The Viper

by Velvet Vaughn

  With nothing to do but wait, Annabelle picked up the remote and turned on the twenty-five-inch television perched on top of a cheap oak dresser. She hadn’t eaten all day, but the thought of food made her nauseous. After watching Andy die in front of her, and then a busload of innocent travelers, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to eat again.

  She didn’t even really know Andy. He’d been her bodyguard for less than twenty-four hours, but she would mourn his death for the rest of her life. He was a true hero to sacrifice his life for hers. The only way she could repay him was to make sure his daughter was taken care of, and she would do that just as soon as she had access to Rob’s fortune—now hers.

  She shot straight up when a breaking news alert flashed on the screen and jacked up the volume. A reporter in a charcoal black suit with flawlessly styled hair and perfectly white teeth spoke into the microphone.

  We’re outside the law offices of Windham, Wallace and Pierce where we’ve learned that prominent attorney Archibald Windham, founder of the prestigious firm, has been murdered.

  Annabelle gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. She’d feared the worst, but hearing it confirmed was devastating. The camera panned away from the reporter to show the front of the law office she’d been inside yesterday surrounded by emergency vehicles and personnel. The door opened and two people pushing a sheet-covered stretcher emerged. The camera quickly cut back to the reporter, but Annabelle couldn’t get the sight of the gurney out of her mind. Kind, sweet Mr. Windham had been beneath that sheet.

  The investigation is still early and we’re being told by the authorities that there are no suspects and no motive at this time. This story will be updated.

  She clicked off the television and curled into a ball. How was she going to stay safe from her stepbrother? He’d proven he was ruthless and would kill anyone who got in his way. What if the man she’d hired from Cable Security was another casualty? How would she live with that?

  #

  Annabelle managed a few fitful hours of sleep. Every car or motel door that slammed woke her instantly and sent her heart pounding, wondering if Robbie had managed to track her down. After the last one that sounded like it was right outside her room, she knew she’d get no more rest. Dragging herself from bed, she showered and changed into the clothes she purchased from the gift shop yesterday. The short-sleeved white blouse and tan capri pants were inconspicuous, exactly the look she was going for so she’d blend in. She channel-surfed until an hour before her new bodyguard’s flight was scheduled to arrive. Using the bathroom mirror, she stuffed her hair inside the stocking cap she purchased and then slid on her sunglasses. She slipped the straps of her backpack purse over her shoulders and eased the curtain back to scan the parking lot. Nothing looked suspicious to her untrained eye, so with a deep inhale, she stepped outside and headed for the hotel across the street to catch the shuttle to the terminal.

  She assumed her new bodyguard would have transportation. She couldn’t use her Lexus since Robbie obviously tracked her through the onboard GPS. Maybe she could find a cheap car to purchase, though she hated to drain her limited funds. She couldn’t lease since her name would be on the forms.

  After disembarking from the bus, she found a spot behind a planter outside baggage claim to hunker down and wait. And wait. And wait. When a man in a suit and tie stopped next to where she was sitting on a ledge, she thought her contact had finally arrived. But then he tapped a cigarette out of a pack and lit up, right before making a call on his cell that he apparently wanted everyone in the general vicinity to hear. To top it off, he blew the disgusting smoke in her direction. Her hacking didn’t faze him. She was just about to either slam her foot into his kneecap or ask him to move when he meandered down the sidewalk.

  She checked her watch. The time had passed and no sign of the man she was supposed to meet. Had she been stood up? She powered on her phone and called the agency again. If she knew the bodyguard would be this late, she could’ve tried to find a charger for her cell in one of the airport shops.

  She spoke to the same man as yesterday, who brusquely told her to calm down—she thought she was acting plenty calm—that the guy had been delayed but would be there soon. Tall with brown hair had been his only description.

  That uneasy feeling settled over her again. Tall with brown hair wasn’t much to go on. She had the sickening feeling she was being played. She hadn’t given her real name, choosing to use Angela Johnson again, so there would be no way he could know her real identity, therefore, he couldn’t inform her stepbrother. Maybe she was uncomfortable by the man’s curt responses. What happened to customer service? Even though the other two agencies hadn’t wanted to help her, at least they’d been professional. This man was anything but. She debated whether to keep waiting or get up and walk away. Leaving was the easier choice, but it didn’t help her situation. She decided to stick it out. A half hour later, she spotted a tall, brown-haired man striding towards her. Pushing to her feet, she moved closer for a better look. As if sensing her perusal, he turned in her direction and she got the first look at his face. She tripped and almost did a header onto the sidewalk. The man was drop-dead gorgeous. She glanced at his black polo shirt and the name stitched on the left side: Cable Security. He was her man. She hurried forward to greet him.

  She didn’t realize the man was walking towards the airport—not away.

  Chapter Two

  Kellan Polizzi slipped on his sunglasses and closed the door behind him to the multi-million-dollar mansion he’d called home for the last few weeks. He took in the vast estate one last time, reveling in the view that spanned for miles. The place was incredible, but as much as he enjoyed living in the lap of luxury, he was ready to get home to his modestly-furnished one bedroom apartment located inside the COBRA Securities compound and his own bed for a little rest and relaxation before his next assignment.

  He’d been sent to Los Angeles to assist fellow agents Mason Rossi and Sawyer Oldham in protecting Sawyer’s wife Harlow, and Mason’s charge Cassidy Swain when a stalker targeted Cassidy. Harlow and Cassidy had been competing in the latest installment of the reality competition Dancing With the Celebrities, Cassidy as a pro, Harlow as a celebrity.

  Once the show ended with Harlow and her partner Glen Benson being declared champions, Harlow and Cassidy, along with Sawyer and Mason, completed a whirlwind tour of the late-night talk shows before jetting off for more interviews in New York on the network plane. He’d accompanied them on the Hollywood leg of the circuit, but they were surrounded by security provided by the television studio, so he wasn’t needed in the Big Apple. He’d come back to the house they shared the past few weeks and packed up the equipment and items the others didn’t want to tote to New York and shipped it home, including most of his belongings. It was easier to travel light.

  He kept his laptop bag and a small suitcase packed with toiletries and a few clothes since he had to check his gun to board the flight. He hated being separated from his weapon, but rules were rules, and as a former cop, he learned to follow the rules. For the most part.

  He stashed his bags in the back seat and then slid inside the rented SUV. After keying the airport into the navigation system, he headed for the freeway, merging with the ever-present heavy flow of Southern California traffic. Forgoing the air conditioning, he rolled the window down to enjoy the warm air and sunshine. Over the last few weeks, he’d seen most of the sights in and around Los Angeles, dined at some of the best restaurants in the country, and spent time with truly wonderful people. Not a bad first assignment as an official agent—despite the fact that he’d killed a man. Actually, it was a toss-up whose bullet hit Cassidy’s stalker first: his or Sawyer’s. Didn’t matter. The man had been poised to shoot Mason. Kellan didn’t feel an ounce of remorse.

  He’d shot two people before on the job, the first as a beat cop and the second when he served as a detective in North Carolina. Neither perp had died, though he’d been prepared to kill either one
. He’d been trained to never pull the trigger unless he intended for the suspect to die. The first person he’d shot had been a teenager high on crack. The kid was wielding a knife and he might’ve intended to use it, but Kellan couldn’t end his young life. A shot to the shoulder took care of the situation.

  The second time, a man erratically drove his vehicle straight at a crowd. He shot the tires first and then the man, but he’d survived the bullet that pierced his chest. He crashed his car into a light post and the people had been saved.

  He’d tried to mentally prepare himself for his first kill the day he graduated from the academy and pinned on his badge. He didn’t have the military background that several of his teammates possessed. He’d gone to college and then on to the police academy. He knew fellow officers who had a hard time after they’d been forced to pull the trigger and spent many hours either talking to a shrink or crawling into a bottle. Maybe it was because the guy was a psychopath, or maybe it was because of Kellan’s choice, Mason was alive, but he wouldn’t lose a bit of sleep over his decision to shoot. He knew Sawyer felt the same way.

  Having spent every day the last few weeks with Mason and Sawyer, he’d gotten to know his coworkers well, and they reinforced his decision to quit the force. He truly liked them and was happy to call them friends. And both men were lucky to have met two magnificent women. He wasn’t in the market for a wife, but if he met a woman a fraction as nice, caring and beautiful as either Harlow or Cassidy, he might reconsider.

  He followed the sultry voice on the onboard navigation system guiding him to the parking garage where BeBe Davis, the office manager extraordinaire, instructed him to return the rental. After he angled into a spot, he slid the keys under the floormat as directed and grabbed the bags from the back seat. His flight wasn’t for a couple of hours, so he had plenty of time to grab some coffee and catch up on his email.

  He'd almost made it to the terminal when a small shape jumped in front of him, sending him stumbling back.

  “Finally,” a soft voice said. “You’re late. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

  He glanced behind him to see if the woman was talking to someone else, but he was alone. He assessed her with a cop’s trained eye. She stood a foot shorter than his six-three with aquamarine eyes the color of the sea and a faint pink blush staining her high cheekbones. A dark gray stocking cap covered most of her hair, but one silky strand of white blond escaped to curl around her chin.

  She was incredibly gorgeous, but he had no idea what she was talking about. “Excuse me?”

  “The man I spoke with at the security company said you’d be here hours ago. I don’t think I was followed, but I can never be sure.” Her eyes darted around nervously.

  Kellan was totally confused. Had his bosses Luke Colton or Logan Bradley sent this woman to him? If so, why hadn’t they given him a heads-up? He was flying blind here.

  “Oh, God, I think I see one of them.”

  Every protective instinct in his body flared to life at the look of terror on her pretty face. Kellan grabbed her arm and toted her down the sidewalk. He had no idea what was going on, but if she was in danger, he was going to protect her. He hadn’t locked the door of the SUV, so he guided her there.

  “What’s your name?” he asked as they dodged passengers with luggage and waited for a clearing to cross the street to the parking garage.

  “Aaaa-ngela. Angela, uh, Johnson.”

  A car whizzed by and then the road was clear. He steered her forward. “Nice to meet you, Angela.” He was fairly certain that wasn’t her real name since she dragged the first letter out so long. “My name’s Kellan Polizzi and I work for COBRA Securities. Is that the company you called?”

  Angela jerked to a stop and he had to urge her forward out of the street before a bus plowed them over.

  “No, I called Cable Security. Oh, God.”

  She tried to jerk free, but he wasn’t letting her go. “It looks like they stood you up, but I can help you.” He reached in his pocket and withdrew a shiny business card. She would be the first recipient. “I need you to tell me what’s going on so I can help you.”

  Tires squealed and his head snapped up to see a dark sedan racing towards them, a gun poking out the window. “Get down.” He shoved Angela behind a vehicle as shots rang out. Dammit, his gun was locked in his suitcase so he couldn’t fire back. He made sure Angela was safe before peeking around to access the scene. More squealing tires as the car rounded a corner and disappeared. He memorized the California license plate, knowing it was probably a waste of time since it was most likely stolen.

  “Looks like they’re gone.” He stood and turned around. “Let’s get to my vehicle and you can tell me the details…” The space behind him was empty. “Angela?” He spun in a circle, searching under the nearest cars and then craning his head to look around, to no avail.

  Angela Johnson was gone.

  #

  With a frustrated sigh, Kellan returned to the SUV. He’d searched the parking lot and the surrounding area but there was no sign of the terrified woman who needed help.

  He glanced at his watch. His flight was due to leave soon. In fact, it’d probably be boarding now. How could he get on a plane knowing the woman was out there and possibly in jeopardy? It didn’t get much more dangerous than being fired at with high caliber weapons. But he had no way to contact her. He didn’t even know her real name. He was sure it wasn’t Angela Johnson.

  Pulling out his phone, he called the direct line for Logan Bradley.

  “What’s up, Kellan? You on your way back home?”

  “I was, but something’s come up.” He explained about the woman approaching him outside the terminal and his thinking that she’d been sent to meet him. He told him about the gunmen trying to shoot them, and then her disappearing act.

  “Did you get her name?” Logan asked.

  “Angela Johnson, but I’m pretty sure it’s fake.”

  “How are you going to find her in a city of four million people?”

  “She was waiting on someone from Cable Security, a local company. I thought I’d check them out, see if they know who she is, or why she needed protection. If that doesn’t work, I gave her my business card. I can only hope she calls.”

  “Do you have enough equipment with you?”

  Equipment meaning weapons. “Just my Sig and vest. I shipped the rest back this morning.”

  “If you find her and convince her to accept your help, let us know what you need and we’ll send it. Keep us posted.”

  “I will and thanks, Logan. It might be a wild goose chase, but I can’t just leave knowing she’s out there needing help.”

  “I totally understand.”

  Logan transferred him to BeBe and he explained the situation and what he needed. She arranged for him to continue to use the SUV and made a reservation for a hotel close to the airport, all while they were on the phone. How, he had no idea. The woman was incredible. If you looked up multi-tasker in the dictionary, BeBe’s face would smile back at you. He thanked her and disconnected. Sliding the phone in his pocket, he let his eyes roam the area, looking for the woman but seeing no sign of her.

  He returned to the SUV and loaded his bags. After he climbed inside, he looked up Cable Security on his phone. He found the address, entered it into the GPS and followed the directions. He was seeing parts of the city he hadn’t been to before. He turned right when the automated voice instructed him to and found himself in the parking lot of a strip mall. The voice announced that he’d arrived at his destination. Driving slowly along the storefronts, he located the sign indicating the company between a Chinese restaurant and a discount craft store.

  He locked the SUV with the key fob and scanned the surrounding area as he crossed the parking lot. The enticing aromas of garlic, ginger and sesame oil coming from the restaurant next door had his mouth watering as he entered the office. A middle-aged woman with short red hair and a friendly smile greeted him when he st
epped inside.

  “Good morning and welcome to Cable Security. How can I help you today?”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Graves,” he read from her nameplate, “I was wondering if I could speak with the person who coordinates your assignments.”

  “That would be Mr. Moody. Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “Not a problem. Let me see if he’s available. Can I tell him your name?”

  “Kellan Polizzi.”

  “Have a seat, Mr. Polizzi, and I’ll be back in a moment. Can I get you a cup of coffee while you wait?”

  “I’m good. Thanks.”

  He chose a chair in the corner with a view of the office as well as the parking lot. Judging by the interior, Cable Security was moderately successful. The reception area was clean and the furnishings were tasteful and classic. Tables held an assortment of magazines, their edges perfectly aligned—OCD much? Fake plants in terra cotta vases were interspersed around the room. The rich, fragrant aroma of coffee permeated the air from the pot brewing on a credenza, and he could just detect the notes of a classical piece filtering through the speakers located high on the walls.

  “Mr. Polizzi?” He stood when the receptionist returned. “Mr. Moody will see you now.”

  He followed her down the beige carpeted hall and thanked her when she ushered him inside. His first thought was that he’d feel claustrophobic if he had to work in the small space every day with no window. His second was that Moody wasn’t the one in the workplace suffering from obsessive-compulsive disorder. Whereas the front area was tidy and organized, Moody’s office looked like it’d been hit by an F5 tornado. Files were haphazardly stacked on every flat surface and take-out containers littered the top of a filing cabinet that was obviously only there for decoration. A quick glance at the overflowing trash bin and he located the source of the burnt popcorn smell. Mrs. Graves smiled at him and then scooped files off the visitor’s chair so he’d have a place to sit.