Page 13 of The Handler
My hands have a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. I close my eyes and try to catch my breath. Someone knocks on my window—I scream.
It takes me a second to recognize Tyler. I pry one hand free and tap the unlock button. He yanks the door open and envelops me, my head on his shoulder. He smells like cedar and safety.
After a few minutes, my shaking slows, and I meet his angry green eyes. “I believe you, now.”
“I’m not happy I’m right.” He cups my cheek. I expect him to kiss me, but he releases me and shifts out of my car. “I’ll follow you back to the Sunflower.”
“Aren’t we going to report it?”
“And give them your name and address to add to an easily accessed database? It will only confirm that you’re who they’re looking for, which was the point of this confrontation. Get you to leave your car and swap information.”
I don’t have an argument, so I nod, and he closes my car door. I don’t know if I obey the speed limit or crawl home, but I end up there. Tyler’s behind me the entire way. It’s comforting, but the timing is odd. Why is all of this happening now after years of nothing?
Once inside, I flick on the kettle to make myself a cup of tea. Mint, I think. “Do you want a cup of tea?”
“Sure.” Tyler’s staring at his phone. He presses some buttons and wanders into the great room, talking low.
Five minutes later, I’m pouring the steaming water over the tea bags when he returns.
“I asked some friends to come out and help me take care of you until we can resolve this.”
“What?” I move without lifting the kettle, and hot water splashes over the counter. “Crap.” I drop the kettle back on its base and dance out of the way of the water sluicing off the edge. Grabbing a hand towel, I quickly mop up the mess.
“Guys from the club. You know most of them, I think. Master Stone and Alex Craig?”
I nod. Master Stone is a fixture in the club and aptly named for his never-smiling, former military vibe. Alex is younger with a Southern drawl—a rigger but not a player.
“And a few guys who do security professionally. You may not have met them. Cade Ramos, Blake Foster, and Eliot Hughes.”
“Where are they going to stay?”
“Here. They can help with the renovations and provide additional layers of security. Someone went after you today. Pretty obviously. I need to figure out who and what’s going on with the Brambilla family. I’d say it’s almost certain Enzo Jr. ordered this.”
“Seems like overkill to have a whole team come out.”
“It was the first touch. Expect it to get more intense. Stone has some friends who can help us remotely, and Eliot’s guys are top-notch.”
“My friend, Gabe—you met him at the wedding—could help with the renovation. And he’s former military.” I’m grasping at straws to keep from having a whole pack of men come out over a fender bender.
“Great. We can use his help too.” Not the answer I hoped for.
I count heads. If I stick to the plan of renovating my rooms, even one at a time, Tyler will have to room with me. I glance at the ceiling. Does God have it out for me? I can’t think of what I did to deserve this complicated life. I could just run away. Change my name and go into hiding somewhere like Alaska, or Argentina, or Antarctica. I glance at Tyler, all puffed up with arms crossed. One “agent jacket” away from when he’d walked into the conference room when I reported what the Brambillas were doing. The agent in charge had introduced him as the victim specialist. Neither of us admitted to knowing each other already. In fact, it had been a bit comforting to have a familiar face on my side. But if I follow my impulse and run now, he’ll chase me to the ends of the earth.
And then I’d have two crazy men after me.
I pull the tea bag and blow across the surface of my cup. Maybe I overreacted, and the guy was just a bad driver? Maybe it has nothing to do with the Brambillas, and he was just another con man? Maybe I’m lying to myself. Even if it was all a misunderstanding today, I’ll let Tyler run this big operation to make sure I’m safe, then he’ll let me go, and I can get on with my life, free of looking over my shoulder or lying about who I am. Free to find someone to have a real relationship with before my life passes me by.
SEVEN
Tyler
I dancearound the ball of nervous energy that goes by the name Amy.
She thrusts a paint can at me with a church key. “Find the paint trays. They’re here somewhere.”
The pile of rollers, brushes, cloths, and extension poles probably hides the metal pans. She flits around, moving things from one pile to another on the bare mattress, acting like a caffeinated butterfly, not the cool CPA I know. The attack affected her more than she admitted.
“We need to move all this furniture. Get it covered. Take that end of the dresser.” She points.
