by Cindy Dees
“That would be staff-speak for sleeping in late and eating brunch in his suite before heading down to the spa for a massage and mani-pedi,” Christian answered wryly.
“He gets mani-pedis?”
“Real men are allowed to have decent grooming, you know.”
“Yeah, but pedicures?”
“He likes the kind where the fish eat the dead skin off his feet.”
“That’s gross. It sounds like something the Romans would have done when their decadence ran amok.”
Christian shrugged. “The perks of power.”
“Why that tone of voice?”
Give Stone Jackson points for hearing the sarcasm. “Lacey comes from the school of letting his staff members do all the grunt work while he… indulges himself. We brief him on the highlights, and he skips the real work. But of course, he takes all the credit.”
“Similar thing happened in the military sometimes. We put our necks on the line, and some asshole drinking coffee in the Pentagon snagged all the glory.”
Christian sincerely hoped the generals running the military didn’t have Jack Lacey’s vices. He changed subjects and veered for safer waters. “I have a briefing scheduled with Jack after lunch to go over his votes on a couple of major bills coming up in the Senate in the next few weeks.”
“Shouldn’t he know how he’s going to vote on a bill if he’s the guy doing the voting?”
“One would think.”
“Jeez, Christian. Is there anything redeeming about your boss?”
“His wife rocks. She does a ton of charity work and outreach to Texas constituents.”
“How did an asshole like him land a woman like her?”
“I chalk it up to her being young and in love when they met in college. And the ladies seem to think Jack’s hell on wheels in the sack.”
“Ladies plural?” Stone echoed. “Just how hard does this dude sleep around?”
“Well, he’s had a long-term mistress for the past fifteen years or so. Her name’s Valerie. Valerie Micklethwaite.”
“Aren’t the Micklethwaites big in real estate or something?”
“Yes. That’s them,” he answered ruefully. “They own a decent amount of New York City and northern New Jersey. Makes for some interesting staff work trying to keep Jack and Valerie out of the news. She’s quite the socialite in her own right.”
“Does Jill suspect anything?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t send cards and flowers on Valerie’s birthday. Jill has no interest in sleeping with Jack these days. She’s delighted to pass that task off to someone else.”
“Umm. Okay.”
Christian realized what he’d just said and added hastily, “I’ll deny having ever said any of that. You can’t repeat a word of that. Not even a whisper—”
Stone cut him off gently. “Christian. I never reveal anything I see, hear, or learn about my clients. Relax. I’ve got your back.”
And suddenly, an image of Stone standing behind him, memory of Stone lubing up his ass and stepping between his legs flashed through his mind. If only Stone had his back in that way too.
Stone cleared his throat as if something had abruptly stuck there… perhaps memory of nearly having literally had his back last night?
In a frantic attempt to distract them both, he mumbled, “You have your classified secrets. Senate staffers have theirs.”
“I need you not to keep secrets from me if I’m going to keep your boss alive. I’m beginning to believe that will be a harder task than any of us anticipated.”
The hotel loomed in front of them.
“Promise me you won’t die, Stone.”
“I can’t promise that. I will put my body between Jack Lacey and death if it becomes necessary.”
God, he hated the sound of that. They stopped outside the french doors and their stares met, Stone’s stark.
“Thanks for the walk, Christian. It did clear my head. I may let your chief of security live now.”
“Please do. You have no idea how hard it is to find a good man for the job who will put up with Lacey’s antics.”
Stone shook his head. “If the threat against your boss is as real as Tucker says it is, Lacey may not survive too much longer anyway. His security is completely inadequate to face a real threat from a determined assassin.”
Christian sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that. Just do your best. But I meant what I said before. Don’t die to save him.”
“No matter how epic a jerk he is, my reputation in the security business would be ruined if I let a client die on my watch. I’ve got no choice but to do my best to protect him.”
Christian didn’t actually wish ill upon his boss, and certainly not death. But it didn’t seem fair that a decent, upright, competent bodyguard should be put in this impossible position. He sighed. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Make sure the senator follows our instructions if Tucker or I tell him to do something. I’m going to take advantage of the senator’s spa date to have a little conversation with Mr. Tucker.”
“Don’t be too hard on him. The staff jokes around a lot in an effort to stay sane. He actually likes you or he wouldn’t have pulled a prank on you.”
“Noted, and thanks for letting me know. But I don’t have time for any more hijinks. As far as I can tell, the threat to Lacey is real. Which means Tucker and I need to get down to business and figure out exactly how we’re going to keep the senator alive, with or without his cooperation.”
“Yeah. Good luck with that,” Christian replied dryly. “Jack’s more likely to do the opposite of what you say just to show that he doesn’t have to follow your orders.”
“Also noted.”
“Will I see you at the five o’clock press conference the senator has scheduled?” Christian asked.
“I’ll be at every public appearance the man makes from now on. You’re going to get sick of my face.”
Christian highly doubted that. Stone Jackson had the kind of face he could look at a long damned time without the slightest hint of sickness. Even if he did bear a more than passing resemblance to Jack. “The senator will go straight from the press conference to the cocktail party afterward.”
“Talk to me about that party. Who’ll be there? What will happen?”
“A bunch of rich political donors will go to rub shoulders with celebrities who’ve been quietly paid to show up. Jack will shake a lot of hands, slap a lot of shoulders, and kiss a lot of asses. There’ll be plenty of drugs, underpriced alcohol, and overpriced hookers.”
“I’m familiar with that type of event. It’ll be crowded, and no one will have been properly vetted, searched, or checked off a guest list.”
Christian nodded. “You would not be wrong.”
Stone sighed and muttered, “Fucking security nightmare.”
“Also not wrong.”
“Will Jack partake of the drugs, booze, and women?”
“He’d better not. He doesn’t do drugs, knows not to drink in public. He gets way too talkative when he’s drunk.”
Stone straightened his spine. “And after the party? Then what?”
“He’ll likely leave there and retire early. Probably not alone.”
“I thought the wife was in Texas.”
“She is.”
“And the mistress?”
“Not in Miami.”
“Ahh. Well, at least sleeping around isn’t technically a crime. As vices go, it could be worse.”
They traded knowing looks. Christian expected that in Stone’s line of work, he’d seen it all. Men cheating on their wives was probably kid stuff to him.
“So, where is the mistress? Valerie, you said her name was?”
“She’s in Washington.” He added reluctantly, “At least I think she is. Jack doesn’t let us keep tabs on her.”
Stone opened the door leading back to the lobby for him, and Christian stepped through it. As he passed close to Stone, he said, “Let m
e know how your talk with Tucker goes. I’ll do my best to run interference for you if he’s not on board with what you want to do.”
“I can fight my own fights.”
He got the feeling Stone’s words were habitual, more knee-jerk than thought-out response. “I’m sure you can,” he answered evenly. “But in Washington politics, it’s not a bad thing to have a few friends in your corner who can back you up. Trust me. You’re going to need that one of these days.”
An eloquent eye roll was Stone’s only response.
He’d done his best. He’d tried to warn Stone exactly what he was up against in trying to keep Jack Lacey alive.
Frankly, he hoped the would-be killer was an amateur lunatic without the wherewithal to plan and execute a decent attack. But something deep in his gut warned him that this time, the senator might not be so lucky. Which, in turn, made him worry for the dark and dangerous man walking away from him with a grim set to his jaw.
Chapter Four
STONE STOOD beyond the bright lights, scanning the crowd of reporters and cameramen. As press conferences went, this one reminded him of an awkward seventh-grade dance where everyone fidgeted around the edges of the gym and nobody actually wanted to be there.
Was it because the press didn’t like Lacey, or was this a symptom of something darker hanging over the senator?
Was it possible that Jack Lacey’s political real estate was in more trouble than the analysts at Wild Cards had realized?
Why, if that was true, was the man rumored to be considering a run for president? Either Jack had access to some nearly bottomless well of money Wild Cards hadn’t discovered, or he had dirt on people. Lots of people. Powerful ones.
The good news was today’s event hadn’t been advertised to the public and only a few civilians had shown up. They’d been easy enough to photograph and run fast facial recognition on. Nobody popped any red flags in law enforcement databases. Everyone else in the room was displaying press credentials and was bored out of their minds.
Not that Stone was complaining about the bored crowd of journalists. He’d been able to carefully assess the body language of every single person in the room and determine that no one was showing the signs of stress associated with someone about to kill another one.
Truth be told, he was more fascinated by the dynamic between Christian and his boss than with any of the reporters. About twenty minutes prior to the start of the press conference, Christian had delivered a sheaf of papers that contained every question any of the reporters would be asking the senator today, along with a prepared answer, presumably written by Christian.
While a pretty young woman did his makeup and hair, Lacey read through the papers and familiarized himself with the contents.
Stone had sidled up to Christian at one point and murmured, “Aren’t the journalists allowed to ask whatever they want to?”
“Not with Jack. He insists on them submitting question lists in advance, which he edits and approves or disapproves, question by question.”
“I thought the free press was a thing in America.”
Christian rolled his eyes. “It’s one of the pillars of the Constitution.”
“How does Lacey get away with it?”
“He pulls big ratings, and all the news shows want coverage of him. He shuts reporters out of his press conferences if they don’t play by his rules.”
“Can he do that during an election cycle?”
“He’s got about one more month before he officially kicks off his reelection campaign. After that, he’ll have to put on his big boy pants and deal with the press like anyone else.”
Which meant a journalist was probably not the source of the death threats. In a few weeks the press could declare open season on Jack Lacey with their pens. A sword to the guy’s neck wasn’t necessary now.
When the press conference got rolling, Christian had stationed himself in the front row of reporters, in plain sight of Lacey. Each time someone asked the senator a question, Christian subtly held up his fingers to indicate a number. It took about three questions for Stone to realize that Christian was signaling to his boss which page in his notes held the answer to the question.
His opinion of Jack Lacey shifted from “what a douche” to “holy crap, put that asshole out of his misery.”
The press conference went on for an anemic twenty minutes. But then a journalist apparently went off script and asked, “There are rumors that you’ve been getting death threats, Senator. Do you take them seriously, in light of the fact that you’ve got a new member on your security team?”
Jack’s gaze lifted from the notes. Stone frowned as the senator actually looked… gleeful. Lacey leaned in to the mic. “In my experience those who do the hard work in need of doing in this country often get threats. I take it as a badge of honor that I’m making big enough changes in Washington that I’ve earned the privilege of receiving death threats.”
Badge of honor? That was a weird way of looking at it.
Christian rushed forward and cut off any more off-script questions as the journalists abruptly started shouting all kinds of questions at his boss. “Thanks, ladies and gentlemen. The senator has another meeting and has to wrap this up now.”
The camera lights went off and the reporters packed up. Stone spied a half-dozen civilians approaching the senator and dutifully moved in beside his client.
“Great job as usual, Senator,” one of them boomed. “Keep performing like that and you’ll be front and center in presidential debates in no time!”
Christ. Could the man stick his head any farther up Lacey’s ass? Lacey didn’t act like he could spell his own name without Christian’s cheat sheets. Stone doubted he could take those on stage with him in a debate, and he got the distinct impression the guy would be shit outta luck without them.
“Do you need a lift over to the party, Jack?” Booming Voice asked.
Stone interrupted politely. “We’ll be taking care of the senator’s transportation.”
Boomer slapped Stone’s shoulder jovially, which made him grit his teeth behind a stiff smile. Don’t touch the armed man who already thinks you’re a waste of oxygen.
“Gonna be a hell of a bash. Plenty of whatever you could want.”
Was the loudmouth actually suggesting that the bodyguards would stop doing their jobs long enough to catch a little action on the side? Just what kind of incompetent yahoo did this jerk think he and Wild Cards, Inc. were?
A familiar voice muttered in his ear, “Ignore him. He has the social skills of a spoon. He’s no threat to Jack.”
Holy cannoli, Christian was good at reading him. It was actually starting to be a little uncanny. He’d no sooner felt the irritation at the loud buffoon than Christian said exactly the right thing to defuse his annoyance and refocus his attention on his work.
The reporters dispersed to cull through their footage for sound bites to put on the late local news, and he and Tucker herded Lacey out to the armored SUV waiting at the Imperium Hotel’s loading dock.
The drive into Coral Gables was interminable. Saturday night in Miami apparently involved every single resident going out cruising in vintage convertibles or clogging the sidewalks on foot and tying up crosswalks. But eventually they pulled into the circular drive in front of an obscenely opulent Spanish-style mansion. He’d seen some obnoxious places in his work as a bodyguard to the rich and famous, and this place was right up there.
Stone held the car door for Lacey and was surprised when Tucker didn’t fall in behind his boss. Stone started to follow the senator, and Christian touched his sleeve. He turned, frowning.
“He won’t want you sticking too close to him.”
“Then how in the hell am I supposed to do my job?” he demanded.
Christian shrugged. “Watch him from a distance.”
“And do what? Call him on his cell phone to tell him to duck?”
Christian winced.
“Look. I shouldn’t bite your head off. I
know you’re only the messenger. But your boss is making it impossible for me to do my job.”
“I know.” Christian sighed. “Just do what you can.”
“In my line of work, that won’t be enough. I want to go on record right now as having told you I will not be able to prevent an attack on the senator under these working conditions.”
“So noted.”
He couldn’t tell if Christian was irritated with him, with Lacey, or with the whole situation in general.
They stepped into the grand foyer, and Stone stared around at the crowd, which was standing room only. Even if he spotted an assassin, no way in hell he could get over to Lacey’s side in this crush to protect the guy.
His gaze roved across the room, and he easily spotted Christian’s chestnut hair and chiseled features. No surprise, a hot Latina was already flirting with him.
Something unpleasant twisted at his gut. Oh puh-lease. He did not get jealous. And certainly not of women who stood no chance with his lover. Of course jealousy presupposed actual relationships, and he did not do those. For that matter, he and Christian were not lovers.
He continued scanning the room, looking for the telltale signs of individuals with murder on their minds. There had to be five hundred people crowded into this house, and more were coming in the front door every minute. He’d worked in nightclubs and rock concerts with crowds a lot bigger and a lot wilder than this one before. But he’d never had to work in one halfway across the damned room from the client. Hell. He was having trouble even keeping Jack Lacey in sight.
Following the senator, Stone shoved his way across the foyer toward what he presumed was the back of the house. Oh Christ. The crowd extended to the backyard and spilled around and into a huge swimming pool. There had to be at least two hundred more people out here. Of course, the swimmers were exclusively young bikini-clad women.
He took a hard look at the men outside. Most were focused on the women in the pool, drinking and speculating on which ones they could end up having sex with before the night was over. At a party like this, there would be a number of call girls who expected compensation for their efforts, sprinkled in among the groupies who’d fuck a politician for free in hopes of living a perceived high life, or perhaps a little lucrative blackmail. Yup, sweet little barracudas and politicians. A match made in heaven.
