Page 5 of Stay Close
I switch smoothly into personal protection officer mode. The transition is easy. I’ve been doing this for almost a decade. “Before we made contact, the client used social media to broadcast her location. We’re at the palace now, and I’ll be briefing her on security protocols shortly.”
“You do that. You’d better not be treating this as a walk in the park. I know you think you’re being punished, but her firm is one of our best clients.”
Anything I say in protest would be a lie. I’m one of the best officers he has, but Gideon assigned me to protect a single civilian employed by two friendly governments to negotiate ownership over the smallest piece of land in the world. It’s a cakewalk. A rookie could do this.
“I’m not being punished? That’s news to me. While we’re here, Ms. Spencer’s primary responsibility is being escorted to and from meetings. The lemon pie was unexpected, I grant you, but I’d be surprised if the biggest danger she faces in the next weeks isn’t a papercut.” My voice is dry when I add, “My advance work confirmed that the Sondish medical system is excellent. They’ve got a trauma team in the event that the paper cut goes septic.”
I hear the sound of riffling paper and Gideon’s dismissive laugh. “You’re the only one of my team with a Pixy hashtag and internet fangirls. When your profile goes down, I’ll give you something with more meat.”
Not for the first time, I curse the fact that nearly everyone in the world walks around with a recording device in their pocket. I curse the slo-mo function and the editing software which allows early 90s power ballads to be laid over something as simple as closing the backseat door of a dark town car and checking backup on my ear piece.
I will always love you, too, Whitney Houston.
“I hope you enjoyed guarding BLUSH,” he says, of the Seongan pop group that has overtaken Asia like a glittery, pink colossus. “You’re not going back.”
“Fine by me.” I’d take any job to get out of professional purgatory. Even this one.
“So we agree. You’ve got one job. Guard the client, keep your head down. Oh, and Castillo?”
“Sir?”
“Stop looking at her legs.”
That charge would be a lot easier if she didn’t answer the door of her suite wearing a pair of sleek black leggings, her hair wrapped in a towel and perched on her head.
“Come in, come in,” she beckons, dancing backward in her figure-hugging clothes. I try to stop looking at her legs by staring at the drawing on her oversized t-shirt. Is that a vomiting penguin?
She glances down and wrinkles her nose adorably. “Awful, right? But this is a beloved national character, evidently, so I can’t complain. Caroline scrounged a few things and offered to take me around to some shops tomorrow if my luggage doesn’t turn up.”
“Caroline?” I ask.
“VrouwTiele,” she explains.
I nod. “Nice of her.” In my experience, low-level civil servants come in two flavors—conscientious or power hungry. “You look like you’re doing better.” This is part of my job—taking her temperature, responding to any lack of ease and security.Making sure she knows that anyone who threatens her life or her dry cleaning will have to go through me first. This allows my client to perform at her best.
She lets the towel tumble off her head and crushes the wavy brown hair in her hands. Padding around the suite in her bare feet, she gathers a laptop and her electronic writing tablet. “Food and a hot shower will do that. Speaking of, the water pressure is unbelievable.”
A smile tucks my cheek. Noted.
“Do you have time to go over expectations?”
I couch the question in terms of a request, but it’s not. She needs to know the rules ASAP, and I can’t put this off.
Edie smiles and settles into the sofa, crossing her long legs. “I’m ready.”
First rule: Stop being cute.
I can’t say that. I drag a chair closer to the coffee table and lean forward. “First rule: No sneaking off.” She makes a bullet point and begins scrawling on her tablet. A leftie. Cute. I clear my throat. “There’s going to come a time when it feels like I’m too much trouble or when running out for something quick seems easier than notifying your protection officer and following the protocols. Don’t do that.”
She cocks a brow. “People really hire you and then—” She waves her hand.
“There are a million variables in security work, and the one that causes the most problems is the client. There has to be a level of trust and communication between us.”
Head down, she writes every word I’m saying. Her tongue darts to the corner of her mouth. I glance over the room, everywhere but her.
“What’s the next rule?” She looks up, clear gray eyes level with mine. I reach for the knot of my tie and ease it loose.
“Second rule: I have to know your world. For however long we’re together.” One month, maybe two, that’s what Gideon said, before I can get back to doing real field work. I’m counting the days. “I have to know all your plans, all your friends, your habits, your worries. Think of me as your nosy Aunt Luciana.”
