“Want to grow roots,” she supplied.
“Yes, but I can’t do that if I’m never in one spot for long.”
“So you want a desk job,” she added.
He nodded.
Nikki Waters wasn’t an easy woman to ruffle. She pursed her lips but didn’t try to sway his decision.
“Okay,” she said instead.
“Okay?” He’d half expected her to be angry. Other than Mark he was the highest-ranking field agent.
“When I started Orion, I knew it would be a lot of work, and you’ve been an integral part in helping me carry that workload. That’s included sacrificing your personal life, I’ve noticed. If you want to stay in one place, we can make that happen.”
“So...that’s it?”
Nikki held up her index finger.
“Now, I didn’t say that.”
Chapter Two
Kate Spears sighed as she looked down at the letter covered in blood. It, like the handful of others before it, was folded and had been placed squarely on the middle of her doormat.
Her father, Deacon, a man who was made of worry more than anything else, was lagging behind her, talking on his phone. His current worry that his wife, her stepmother, was having a less than good day at work rated low on the stress totem pole. But like his ability to worry, he took pride in being a good husband. So there he paced across the sidewalk next to Kate’s mailbox, listening to his wife’s woes as his daughter tried to figure out how to handle the bloody stationery.
“If this isn’t a true case of the Mondays, I don’t know what is,” she muttered as she riffled through her larger-than-life purse. Unable to distinguish or adhere to the line between work and home, she found the pack of latex gloves within seconds and pulled one on. In another pocket of her purse she found a clean baggie. Being a scientist had its perks.
“Okay, honey, love you, too,” Deacon said, suddenly closer. Kate panicked and stuffed the note into the plastic bag along with her latex glove as quickly as she could. The bag was then stuffed into the purse. All within seconds. It made Kate momentarily feel like she’d gotten away with something. Though, in hindsight, she would realize there were few things you could get past Deacon Spears. “Are we going to pretend that I didn’t just see you shove several things into your purse?”
Kate let out another long breath. While she didn’t always leave work at work, she didn’t want to bring this conversation home. Especially not during lunch with her father.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she lied, finally opening the front door.
“And there’s the higher pitch to your voice,” he pressed, following her into the entryway of her town house. Normally she would place her purse beneath the table next to the front door, but she kept it close to her side this time. Or else her father would already be going through it.
“Can you stop analyzing me? I’m not data, you know,” she said, grinning. While Deacon owned a hardware store, Kate still insisted on cheesy jokes from her field of work. He usually laughed at them. Not now. The fake mirth didn’t dissuade Deacon’s determination. He crossed his arms over his chest and used the voice reserved only to scold his daughter. Never mind that she was twenty-nine, had a mortgage and had just completed a five-year project that could save countless lives.
“Kathryn Gaye Spears, I don’t know why you’re lying to me, but I do know you better cut the crap now.”
Kate physically shied away from the accusation by moving down the hallway and into the kitchen. Her hand clung to the strap of her purse as if the contact would somehow help it magically know it needed to hide until lunch was over.
“Dad, do you want some coffee?” she hedged. “I really need some.” Deacon followed silently and stood like a statue next to the refrigerator. From growing up with him, Kate knew it was a matter of minutes before his steely resolve broke hers, but Kate was also stubborn. She met her father’s blue-eyed stare with her own brown-eyed one and was reminded in full how the two of them looked nothing alike.
Short yet solid, Deacon had been blessed with a hereditary tan from his half-Hispanic mother, but had his father’s once blond-white hair—even though it was sparse at the crown around an almost shiny bald spot. Besides his overall look that just cried “retiring in Florida,” the fifty-six-year-old had a young, slightly rounded face. One that was partially hidden by another sun-bleached mustache he said his wife Donna thought made him look regal.
Kate, on the other hand, was the spitting image of her mother. Before her death, Cassandra Spears had been taller than her husband when she wore high heels—though she never did—and much leaner. In the same respect that was true for Kate. At five-nine, she could see over Deacon’s head with heels—though she also wasn’t a fan—and was lean but without the muscles that had been a necessary part of Cassandra’s job in law enforcement. Kate also shared the rich brown hair her mother had once sported, waving to her shoulders with thick bangs across her forehead, and her mother’s teardrop face and full lips. The only way she differed from either parent was the less than active tan that graced her skin. In the last five years Kate had resided in labs or over her computer screen during almost all waking hours. There was no time to go outside and play in the sun for her.
Though, as her father’s stare bored holes into her own, Kate thought a break for the park might be better than what was about to happen.
“It’s really not that big of a deal,” Kate finally conceded. “Can’t you just let me deal with it?”
Her father shook his head with a firm no.
Defeated, she put her purse on the counter and pulled out the baggie and its contents.
Alarmed wasn’t a strong enough word for Deacon’s reaction.
“Is that blood?” he asked, voice a mile past concerned. Careful not to rumple the letter inside, he took the bag and set it on the counter.
“It’s made to look like it, but if it’s like the last one it’s synthetic.” His eyes widened.
“The last one? You mean you’ve gotten one before this?”
Kate gave one more sigh. She’d hoped to avoid this conversation with her father until after her trip, when she was sure the letters would stop altogether. Sitting on one of the bar stools opposite him, she explained.
“Over the last few months I’ve received a handful of letters here and at the office,” she admitted. “Only this one and the last one were covered in what looks like human blood, but we tested and confirmed it to be fake. Though, I still wouldn’t touch that without gloves on.” She pulled another set out of her purse and passed them to her father—a man curious enough to want to pull the letter out. Silently he slipped them on and did just that. Kate quickly put down a paper towel so the blood—fake or not—wouldn’t touch the granite.
“It’s covered front and back with writing,” he observed, squinting at the handwritten letters. It was identical to all of the other notes she’d received. “But it’s only one word, repeated. Zastavit.” He kept saying the word, as if tasting it to figure out its root.
“I think it’s Czech,” she said after a moment.
“Are you sure?”
She shrugged. “No, but I can guarantee it means ‘stop.’”
His eyebrows rose in question.
She held up her index finger and made a quick trip to her bedroom. There she picked up a small box and brought it back to her father. Sitting back down, she waited for him to open it and extract the bundle of letters.
“Only a handful of letters? How many hands are you talking about in this scenario?” The letters numbered eighteen in total. Each had a single word repeated over the paper’s entirety.
“They are all in different languages, but they all roughly translate to the word stop,” she explained. “Plus, the first one was in English. I suppose to help me out just in case I didn’t underst
and...or, you know, use a translator or the internet.”
“Stop...stop what?” Realization lit his features before Kate had time to answer. “Your research.”
She shrugged. “I suppose so. That’s the only thing I really have going on in my life. Unless they want me to stop drinking coffee. Which, I’ll be frank, isn’t going to happen anytime soon.”
“Dammit, Kate!” Her father slammed his free hand down on the counter, making her jump. “Stop joking about this!” He waved the note closest to him—the Hungarian one—in the air. “These are threats, not some love letters. Someone obviously invested a lot of thought and time into these.”
“But they aren’t threats, Dad,” she insisted. “They are simply eclectic suggestions. No threat of harm has been given in any of them.”
“But they’ve been delivered to your home, Kate!”
“And that’s what I told the cops after the second one I received.”
He was surprised at that.
“What did they say?”
“Exactly what I just said. They aren’t really threats and nothing else has happened. They suggested putting a camera on the front porch, but...” She quieted.
“But what?”
“But I’ve been so busy preparing for the convention that I keep forgetting.” Her father seemed to be trying very hard to keep his anger at his daughter’s apparent lack of concern under control. He placed the letters back in the box and the newest one back into its bag. He slid that one over when done.
“You will test this as soon as possible to make sure it is in fact fake. I am calling in to the store and taking off the rest of the day. Make me that coffee you mentioned.” He picked the box up and walked to the eat-in table. “I’m going to look through all of these in silence while I try to figure out what I did to deserve such a stressful child.”
* * *
KATE PINCHED THE bridge of her nose and hoped the pain behind her dark brown eyes was a tease and not the beginnings of a headache. Sprawled out on her bed, amid her suitcase and carry-on, she called upon every entity there was and begged that the headache would stay far, far away.
She didn’t need any more complications than she was already dealing with.
“Having a bodyguard is not that big a deal,” her father said from the doorway. Since learning about the notes a week ago, she’d had constant supervision and parental advice. “Stop being such a baby!”
Kate, often referred to as brilliant by her supervisor, stuck out her tongue before responding.
“I’m not being a baby,” she retorted, trying to keep the whine from her voice. “I think I’m reacting normally given the circumstances.”
“Most daughters would be grateful, you know.”
She laughed.
“Most daughters don’t have their fathers go behind their backs and hire bodyguards to supervise their trips to life-changing work functions!”
He managed to look momentarily guilty before shooting back with a response. “Well, most daughters don’t—” He held up his hand, stopping himself. “Listen, we can sit here and fight about this all day while you lie next to your empty luggage, or you can just take the gesture with graciousness and understand that I only have one baby girl and that’s you.” His voice took on an edge that Kate recognized as vulnerability from the almost always strong man. It killed the less-than-nice reply she’d had waiting on the tip of her tongue. He walked over and took a seat next to her. She sat up to look him in the eyes.
“It’s because of that fact that I can say this without getting into trouble,” he started. Kate swallowed, unsure whether or not she was about to get into more trouble. However, when he continued, his voice was kind. “You’ve spent most of your life fighting to help people you’ll never meet by doing research and working tirelessly in labs. Along the way you’ve achieved a level of greatness I never could have, and for that I’ll be forever proud... But your drive—your dedication—often puts blinders up, making it hard for you to see the big picture. While your research is important, you are, too. You’ve tried to keep your work a secret, but what have I told you about secrets?”
“They don’t exist.”
He smiled.
“Someone will always tell someone else. It’s the law of the land. And one that your mother tried to teach us. Someone obviously knows something, and whether or not it’s the truth or some half-baked version of it, they have set their sights on you. Now, you’ve told me this convention will change everything. Well, I want to make sure you’re there to see that through and continue to see it through long after it’s over. Because even though you won’t see the big picture—and its danger—I’ll tell you right now that it’s there.” He patted her knee. “So, please, accept this protection, if only to give your old man some peace of mind.”
Kate watched as a range of emotions played across her father’s face. It reminded her of all the sacrifices he’d had to make to raise her on his own since she was nine. Never once asking anything of her.
Until now.
“Because I love you and can see your point, I’ll make a deal with you,” she offered. “I will humor you by accepting the protection of only one bodyguard. Any more than that will bring unwanted attention and, well, freak me out a little. So one and that’s it, okay?”
He looked like he was ready to fight her again, but after a moment he nodded.
“Okay.” He stuck out his hand to shake. “Deal.”
They shook and she rolled her eyes. Their tender moment dissipated as he stood and stretched.
“Now, I have to ask, how exactly are you paying for this bodyguard service?” Like Kate, her father wasn’t particularly wealthy. He worked at the hardware store he and his wife of five years owned.
“I was lucky enough to get connected to a place that works for free on cases they believe need it. One of my customers worked a news story for them when he lived in Dallas and was kind enough to give me a reference.” He grinned.
“Oh, so they’re amateurs, then.”
“Definitely not. Their track record is impressive, to say the least,” he answered. “Don’t worry, I vetted them pretty well.”
“So why exactly are they doing it for free?” she asked, perplexed. Deacon smiled wide.
“I guess that’s a question you’ll just have to ask your bodyguard.”
Chapter Three
Traffic.
Here it was again.
Jonathan looked out his rental’s window and snorted.
“Welcome to New York City,” he said to himself.
He’d been stuck in standstill traffic for the last half hour thanks to a fender bender that had escalated to the point of the cops being called. It had made the two lanes of traffic that had been moving along nicely stop dead.
Unnecessary. Annoying. Unpleasant.
It probably didn’t help that he could use all three descriptors for his current client, Kathryn Spears. Instead of waiting for him at the airport like Nikki and the woman’s father had agreed on the night before, Jonathan had landed to a voice mail from her saying she’d gone ahead to the hotel.
Because, in her words, “I really need some better coffee.”
After ten more minutes of waiting, traffic finally started to pick up again. Jonathan had spent the time while he waited going over the route to the hotel in an attempt to not get lost. He’d been to New York before and he knew the frustration of getting turned around this close to Times Square. Thankfully he avoided any misdirection, a feat considering if he had missed the turn into the hotel’s parking garage—an almost hidden entrance due to the sidewalk that was barely sloped for a car to drive up—he would have had to take a series of left turns until he made his way back. Costing him more time away from fulfilling Orion’s end of the contract.
He parked, sent a text
to Nikki to let her know he’d finally gotten in and collected his bag. It contained a suit, pressed and folded, along with a myriad of pristine yet flexible clothing. It was light but had everything he needed for the Friday-through-Tuesday stay—not the longest contract he’d done nor the shortest. But, as he’d told Nikki, it would be his last. In his mind he went over the layout of the building as he rode up in the elevator. Above the parking garage, there were four floors. A lounge area branched off the lobby on the first floor with guests having access to a twenty-four-hour gym. There were two sets of stairs on opposite sides of the building with two elevators positioned next to them, diagonal from the lobby front desk. The front entrance led directly to the sidewalk that ran along the street.
Jonathan hadn’t stayed at the dismal pink-painted hotel before, but Jillian had walked him through its layout before he’d left. It was nice to know what he was going into versus going in blind. Orion agents prided themselves on being prepared—though that wasn’t always easy, considering people often did surprising things—and since Orion’s expansion three years ago they’d gotten better at it. Even when a contract changed at the last second.
He looked at his reflection in the elevator door and let out a grunt. Not getting the best sleep the night before and catching an early flight, he hoped the client didn’t notice the dark circles beneath his eyes. He blamed the chatty man who’d had the aisle seat next to him. It made him wonder if Kathryn was like that, recalling what he had been told initially by Nikki at Mark’s engagement party.
“I wouldn’t ask you to take this one, since, for one, you just got back, and, two, you just asked for a desk job. But the man requesting our services was so concerned...I could almost feel it myself.” Nikki’s eyes had traveled to the wall at that. It was a blank space, but he knew on the other side was her real target. A single picture of a young woman. The reason behind Orion’s origin. The woman who had changed their lives, whom Nikki, Oliver, Mark and Jonathan couldn’t have been what they were now without. The woman they hadn’t saved. “He lives in Florida but heard about us through one of Thomas’s recent clients. His daughter has been receiving some really troubling letters.”
Be on the Lookout Page 2