out his Berry and punched in Rosie’s number again.

  It rang the standard four times before dumping him once more into voicemail. Shit, all electronic devices had to be left at the gate.

  Scott unlocked the doors to the limo, holding the back one open until Sam threw himself in. He braced himself as Scott peeled the limo out of the parking lot and headed for the beltway, then dialed Thalia’s number and started praying that she’d pick up.

  She did, on the second ring.

  “Why, Thalia? If it’s revenge, don’t take it out on Rosie. Please.”

  Even over the noise of the car engine, he could hear her sigh. “Oh, Samuel. It’s not revenge we’re after.”

  We’re? Plural. So she and Chad were in on it together, Spencer too. “Then what is it you want?”

  “Come to the club, Sam. We’ll talk about it when you arrive.”

  He clutched the Berry so hard its case cracked. “Don’t hurt her, Thalia. Don’t let anyone else near her. Promise me.”

  “We’ll talk when you get here. But Sam? Don’t take too long.” She broke the connection, leaving Sam staring at his phone.

  “Scott?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Floor it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Spencer held open the door to Thalia’s office, motioning for Rosie to go in. The door behind her, leaving her staring not only at Thalia, but Chad, Andy and a dark-haired Hispanic man she recognized as Sam’s junior partner from Dallas, Mark Rodriguez.

  “Hello, Miss Ramos. It’s a pleasure to meet you again.” Mark stood and greeted her, though she couldn’t miss the thorough assessment he made of her.

  “I didn’t realize you were in D.C., Mr. Rodriguez.” Rosie put her hand on Andy’s shoulder, worried that he might blame her for Sam trying to fire him. “Hey, Andy, how you doing?”

  “I’m okay, Rosie.” But he didn’t meet her gaze.

  Chad however did meet her gaze, nodding his head only slightly, his expression unreadable.

  “Sit down, Rosie,” Thalia said. While her voice was quiet, it contained an unmistakable order.

  What the hell was going on? It was like facing a firing line, or…oh, my God, while she’d been obsessing about combing through the files, something must have happened to Sam. Her breath tight in her throat, she stared at Chad. “Is it Sam? Is he hurt? Did the stalker get him?”

  Mark firmly grasped her shoulders and led her to the chair, pressing her into it. He knelt beside her and laid his hand over hers as it clamped onto the arm of the chair. “Sam is fine. He’s safe in his office. You don’t need to worry.”

  “Then what—”

  “Rosie, we need you to listen and not say anything until we’ve finished,” Chad interrupted. Since she’d taken his chair, Mark walked to the door, closed it and then leaned against it. Was he standing there to stop her from leaving? What the heck was going on?

  “We ask that you keep an open mind about what we tell you,” Thalia said.

  Not knowing who to look at or what to expect, Rosie grasped the arms of the chair and nodded.

  “All right. I’ll keep an open mind.” But that’s all she’d promise. “Now what’s going on?”

  After exchanging a glance with the other three, Chad took a deep breath. “There is no stalker, Rosie. There never has been.”

  She glanced at Andy, who stared at his feet, then at Thalia, who met her gaze evenly and nodded slowly. Mark smiled as if he were in on some huge joke. Except there was nothing funny that she could see.

  “All of us took the photos.” Chad circled his finger at the group. “Thalia took the one at the club, Andy and I took the rest. And I made the phone calls using a spoof card, just like you originally surmised.”

  No wonder they’d not found any fingerprints at the phone booths. Considering Chad had made the calls, he’d probably never had them checked in the first place.

  “But someone broke into his apartment and trashed it.”

  Chad held up his hand. “That would also be me.”

  Andy shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “And I diverted the guard.”

  “Why? Why did you do this?” Damn it, what the hell was going on here?

  The four of them exchanged a glance. Chad nodded and began explaining, “You know about Sam’s part in the club right? You understand why he’s involved?”

  “Yeah, the FBI sent him and his partner—” his fiancée, she couldn’t say, “—in to catch a serial killer. Except she got killed in the process. What’s going on, Chad? Why did you need to stalk him?” She glanced toward the door assessing how she could take Mark down and get past him. How far she might get before they caught up to her? Would she have time to reach a panic button?

  “It’s not what you think, Miss Ramos,” Mark said quietly. “You’re in no danger from us.”

  Chad leaned forward in his chair. “You know that Sam holds himself responsible for Jill’s death, right?”

  “And for me being in a wheelchair,” Thalia added.

  Rosie nodded. “Is that what this has been about, Thalia? Vengeance.”

  “Not vengeance. Compensation.” Thalia folded her hands in her lap and frowned. “Sam’s not allowed himself to become emotionally involved with anyone since Jill died.”

  “I still don’t understand—”

  “Don’t you remember what I said to you that first night Sam approached you?” Chad picked up the conversation. “About how Sam was attracted to you? That’s why Jodi asked that you bid on Sam at the auction. We’d hoped he’d make a move on that date he took you on afterwards. But then you came back and said he’d behaved like a perfect gentleman and nothing happened between you after that.

  “So we decided to force his hand. To put him in daily contact with you. The only way we could think of doing that was by setting you up as his bodyguard. We figured that at some point one of you would act upon your attraction for each other.”

  “So it’s all been some gigantic matchmaking scheme?” She sank back into the chair when they nodded as one. “Well, I hate to tell you this but your plan failed.” Miserably. “Sam broke it off with me.”

  Chad ran his hand through his hair. “I know. But Sam’s just as miserable as you are. That’s why we figured we needed to come clean with you.”

  Thalia leaned forward. “We have a plan, Rosie. But we need your help.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sam threw the car door open before the limo had stopped. Scott hot on his heels, he raced to the front door, which opened seconds before he could open it himself.

  Fredriksson stepped into the doorway; Sam tried to cannonade past him. The floor rushed up to meet him, his forehead hitting the tile with a resounding thud. When he tried to roll to his feet, more than one body held him down and the cold steel of handcuffs bit his wrists.

  Fighting them, he shouted for Scott to call the police. Restraints were fastened around his ankles. An unseen force tugged on one leg, the other moving with it. Shackled, goddamn it.

  “That should hold him,” Scott said from behind him. “And there’s no need for the police, Mr. Watson.”

  “What the hell… Are you in on this too, Phillips? How much they paying you? Because I’ll double it.” And then I’ll rip off your fuckin’ nuts with my bare hands.

  A pair of legs came into view, then hands slipped beneath his arms and he was hauled to his feet.

  Chad, arms folded across his chest, nodded his approval and murmured to Cooper Davis who stood beside him.

  Coop eyed Sam’s restraints dubiously. “Are you sure they’ll hold him?”

  “Should do. I tested ’em myself,” Andy replied from one side of Sam, Scott bracketing his other side.

  “You sons of bitches,” Sam
spat out. “Where’s Rosie? If you have harmed one hair of her head…”

  “Calm down. Rosie’s fine,” Chad said. “You’ll see her in a little while—you got here faster than we expected. But first we want to talk with you.”

  Sam struggled against his restraints to no avail. “I want to see her for myself. Make sure she’s okay.”

  Cooper made noise in the back of his throat. “I hate to point this out, Sam, but you’re not in a position to make demands.” He glanced at Andy and Scott. “Bring him up to my suite. No point in giving the members any more to gossip about.”

  It took three of them to wrestle him into the elevator and down the hall to Cooper’s private suite. He managed to elbow Andy in the chin once, and Scott took a blow to his chest, but they still managed to clip a chain to his handcuffs. That chain was then fastened to a block and tackle attached to a hook in the ceiling and his hands were hauled over his head until his feet barely touched the ground.

  Goddamn. He forced himself to relax. As Andy and Scott flanked the door, Chad and Cooper had positioned themselves on the opposite side of the room.

  Hmm. That was interesting. The curtains were open on either side of the mirrored window leading to Cooper’s private room. Was Rosie in there? Watching? But was she there voluntarily? Was she in on whatever scheme they had planned? Or were they holding her hostage too?

  His fingers curled around the chain as he wondered if the entire affair with her had been orchestrated. If she’d been playing some sort of game with him.

  For what purpose? Blackmail?

  Sam let his entire weight transfer to the block and tackle unit overhead. When it creaked, all eyes trained on the hook in the ceiling. Good, there was a slight possibility of freedom there. Maybe a couple good tugs and he could get free.

  “Relax, Sam. We just want to talk,” Cooper said.

  “So talk.” And while they talked, he’d plan his escape. Because sure as shootin’ there was no way he was gonna be found in another guy’s suite trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.