Page 11 of The Perfect Appearance

Kat nodded and reluctantly started over to the door. Mitch put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Let me,” he said.

He walked over to the door, his hand on his holster. When he got close, he stepped to the side and called out.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“My name is Gila Jabarin,” replied a woman in thickly accented but perfect English. “I was sent by Grover Nix of Secure Analysis Services. I am the assigned security officer for Katherine Gentry. Is she there?”

“I’m going to need you to slide some identification under the door,” Mitch said. “After that, I’d like you to put any weapons on the floor, step back from the door, and turn around.”

“Of course,” the woman said, unoffended. “I assume I am talking to Mitch Connor?”

“You are.”

“Deputy Connor,” she replied. “I am doing as you requested. Please let Ms. Gentry know that Grover is also texting her now with confirmation of my employment and a reference photo.”

Just then, Kat’s phone buzzed. Sure enough, it had the name "Gila Jabarin," along with an image of a thirty-something woman with olive skin, black hair, and dark eyes. She held it up so Mitch could see it too.

“I have done as you requested,” the woman called out from the other side of the door.

Kat grabbed her gun and nodded for Mitch to open the door. Sure enough, a petite woman with a compact, muscular frame was standing with her back to them, her hands pressed against the far wall. On the ground near the office door was a shoulder bag and two weapons, a Glock 22 handgun and a small pistol that she’d clearly removed from an ankle holster. Mitch moved over to her.

“Do you mind if I search you?” he asked politely.

“I insist,” she told him.

He patted her down, then stepped back, satisfied.

“She’s clean,” he said. “You can turn around.”

The woman did. She matched the photo Grover Nix had sent. In fact, she was wearing the same clothes: wide-legged, gray summer pants and a white, short-sleeved t-shirt with a lightweight, black kimono cover-up to hide her waist gun holster. She also had on black shoes that appeared fancy but were quite practical should running or fighting be required.

The ensemble looked casual, nothing that would draw attention or suggest she was a professional, but like the shoes, it was actually extremely utilitarian. Kat approved.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Kat. Sorry for the fuss, but you understand.”

“I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t been so thorough,” the woman said. “But may I collect my weapons now?”

“Of course,” Kat said.

Once she’d gathered her guns and stepped inside the office, Mitch locked the door. They all stepped into Kat’s interior office.

“Not to be rude,” Mitch said after a moment of awkward silence, “but I kind of assumed that Grover would send over another carbon copy of himself and Rufus.”

Jabarin nodded in understanding.

“He felt,” she began, “and I agree, that based on Ash Pierce’s military and intelligence history, it would be better to go with someone who had a lower profile.”

“What do you mean?” Kat asked.

“Based on the records I have been provided, and what I know about how bothMarines Special Operationsand the CIA operate, Pierce has been trained to look for more traditional threats. For example, she would be scouting for a massive guy carrying a gun, much like yourself—no offense.”

“None taken,” Mitch said unconvincingly.

“Or,” she continued, clearly unconcerned whether she’d caused offense, “even someone more subtle like Grover or Rufus. She knows what to look for in security detail operatives.”

“How doyouknow all that?” Mitch wanted to know.

---