Page 105 of The Bodyguard

Twenty

WE WERE JUSTstarting to think we’d dodged getting caught at the hospital when a photo of Jack showed up on a gossip site.

And then ten minutes later? It was everywhere.

Sure enough, it was taken in the waiting room of the ER. And though it was from a distance, and it was more the side of his face than the front, it did look a lot like him.

The internet wasn’t sure, though. Articles started popping up like, “What’s World Famous Jack Stapleton Doing in Katy, Texas?” and “Stapleton Sighted in Nowheresville” and “Reclusive Superstar Takes Obscurity to a New Level.”

Enthusiastic internet sleuths found pictures of Jack taken at similar angles and posted them side by side, parsing each detail with Oliver Stone–like precision. Was this the true shape of Jack Stapleton’s earlobe? Was the dot on his neck a shadow or a freckle? Was this the same T-shirt he’d worn in a paparazzi shot two New Year’s Eves ago?

It was impressive work, actually. Glenn should recruit some of those people.

In the end, the internet broadly agreed: Yes, The Destroyer had been spotted in a random little hospital in a tiny Texas town. The question nobody seemed to have an answer to was why.

All to say: Jack being sort-of exposed bumped us up to threat level orange at last.

Maybe a light orange—more like a sherbet—but orange all the same.

The team had to evaluate more internet chatter and track a new explosion of “fans” who looked like they could cause trouble. I started putting on leggings and sneakers every day for “an afternoon run” to jog off the property for surveillance updates at headquarters.

It was just down the road, but it might as well have been a whole other world.

I didn’t love going.

And I loved it even less the day I found Glenn there, mid rant.

Doghouse was there, too, as were Taylor and Robby.

“I don’t care what your feelings are. Feelings have no place in this room!” Glenn was shouting. He banged his hand on the desk at those words.

“What’s going on?” I asked, closing the door behind me.

Glenn, looking pissed, pointed at me. “This is your fault, too.”

“My fault!” I said. “I just got here.”

“Twenty-five years I went without any of my agents sleeping with each other. Twenty-five years! Then you and Romeo over here break that rule, and now it’s a free-for-all.”

I looked over at Robby, who was staring at the floor. Then, Taylor. Who was staring straight ahead, her eyes red and her face puffy.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Did you know these two were sleeping together?” Glenn demanded.

I flared my nostrils. “Yes.”

“Well, now he’s dumped her,” Glenn announced, like it was somehow my fault. “And she can’t get any work done—and neither can anybody else—because she cannot stop crying.”

Did I feel a tiny flicker of triumph?

No comment.

“Does this mean I get London?” I asked. “Since he’s such a troublemaker?”

But Glenn was in no mood. “You’ve got your downsides, too.”

He wasn’t wrong. I turned to Robby. “You dumped her, huh?”

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