Page 13 of Hero

Evelyn looked up at Justine.

“Justine,” she said. “May I use your first name?”

“Sure,” Justine said. She didn’t say, “I’d like you to,” because it implied a level of friendliness, and nothing about this felt friendly.

“As you must know, we’ve spent the better part of the past twelve hours learning all about what happened to our brother Benjamin.” Her forehead remained an empty, unreadable surface, but she was able to make her eyebrows lift slightly as she stared into Justine’s eyes.

She went on. “It’s a tragic story. Everybody has lost. I don’t pretend to know what your relationship with our brother was. I’m sure you sincerely miss him and feel grateful that he went to such an extreme as to lose his own life in an effort to divert your enemies away from you after your shooting.”

“He was a special person,” Justine said. She resisted the impulse to correct Evelyn. She had seen Ben be heroic a dozen times. The fact that she had risked her life to back up Ben this time didn’t change who Ben was. Explaining the nuances and complications of the bodyguard business to a woman like this was probably impossible and would have beenpointless. And yes, Ben had probably gotten killed because the killer had been looking for Justine.

Evelyn said, “You’ll be getting a substantial payment as soon as the technicalities are taken care of. There will be papers to sign first, of course. Lawyers insist on that.”

“Papers? What papers?”

“Well, you and Benjamin were close. You’re an attractive younger woman. You will have to agree not to file any lawsuits against his estate or the family company.”

“Why would I do that?”

“A common law relationship, or damages for his pressuring or coercing you. In your profession I’m sure you’ve protected people who have been sued, and you know the sort of thing.”

“We didn’t have that kind of relationship,” Justine said.

“I’m relieved for you when I hear that. It spares you so much pain,” Evelyn said. She looked up at Walker, a silent communication passing between them. “Legal is preparing a standard NDA, to assure our clients that their privacy is protected, as well as any company proprietary information. The lawyers will be calling you to a brief meeting. Once you sign the papers you can go home with your severance check.”

Justine stood staring at them for a second. “Don’t do this.”

Walker and Evelyn exchanged another glance. Evelyn tried to assume an expression of motherly concern. “Surely you understand that we have a responsibility that we never wanted or asked for. Your continued presence here puts our employees at risk—exactly the same risk that our brother faced. How can we expect them to take that on?”

Justine said, “I’m asking you not to fire me.”

“We don’t want to fire you. That’s why we’re presenting you with this alternative. You get to walk away with a generous severance packageand tell outsiders anything you want—that you’re taking time to mourn Benjamin, that you’re rethinking your future goals, that you’re going back to school. Then you become silent. It will be a couple of years before people realize you must have decided not to come back. It’s a very gentle, quiet process.”

Justine said, “The police are still investigating what happened at the Pinskys’ house. What I did was the only thing possible, but when two people get shot it’s a very big thing, and the authorities need time to learn everything about it. If I’m suddenly no longer with Spengler-Nash, no matter what we say, the police will interpret this as a termination. They, and I, think of a professional bodyguard protecting a client with a gun as a regrettable but legal act—protecting others is one form of self-defense—but any shooting can easily slide from self-defense to manslaughter. If I get fired, it will mean to them that I must have done something wrong. They can even decline to make a determination, which means this could hang over me forever.”

Evelyn’s gaze was bright and piercing, and it looked to Justine as though she was pleased. She said, “Well, then. This is another very strong reason to be mindful about the way your departure is handled.”

Walker took his cue. “Speaking of departures, I’m sorry, but we really have to be on the move now. We’ve got a meeting with the funeral director.” He assumed a sad half-smile. “You understand.”

As Evelyn stood and followed Walker to the door, she said, “Before you leave, please don’t forget to be sure your contact information is up to date. The lawyers will need to reach you for the papers and so on.”

9

Justine stood by the window of Ben’s office and watched the Spenglers make their way past the desks and into the hallway toward the elevators. After a few seconds she heard thedingand the elevator doors opening, then closing.

The early shift bodyguards had gone. They were all probably a little bit late because of the visit of the Spengler siblings. It probably wouldn’t matter because the clients today were mostly the sort who liked to take their time showing up to events. She knew because she had worked with all of them on the night shift. It occurred to her that she had been strapping herself into party dresses with pepper spray, tasers, and handcuffs hidden in them since she was twenty. She was a favorite for actresses and female executives because she could accompany them into restrooms and dressing rooms, and she was a favorite for some males because she could make herself look like a date.

As she left Ben’s office and walked toward her desk in the open bay, she realized that this would probably be her very last few minutes in the Spengler-Nash headquarters. She turned fully around, looking at the space and letting her eyes pick out swirls and arches in the grain ofthe woodwork that she had been looking at for nine years. There was no use trying to memorize the look of the old office. In a month the details would probably be smoothed out of the image in her mind anyway.

She had felt the shock of Ben’s death like a devastating wound, the kind that left a person breathless and in pain, and then the deep sadness for him and—she had to admit it—for herself had taken hold of her for hours. She loved him, and he was gone, taken away from her. She had not been able to stop crying at first, and then had forced herself to stop by throwing herself into work. She had goaded herself into a manic fervor, trying to assume the tasks he would normally be doing, as though keeping his company running smoothly was keeping him in existence. It was not some magical way of not letting him die. She wasn’t crazy. In keeping this day’s operations on track she was preserving his work, his accomplishments, intact. This was the only favor and tribute she could give or he could receive. That had ended with the visit of his brother and sister. She hated them. She hated them so much that she knew she shouldn’t sit here thinking about them.

She tried to remember why she had decided to take such an outlandish career. She had been nineteen, going to the California State University at Northridge, chosen because it was close. She was poor. Her mother and grandmother’s combined savings and the surplus they could produce by denying themselves more than she could bear to know, together with the student loans she was piling up, kept her there. She had needed a summer job that paid more than she had been making as a waitress and barista. She had seen the Spengler-Nash ad for someone to do research and reporting. She remembered wondering what that meant, but the pay looked great to her after the jobs she’d had for the years of high school and college. This might be a chance to work harder and do better, so she was interested.

She sent in her application, got an interview with Benjamin Spengler, and listened to his description of the job. It was office work, eightA.M. to sixP.M.five days a week. He asked the usual questions, like “Do you have your school ID on you?” She figured a security guy was supposed to be suspicious so she’d shown it to him. He’d said, “What’s your major?” She’d said, “I don’t have to declare one until fall.”

He’d asked some questions she was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to ask. “Do you get offended if a man where you work asks you out?”

“Only if he’s an asshole,” she said.

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