A soft ping announced the arrival of another email into the same account. Bianca’s pulse quickened. She frowned at the words that had just popped up on the screen.
We need you to retrieve something that was stolen from us. We will pay one million dollars US.
Now, that was tempting. She needed the money. She could answer the email, take the job and—
Live your life in compartments.
The rule pushed its way into her mind. This email account belonged to her father. The smartest, safest thing she could do was leave it in his compartment and walk away.
“Don’t answer it,” she said, as she’d said about the previous emails. “We’re not going to respond.”
“Yeah.”
As Doc nodded agreement, she turned and left his office.
Her throat was tight and her stomach churned. Ignoring those emails was one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
They felt like a last link to her father. Like she could somehow get to him through them. And she was walking away.
From the first moment she’d been able to pause to catch her breath after the harrowing journey she and Doc had undertaken to get out of the Middle East, she’d monitored every means of communication that had ever connected her to Richard—the email account that was only used for exchanges between the two of them, the last burner phone number she’d had for him that she did not dare call for fear someone besides Richard might be watching the other end, her business and personal phone lines that he had never used but that he knew, everything.
She’d done that because, Bianca realized, in her heart of hearts she still expected to hear from him again. And that would be because she was still having trouble processing the fact that he was dead even though she had watched him die.
She hadn’t left the Middle East without making certain there were no survivors from that fire, despite another rule that Richard had drummed into her from childhood: Never look back.
She could still hear his voice lecturing in her head: If an operation goes south, it’s every man for himself. Your job is to get the hell out.
That was what she’d done, but she was still paying the price in grief, regret—and the nightmares about being trapped in a fire that now haunted her sleep almost every night.
“Bee? You okay?” Walking by her with the tray of drinks, Evie looked at her with a frown.
Bianca realized that she had stopped walking just outside Doc’s door and was standing stock-still with her arms crossed over her chest staring blankly into space.
Shake it off. “I’m fine. I was just thinking about something.”
Plastering a hopefully not-too-fake-looking smile on her face, she followed Evie into her office.
CHAPTER 11
The restaurant was as fabulous as always. Hay showed up just after they were seated and before Kazmarek could do much more than press his thigh suggestively against hers under the table, and over after-dinner drinks Bianca persuaded Kazmarek to sign on the dotted line, making Gordon’s Jewelry Stores their newest client.
All in all, a good day. Except for the anonymous email, which was still taking up way more than its fair share of real estate in the back of her mind. The more she thought about it, the more obvious it became that whoever had sent it had an ongoing relationship with Richard that was different from her experience of his interactions with other paying clients. Your services are required. There was an arrogance to it. As if her father were obligated to—
“That ole boy was droolin’ all over you the whole time we were eating,” Hay said with disapproval. Six-one with short fair hair that had been blond when he was a kid, bright blue eyes that crinkled when he smiled and a muscular build, he had the all-American appeal of the high school football star he had once been. He was looking good in the navy blazer, tieless blue shirt and khaki pants that were a staple of the Savannah male business wardrobe. Twenty-nine, single and gainfully employed, he had a whole lot of women interested in him. Bianca might have been, too, but she considered him one of her closest friends. Additionally, he worked for her and did a very good job at it. None of those things did she want to screw up by starting a romantic relationship with him that was doomed to fail, anyway.
She knew Hay well. He was a salt-of-the-earth kind of guy, with plenty of vices but no real vice in him. The thing was, he knew only a tiny part of her. And that was the way it had to be.
“We got the contract,” she retorted.
“Yeah, we did. Congratulations, by the way.”
She smiled at him. “You helped.”
“I’m glad to play bodyguard.” He looked her up and down and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Especially to such a great body.”
She made a face at him. “Ha ha.”
“Wasn’t joking.”
After seeing Kazmarek and company off, they were walking down the sidewalk away from the restaurant, which was housed in the Mansion on Forsyth Park, a boutique hotel in the historic district, on the way to their respective vehicles. It was nearly 10:00 p.m., a clear night with a lot of people out and about, strolling along the sidewalks that fronted the rows of antebellum houses or through the parklike squares. Thanks to a salt-scented breeze blowing in from the ocean, the day’s humidity was gone and the temperature was no more than a smidgen above pleasantly warm. Dripping tendrils of Spanish moss from the huge live oaks lining the street hung low overhead. Antique-looking streetlamps on the corners acted as beacons for a whole collection of flying bugs. The cicadas were doing their usual thing and providing a little night music.
Like Bianca, Hay had had to scramble to find parking because the redbrick, turreted former-mansion-turned-hotel was popular with locals and tourists alike and the lot was full when they got there. As they neared the intersection, Bianca spotted his dark green Chevy Tahoe beside the curb about half a block down Gwinnett. Her silver Acura with the magnetic Guardian Consulting signs on each of the front doors (itemized tax deductions were a wonderful thing) was parked a block farther along the street they were currently on, Drayton.
“Gordon’s Jewelry has the potential to be an extremely lucrative contract.” Her tone was serious as she looked up at him. “You’ll get a bonus.”
“That’s why I didn’t punch Kaz in the nose when he started trying to play footsie with you under the table.” Hay’s faintly sour tone told Bianca that Kazmarek’s overattentiveness to her still rankled. It was an open secret that Hay, in the parlance of the Deep South, “fancied” her, but he wasn’t pushy about it. They’d known each other since Bianca had started coming home to Savannah with Evie when she and Evie were twelve and he was fifteen. He was the proverbial boy next door (well, to Evie). That would be because his single mother, who worked for Macy’s as a retail associate, i.e., salesclerk, had lived in the carriage house belonging to the place next door to Evie’s parents’ huge mansion on East Jones Street for free in exchange for keeping an eye on the Big House while the owners traveled the world. Hay had spent a good portion of those teenage visits hanging with Evie and Bianca and, as they grew older, trying to get Bianca to go out with him. She never had, holding out as he spent a year partying at the University of South Carolina and then joined the army, where he’d served a tour in Afghanistan. He’d been working as a cop in tiny Sandfly, one of the many small satellite communities around Savannah, and doing his best to cope with a bad case of the what-do-I-do-with-the-rest-of-my-life’s by drinking heavily when Bianca had started setting up her bolt-hole in Savannah. When she’d run into Hay—she’d been speeding through Sandfly in her little red sports car and he’d pulled her over—she’d been struck by a flash of inspiration even as he was writing her out a ticket. Hay was just the man she needed to handle day-to-day operations at Guardian Consulting. A cop who was ex-military, someone she knew, liked and trusted—he was perfect for what she had in mind. So she’d offered
him the job, he’d accepted and he’d been instrumental in helping to build up the business to where they were today.
Making a face at him, Bianca said, “I appreciate your forbearance.”
“Much as it shames me to admit it, I can be bought.”
“Can’t we all.” Bianca’s tone was light. Truth was, he had no idea. She looked up at him as they reached the junction with Gwinnett and jerked a thumb in the direction he needed to go. “Your car’s that way.”
“I’m walking you to yours.”
There was no arguing with him about it, she knew, and telling him that she could take care of herself was a waste of her breath. He knew she’d studied martial arts, and he knew that she knew her way around a punching bag, but he’d never seen her in action for real and she got the impression that he considered both endeavors as something along the line of cute little hobbies. Hay had no idea about her secret life as the elite sublegal operative she’d learned to be as her father’s daughter, or anything about the way she actually made most of her money and found the funds to do things like, say, buy her condo or grow the business. Giving him a demonstration of exactly what she could do might have opened his eyes a little, but it would also raise questions she didn’t want to answer.
Besides, she didn’t mind the company.
“You get anywhere with Dynex this afternoon?” she asked as they proceeded through the intersection.
“Nope. Everything was present and accounted for. If I didn’t know better, I might think somebody knew we were going to be there.”
“An inside job?”
“That’s what I’m thinking. I’ve got Latts and Harper—” two of the people who worked under him “—cross-checking time clocks to see who was present—or absent—when each of the thefts occurred. We’re also looking at the logs of trucks that came into the dock area. Can’t carry off that much equipment without a truck.”
“Sounds like a plan. What about the Simpsonville deliveries? Did they go okay?” she asked. The Simpsonville deliveries involved supervising the dropping off of bags of cash to a chain of payday loan stores that had, unfortunately, attracted the attention of some small-time thieves who wanted the cash but no loan. After four locations in ten days had been robbed just as the stores were opening and the day’s cash was being delivered, the owners had called in security professionals, i.e., Guardian Consulting. Guardian Consulting brought in retired cops to escort the money deliveries while police investigated the robberies. It wasn’t a large gig, but the payday loan chain was expanding and it could grow.
Anyway, Bianca was a big believer in word of mouth. She did her best to make sure every job was done right and trusted that the word would spread. So far it had worked, both in the security business and in the extracurricular jobs utilizing her unique skill set that she took on individually. Advertising wasn’t an option in the kind of circles where somebody wanted back the five million his business partner had embezzled and fled to Switzerland with, for example. She could get the money back, though not necessarily by legal means. Her fee for such services was usually twenty percent of the total, but it could be more or less, depending on the job.
“Like clockwork. Thieves like the ones that hit them spot a cop and take off after easier targets. As long as we’re on the job, I don’t imagine they’ll have any more trouble.” Hay slanted a look down at her. “You going straight home after this?”
Sometimes they got a drink together at the conclusion of a long day. The Distillery was one of their favorite bars and it was nearby. Bianca knew what he was asking. But given the fact that she wasn’t going to sleep with him because she valued their relationship the way it was, and it would get awkward if one booze-soaked night he was suddenly not okay with that, she tried to keep pub crawling with Hay to a minimum.
So she nodded. “Yes. Well, after I stop by the store. Evie texted me a list.”
He accepted her decision without surprise. He knew the score. “Oh, that’s right, she’s at your place, isn’t she?”
“For the time being. Fourth kept showing up at their house and making a scene. She’s just staying with me until he gets it out of his system.”
Hay snorted. “That’ll be about the time the next bimbo walks by.”
“Maybe. But see, there’s the house. He really doesn’t want to lose the house to Evie in a divorce. So I’m betting he keeps it zipped until he’s convinced she’s serious when she tells him they are never, ever, ever getting back together.”
Hay grinned but said, “Shithead.”
He was referring to Fourth, Bianca knew, and since their opinion of Evie’s blue-blooded Southern aristocrat soon-to-be ex-husband was pretty much the same, she grimaced agreement.
“Think your boy Doc could hook us up with some ship itineraries and bills of lading?”
The way Hay referred to “your boy Doc” told Bianca that he had yet to fully accept Doc as a member of the Guardian Consulting team. He’d been dubious of the fast-talking Northerner from the time Bianca had brought Doc back with her from her last “vacation” abroad and opened up the new-to-them branch of cyber security with Doc as its head. For his part, Doc seemed to regard the drawling native Georgian as a refugee from The Dukes of Hazzard.
Bianca’s diagnosis of the problem was, the two didn’t speak each other’s language. Doc was all about computers, and Hay was the quintessential man of action. Sooner or later, she was convinced they were bound to stumble upon common ground. If not, in her experience it wasn’t so much absence but time that made the heart grow fonder.
“For the Dynex investigation? Why don’t you ask him?”
“’Cause every time I say anything to him he looks at me like he thinks I ought to be strumming a banjo in the backwoods somewhere.”
Bianca had to smile. “He does not.”
“He does. And you know it.”
“Ask him, anyway.”
“You’re a real hard-ass, you know that?”
“The knowledge keeps me awake at night.” They had almost reached her car, and Bianca pulled her keys from her purse and hit the unlock button. The resultant ding and brief flash of her headlights had Hay glancing that way.
“You still planning on going to that Historic Savannah thing weekend after next?” Hay asked as they reached the car and she opened her door. As the car’s interior light spilled out over the pavement, she looked at him over the top of the door.
By “that Historic Savannah thing,” she knew he meant the annual autumn charity ball/auction/gala put on by the Preservation League. It was a costume event where all attendees were supposed to dress like residents of antebellum Savannah. All the Savannah Old Guard plus a select coterie of moneyed newcomers would be present, and as a local business owner Bianca was expected both to make a generous donation to the cause and to attend. On the bright side, it was an excellent networking opportunity.
“I think I might be Evie’s date,” she said. “She’s the event cochair, so she has to go. She doesn’t want to go alone, and, to quote her, she’s sure as hell not going with Fourth. So at this point that leaves me.”
“I’m sure you two will make a beautiful couple.” Hay’s eyes slid away from hers. For a moment he looked shifty. “The thing is, I have a family thing that weekend and—”
Bianca hooted. “Your mother’s in Atlanta until January and your sister lives in California. Nice try.”
“I’m allergic to costumes. The wig itches.”
“Suck it up.”
“I want overtime.”
“Your paycheck clears, doesn’t it?”
“Hard-ass.”
“Damn straight. All hands on deck for this one, mister.”
“Come on, Bianca.”
“If I have to go, you have to go. It’s community outreach. It’s a way to drum up business. Anyway, I thought you were
taking Susan Clemons.”
He rubbed his nose. “When we went out last Saturday night, she said she was ready for us to be exclusive. Things kind of went to hell from there.”
“So you’re not taking Susan Clemons.”
“Nope.”
“Get another date. Or go stag. Or go with Evie and me. I know, I’ll draft Doc and we can make it a foursome.”
“Tickets are sold out. Too late to get one for Doc.”
“He can go as your date. Instead of Susan Clemons.”
“I’ll get my own date, thanks.”
“Works for me.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You think you just won this argument, don’t you?”
She grinned. “I do.”
“This is not over,” he warned as she slid into the driver’s seat.
“You’re just a sore loser.” She closed the door, started the car, flipped on the lights, then waved to Hay, who stood on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets watching as she pulled away from the curb.
She stopped by the store on her way home, so it was close to 11:00 p.m. by the time she pulled into the gated underground parking lot where she had two reserved spaces. Usually her second one stayed empty; tonight Evie’s blue Volvo waited in the second spot.
She’d owned the condo, which was right outside the historic district, for four years now. The building was still under construction when she’d bought the three-bedroom, top (eighth) floor unit, and she’d been able to finish it to her specifications. Those included a steel-reinforced front door, a spiral staircase that provided access to a private rooftop garden (she could rappel off the roof, which meant it could serve as an emergency exit, if necessary), a specialized tool vault hidden behind a wall in the pantry, another vault for cash and valuables beneath the master bathroom floor and a state-of-the-art security system.
The parking area was concrete, dimly lit and deserted. Most everybody who lived in the building was home, she could tell from a quick glance around at the number of parked cars as she got out, but they were apparently all up in their apartments doing whatever it was they did at this time of night in the middle of a workweek. As far as she could tell, she was all alone in the garage. She started to unload the groceries from her trunk and almost jumped out of her skin when a voice piped up behind her.
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