Not on His Watch

by Cassie Miles

  “She’s been kind enough to act as my tour guide.” Quint said. He suspected that Gordon’s real reason for this supposedly coincidental meeting was to ask a few questions of his own.

  “You haven’t given her much choice. It’s almost like you’re her bodyguard or something.”

  Gordon’s deduction was worrisome. How would Gordon know about a bodyguard? Quint couldn’t imagine a leak in the Chicago Confidential operations. More likely, Gordon was just fishing, trying to figure out Quint’s motives in sticking like glue to Natalie.

  “To tell you the truth, Gordon, there is a special reason I’m keeping so close to Natalie.”

  Gordon leaned across the table with an avidness that belied his apparently drunken state. “What’s that?”

  “I saw her photograph in some Quantum literature,” Quint said, sticking as close to the truth as possible. “And I couldn’t get her out of my head. I guess I’ve got a little crush on Miss Natalie Van Buren.”

  As soon as the words left his lips, Quint realized that he was being more honest than he’d intended. He really did like Natalie. More than he’d thought possible.

  Chapter Four

  The time had come for Nicco to escalate his campaign of terror against Quantum. Conveniently, the CEO had provided an excellent opportunity when he ordered the installation of a security camera in his daughter’s office.

  Wearing a uniform from Apex Electronics, the company that installed Quantum security equipment, Nicco approached the front desk at ten minutes to six in the morning and handed the guards an official work order, stolen from Apex stock. For weeks, one of Nicco’s men had been working for Apex, placing bugging devices in key offices.

  Nicco laid on a thick Southern accent. “I’m supposed to get this job done afore the lady comes to work.”

  “Better hurry,” the guard at the front desk said. “That’s Natalie Van Buren’s office. Sometimes, she gets in real early.”

  “Yeah? I thought she must be some high muckety-muck to rate her very own security camera in her very own office.”

  “Boss’s daughter.”

  The guard focused on Nicco, memorizing his face. This was no problem. Nicco had expertly altered his features using actors’ makeup and prosthetics to widen his nose and chin. Contact lenses turned his blue eyes to a muddy gray. The shape of his body was changed with the addition of padding to form a potbelly and heavy shoulders. Nicco removed his Chicago Cubs cap to show off his light brown wig for the guard and the security cameras in the lobby.

  The guard said, “I’ll have to look in your workbox.”

  “Sure thing.” Nicco handed over his satchel, which had also been stolen from Apex and filled with their brand of equipment. While the guards inspected the many parts and pieces, he strolled through the metal detector.

  Later, he knew, these films would be studied, enhanced and replayed. To no avail. There were no accurate photographs of Nicco on file anywhere. Not with the FBI or CIA. Not with Interpol. Not with British M6 or the Israeli Mossad. He was the ultimate professional, able to strike in a moment and then vanish like smoke in the wind.

  On the other side of the metal detector, Nicco picked up his workbox, allowing the guard to see the fake tattoo on the back of his hand. Then, he stuck the cap back on his head and sauntered to the elevators, accompanied by another armed guard who would unlock the office doors for him.

  His arrival at Quantum was timed to coincide with the six o’clock changing of shifts. And he was glad to see the guard checking his wristwatch as he opened the doors and followed Nicco inside Daughter’s office.

  Working at an extremely slow pace, Nicco blabbed about yesterday’s basketball game and how Michael Jordan should’ve never left the Bulls. The guard fidgeted, wanting to end his shift and get home.

  Finally, the guard said, “I thought you were supposed to hurry.”

  “Well, now. I don’t want to make no mistakes. I got to set up and check and recheck and do it right the very first time, don’t I?”

  “How long is this going to take?”

  “Maybe twenty minutes.” Nicco carefully removed all the components for the security camera and wall mount. He examined the threads on each screw. “Maybe a half hour.”

  “Okay,” the guard said. “I’m off. Somebody will be up to check in twenty minutes. If you get done before that, just close the door and it’ll lock automatically.”

  Nicco nodded. “Y’all have a nice day.”

  Overcoming security measures was almost too easy. Left alone in Daughter’s office, he deftly assembled an explosive device. His wristwatch contained the timing device and coil. The plastique and detonator came from inside what looked like a camera in his workbox. The explosion would further unnerve Daughter. If fearful, she was more likely to cooperate later.

  He fastened the plastique explosive beneath her desk and rigged the timer for fifteen minutes. From inside his padded stomach, he removed a manila envelope, which he placed near the door. His work done, he exited the office.

  Passing through the lobby, he waved to the guards. “Sorry, y’all. My equipment don’t work. I’ll be back later.”

  The guards barely looked up as he strolled through the revolving door. In eleven minutes, the bomb would detonate, and the fools would realize they should have detained him. Nicco permitted himself a grin of satisfaction as he stepped onto the sidewalk.

  Then he saw Daughter. From half a block away, she strode toward the Quantum Building. Her unbuttoned black trench coat swirled around her like raven’s wings.

  Nicco checked his watch. Ten minutes left. It was long enough for her to enter, ride the elevator and take her place behind her desk in time for the explosion. She’d be killed. Nicco had to stop her. Her death was not part of the plan. Not yet.

  “Excuse me,” he called out. “Ain’t you Natalie Van Buren?”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, ma’am, I’m from Apex,” he drawled slowly. “And I just been up in your office trying to put in a security camera.”

  She frowned. Her cheeks were as pink as the sunrise skies overhead. Her eyes flashed with impatience. “I don’t need a camera, but I understand. You’re just doing your job. Thank you.”

  She started to walk past him, but he stepped in her path. “Ma’am, could I ask you a few questions?”

  “Not necessary.”

  She tried to dodge around him. Nine minutes left. It was still too much time.

  Nicco might have to revise his plan, to grab her right now. But his escape route wasn’t arranged. His van was parked more than a block away. Improvisations led to errors. There was too much at stake.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I need to go inside.”

  A cab squealed to a stop at the curb. Cowboy stepped out. “Natalie,” he said, “how’s about some breakfast?”

  She rolled her green eyes. “I really must get some work done. Come up to my office, and I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”

  “That’s hardly breakfast.” He looked directly at Nicco and stuck out his hand. “Howdy, I’m Quint Crawford.”

  “Nick Beaumont,” Nicco said. The alias was not dissimilar to his own given name. Nearly every language had a variation on Nicholas. And Beaumont meant “beautiful mountain”—a pleasant thought.

  “Are you from the south?” Cowboy asked.

  “Little Rock,” Nicco said. “I was just telling this here lady about the security camera I’m supposed to install in her offices.”

  Cowboy nodded. Though his lazy grin seemed casual and friendly, his gaze betrayed a piercing intelligence, as though he might see through Nicco’s disguise. Perhaps Cowboy was more dangerous than he seemed.

  “Well, then,” Cowboy drawled, “Nick Beaumont from Little Rock, don’t you think Natalie should have eggs and sausage with me?”

  Nicco glanced at his wristwatch. Seven and a half minutes. “I’d say it’s the right time for breakfast.”

  “All right,” Natalie said with obvious exasperation. “
There’s a diner around the corner. If you don’t mind, I’ll skip on the sausage cholesterol platter and have a fruit plate.”

  “Okay by me.” Cowboy tipped his hat to Nicco. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “You, too.”

  As Nicco walked in the opposite direction, he realized that his heartbeat had accelerated. With slow breaths, he calmed himself. Cowboy might be a more potent adversary than he had anticipated. Good, Nicco thought. He needed a challenge, a reminder to be cautious.

  A block away—beyond the range of security cameras—he climbed into his van. With high-power binoculars, he focused on the twenty-fourth floor of the Quantum Building. Less than a minute to go…

  Scout wiggled up close to his shoulder. The dog’s wet tongue lapped at the makeup behind Nicco’s ear.

  Precisely on schedule came the bright orange flash from the initial explosion. It was exactly as Nicco had planned. He started his van. God, he loved his work.

  TREMBLING, NATALIE STOOD in the doorway to her office and stared through a stinking miasma left by a fire that had triggered the sprinkler system. Firemen, security guards and plainclothes policemen tracked across her pale beige carpet with footprints of soggy ash. Their loud voices blurred into the mechanical sounds of walkie-talkies and beepers.

  The firemen punched holes in her ceiling and walls to access the spiderwebs of wiring and insulation conduits. She wanted to tell them to stop. This was her office. This was the place she went to every day between nine and five. This was her career, the center of her life.

  No more.

  All that remained were blackened scraps of documents and splintered furniture. A gray, smoky film streaked the windows and walls. Her original painting lay on the floor, torn and smeared beyond restoration. Her desk and the chair behind it were reduced to charred rubble. If she hadn’t gone to breakfast with Quint, if she’d been here working as intended, Natalie would be dead.

  The stench of destruction coiled tightly around her. Her breathing constricted. Her eyes stung. Dizziness threatened to overwhelm her, and she inadvertently took a backward step, unwilling to go forward and face what might have happened.

  Quint stood directly behind her, and she gratefully leaned her back against his broad chest, needing his support. He propped her up. His arm protectively encircled her waist.

  He asked, “Should I take you home?”

  In the numbed center of her brain, she wanted to acquiesce to his suggestion. At home, she could crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head and hide from those who might hurt her. But would she truly be free from danger at her condo? Someone had attacked her office in spite of the extensive security precautions. Oh God, how could she ever feel safe again?

  Turning in his arms, she buried her face against his chest. Her eyelids squeezed tight, but no tears would come. She was too shocked to cry.

  “You’ll be all right,” Quint whispered as he held her. “Nobody’s going to hurt you. I won’t let them.”

  Though she had no logical reason to believe him, Natalie felt comforted by his words and his embrace. Twenty-four hours ago, she hadn’t even known Quint Crawford. Now, she couldn’t imagine facing this disaster without him.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw the plainclothes man gesture to Quint. He wanted them out of the way. But it was her office. She needed to be here.

  Quint shepherded her into the outer office, where Maria Luisa stood, pale and frightened, still wearing her leather jacket from the street.

  “Natalie,” she said in a quaking voice, “what should I do?”

  Quint answered for her. “I’m real sure the police are going to want to talk to you. Maybe we should go upstairs to Henry’s offices.”

  Natalie was aware that her father had not yet arrived at work. It wasn’t even eight o’clock. Most of the other executives wouldn’t be in their offices for another hour. It was up to her to make the decisions.

  Her sluggish brain tried to make sense of the moment. She blinked, willfully erasing thoughts of her devastated office. What came next? She shook her head. Think, Natalie. No one else was here. She was in charge. It was up to her to step forward and take responsibility.

  If—as she had planned all her life—she would someday be CEO of Quantum, she couldn’t be seen as a cowering, frightened victim. In the eyes of her employees, she needed to be strong and decisive. She had to be a leader.

  Her spine stiffened as she stepped away from the warmth of Quint’s embrace. Fighting the quaver in her voice, she said, “We won’t be hiding in Henry’s offices. I can handle this situation.”

  “Are you sure?” Quint asked.

  “Yes.”

  His blue eyes deepened to a steel gray. Dead serious, he said, “You need to talk to the man who’s heading up this investigation.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I’ll find him for you.”

  During the few minutes while Quint was inside her office behind the closed door, she pulled herself together. A familiar mantle of poise settled on her shoulders. She took off her trench coat and carefully hung it in the corner closet behind Maria Luisa’s desk. Natalie’s hand, where she had touched the charred door frame, was smeared with soot, which she wiped off with a tissue. It seemed very important to clean every smudge.

  When the plainclothes man came out of the offices with Quint, she was ready for him. He showed his badge.

  “FBI?” She’d assumed he was from the Chicago Police Department. “Why?”

  “Special Agent Yoder,” he said. “I’d appreciate if you and your secretary step into the hall. We’ll take care of things.”

  “I have concerns,” she said. Why was the FBI already involved? What was going on here? “What caused the fire in my office?”

  “We won’t be able to say until the arson investigators have gone over the scene.”

  A loud crash echoed from inside her office, and Natalie shuddered. “Why are they doing that? Why are they knocking holes in the walls?”

  “Possible electrical fire,” said Agent Yoder.

  Doubtful. The FBI wasn’t called in because of faulty wiring. “The security guards downstairs said they heard an explosion. Was there a bomb?”

  Agent Yoder hesitated. “I’m not ready to conclusively state the cause of the fire.”

  Natalie recognized evasiveness when she saw it. Her assumption, therefore, was that a bomb had exploded in her office. “I’m concerned about the safety of Quantum employees. Is there any danger?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “But you don’t know,” she said. “You can’t guarantee that there won’t be other fires or explosions.”

  “No, Ms. Van Buren, I can’t guarantee.”

  Natalie turned to Maria Luisa. “We need to evacuate the building. Notify Security.”

  “Should I tell them why?”

  “We don’t know why,” Natalie said. Until she knew the truth, she didn’t want to alarm everyone with bomb threats. “When we have explanations, the information will be made available. In the meantime, I think it’s best to close the building so the firemen and policemen can do their jobs. Everybody has the day off.”

  Agent Yoder cleared his throat. “You might be over-reacting. This fire was out before we even got here. Indications are—”

  “I don’t care,” Natalie said. She was in charge. She knew the right thing to do. With swift determination, she circled Maria Luisa’s desk and called the head of Security. “This is Natalie Van Buren. Evacuate the building. Now.”

  The fire alarm began to shrill.

  During the next hectic hour, Natalie arranged for a communications headquarters for herself and a core staff in the banquet room of a nearby hotel. She made hundreds of decisions and fought nearly as many skirmishes with other vice presidents and executives who didn’t approve of her actions. Gordon Doeller was particularly annoying.

  He hovered over her. “Do you know what you’re doing to my marketing plans? Quantum is supposed to be a solid bulwark.
What kind of message does it send when we evacuate the building?”

  “I can’t be one hundred percent sure the building is safe,” she said.

  “We look like a bunch of damn cowards.”

  “We look smart,” she said coldly. “And alive.”

  All around them, cell phones buzzed as employees contacted their families and assured them that everything was under control. Natalie hoped their assurances were correct. Though her high level of energy kept her own panic at bay, she kept remembering the devastation inside her office—the soot, the stench, the splintered remains of her desk. She couldn’t forget that someone wanted to do her harm.

  She thought of the man she’d met on the street, Nick Beaumont. He’d been in her office only moments before the fire. He was the most obvious suspect, and she’d been standing right next to him, talking as if he were a normal everyday person. Was he a terrorist? The very word struck dread in her heart. She couldn’t allow herself to think about how near she’d been to danger; there was too much work to be done.

  Whenever the fear began to rise, she glanced over at Quint, who had followed her to these makeshift headquarters. He’d been amazing. Subtly and calmly, he had helped direct the Quantum employees. To those who were frightened, he offered assurance. He diffused tension with his cornball jokes, and confronted hostility from people like Gordon.

  As if on cue, Quint stepped forward and grasped Gordon’s upper arm. “It appears to me that Natalie’s got her hands full right now. How about you and me step outside for a talk?”

  “Back off, cowboy!”

  Gordon tried to pull free, but Quint didn’t let go. Instead, he yanked the red-faced marketing director around. The two men were a total contrast. Gordon in his tailored suit and silk tie. Quint in his blue jeans and cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up on his muscular forearms. There was no question in Natalie’s mind about which of them would win this little battle.

  Quint drawled, “There’s no call for rudeness, Gordon.”

  “Don’t push me! I don’t care if you’ve got a crush on Natalie. You don’t have to protect her every minute.”