Wild About The Bodyguard

by Tabitha Robbins

  “That waiter was a woman?” Rodney’s voice was strained as he fell into step alongside the boss. “One of the staff alerted me. He suspected something was up. Please tell me she didn’t make it to your office.”

  “I found her in the locker room.”

  Cursing under his breath, Rodney shovelled a hand through his hair, generating a highway of new spikes. “I’d set after him...er, her. Then she disappeared.”

  “It’s under control,” Chase assured Rodney again.

  “I’ll call the authorities. You can’t be too careful—”

  “Don’t call anyone.” Chase stopped to grip his manager’s jacketed shoulder. “No harm done. Just up the security at the doors.”

  “Any idea what she wanted?”

  Chase hesitated before walking again. “No clue.”

  If Garfield got wind that some crazy had come within a whisker of harassing him in a place where he paid big bucks to relax, Chase wouldn’t see him for dust. Others would follow out the door. Times were tough. The Don’s books were already on a drip. The last thing Chase needed was disgruntled clientele, cancellations or demands to repay dues.

  Rodney bowed off while Chase continued on, loosening his tie the nearer he got to his office. Until a year ago, he’d been “jeans and leather” all the way. Private investigative and bodyguard work was no place for business suits. But a person’s life could turn on a dime. Loss of employment. Loss of love.

  Loss of faith.

  In his office, Chase took a seat behind the polished oak desk. Collecting a pen, he pulled a document over—a profit and loss that needed sorting. But soon, figures seemed to bleed into one another. Like the necktie, crunching numbers had never excited him. Actually, he’d never been too good behind a desk, period.

  When his focus veered toward the window, he imagined the view from the second story of his place on Priest Street. In his mind, he heard the bell from a cable car and then saw a view of the bridge and its famous bay filled with boats. He’d left home at twenty-one and purchased a modest condo in the Marina District. Ten years later, that Italianate Victorian on Priest had caught his eye. Although it had been run down, something noble and resilient about its lines had lingered in Chase’s mind. Bringing it back to life, however, would’ve taken money he simply did not have.

  Around that time, a former client had passed away; Chase had helped the mega-wealthy bachelor find a grown son he had only recently learned about. While the son was left the vast majority of his father’s estate, Chase was stunned to learn the extent of that client’s gratitude. He’d bequeathed Chase more than enough to spruce up that dilapidated house of his dreams. He’d also left him the club.

  Then tragedy had struck, and the decision to change vocation seemed to be made for him. Chase had shut the door on his P.I. firm and taken a chair at the helm of The Don. Although adapting was taking longer than he’d thought, he could never go back to that other life, even if the idea tugged at him constantly.

  His eye line dropped to his desk’s bottom drawer. He’d told the accountant that he’d have these figures back to him by noon. But, right now, he needed to burn off adrenaline.

  The replica pistol was lighter than the real deal, but when Chase clutched the handle, the textured grip felt familiar. Felt unremarkably right. An electronic optical sensor was fixed to the gun’s barrel. The accompanying electronic target hung on the far wall. Whenever he squeezed off a shot, a trace of the point of aim could be assessed on a display screen.

  Chase took up position a distance away from the target. When he raised the piece and closed one eye, years of training and instinct spiralled into focus. His heart pumped slower at the same time all his senses seemed to glow. His mind cleared of anything other than making the first shot count. In the real world, if you missed, people could die.

  One night a year ago, someone had.

  A knock on the door hauled him back. Feeling sweat cool on his brow, Chase called out, “Come in.” Public Relations Manager, Tessa Coleman, and her killer heels entered the room.

  “I saw you goose-stepping a woman in pants out the back,” she said, crossing over in a peach-colored power suit that fit almost too well. “Trouble in paradise?”

  “A minor hiccup.”

  “Who is she? Some over-zealous admirer?”

  Ignoring the twinge beneath his zipper at the thought of Samantha’s measurements, Chase set his jaw. “I’d sooner forget it.” He took aim, squeezed off a shot then assessed the nearby display screen—

  And frowned.

  He’d missed the bull’s eye? No. He’d missed the target, like, altogether. Frowning, he inspected the replica while Tessa took her usual seat opposite his desk.

  She asked, “Got a minute?” while he aimed, squeezed again. Missed again.

  Fuck!

  “The Don has been under your management coming up a year now,” Tessa went on.

  “Anniversary’s next month,” he said absently, studying the target. He hadn’t paid a visit to the range in months, still…was he really that rusty?

  “How do you want to celebrate?” Tessa asked.

  “Free drinks and entertainment until twelve. Throw in a worthwhile door prize. A weekend at a luxury resort maybe.”

  “I was thinking bigger. More diverse. What would you say to inviting wives and girlfriends in for the evening? Make it a party with partners?”

  He slid over a sceptical look. “This place is men only, remember?”

  “Aside from some staff,” Tessa pointed out.

  Of course. “Within this complex, our patrons don’t have to watch what they say or how they say it. Nothing against the fairer sex, but reality is The Don is gender exclusive for guests. High-paying, more often than not, high-profile guests. If those lines get blurred, there goes our advantage. Where other clubs are bending the rules, that longstanding point sets us apart.”

  In the bequest, the previous owner had been clear: the establishment was facing financial challenges. He’d given Chase his blessing if he chose to sell it on. Chase had stuck with it. He was determined to see it through.

  He raised the replica, took aim again, but Tessa’s next question broke his focus.

  “Chase, do you enjoy running this place?”

  “Why?”

  She eyed the fake firearm as if to say, You need to ask?

  He twirled the trigger around a finger, Old West style. “You know this is something I do to unwind, like some people throw darts. Play poker.” Heading over, he grinned. “Do crosswords.”

  “Difference is I never solved puzzles for a living. It’s not, you know…a part of me.”

  He opened the bottom draw with a toe and dropped the toy back in its bed. “I don’t want my former life back, if that’s what you mean.” Casing sleazy haunts. Catching cheating spouses. Risking his life to close some ring.

  His thoughts skipped track and threw up an image—a ruby encased by gold lips. He shook his brain. Not that kind of ring.

  “That’s all in the past,” he said, shutting the drawer firmly with the sole of his shoe.

  “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories. It’s just sometimes…” Looking uncomfortable, she pushed to her feet, tried to smile. “Forget I spoke.”

  The former owner had hired Tessa. She was intelligent. Mindful...unlike Samantha Mayne who, it seemed, rushed in where angels might fear to tread. He felt for her, but when he’d shown Samantha the door, he’d warned her not to come back. He understood how fucked up it was to have a wrong go unchecked. Still, for her sake, he hoped she left well enough alone. No one wanted to piss off an ex judge like Garfield, including the police department it would seem.

  “We’ll talk about the anniversary another time,” Tessa said, heading for the door. “Why don’t you have the rest of the day off? I’ll take care of things here.”

  Those figures on the desk caught his eye. He would kill to keep from going cross-eyed going over those columns. That wasn’t an option. He walked to the desk, dr
agged in his chair.

  “I have work to do.”

  “Bet you’d rather be working on your renovations. You got the deal of the century when you picked up that place.”

  Tessa had seen some early shots when he’d first moved in. Grinning, Chase pulled those pages over. “I’ve poured a lot of time and money into it since then.”

  “It must look like a palace by now.” She stopped by the door. “You’ll have to invite me around sometime to check it out.”

  He took in Tessa’s pristine appearance. Never a hair out of place. “I don’t picture you as a fan of sawdust and half-repaired bathrooms.”

  As she headed out, he heard her faint reply.

  “You’d be amazed at what I like.”

  Chapter 3

  Once a week, Sammy did the books for a well-known tattoo parlour, Just a Prick.

  She’d met proprietor Laycee Hall two years ago at a nightclub opening, along with Laycee’s real life Magic Mike buddy, Jay Scott. Back then, Laycee had not long opened her doors. A talented artist and dedicated to her work, word of mouth soon spread. The downside was all the additional paperwork. That’s where Sammy had come in.

  Her heart was set on acting—performing—but cracking the big time was as much a matter of luck and connections as talent. As a back-up, she’d studied accounting and economics at college. Now, while she learned lines and auditioned, part-time jobs like this helped to pay bills.

  As she moved out from the parlor’s backroom and office, Sammy spotted Laycee beside a chair starting work on Jay’s arm. It was after hours, so the place was otherwise empty. Both friends knew the background surrounding the theft of the ring and, more recently, her enquiries to the police. They’d also heard her idea about infiltrating The Don. They’d said she was insane. So, she’d kept quiet about her covert visit there three days ago.

  But now frustration was eating Sammy alive. She needed to spill. Needed advice.

  “I did it,” she said, pulling up a regular chair.

  “Did what?” When Laycee studied Sammy’s unrepentant expression, her jaw dropped. “Oh, God. You didn’t.”

  “I got inside The Don,” Sammy confirmed. “I got close to Garfield, too.”

  “And they let you out on bail?” Jay joked while Laycee sent over a sympathetic smile.

  “What happened, hon?”

  Sammy relayed the story from go to whoa, including how into the whole detective scene The Don’s centerfold boss had been. As far as she was concerned, he was dying to help but wouldn’t.

  “Going in undercover like that… I’ll hand it you,” Laycee said, setting Jay’s stencil aside. “You sure got a pair.”

  “By the sounds of that shower scene, your club boss has a decent set, too.” Jay was studying the heart and dagger outline waiting on his left arm, ready for stage two. He sat back, grinned, and actually sounded psyched. “I’m really feeling this. Absolutely. I am.”

  Laycee mumbled, “You will be soon.”

  During the day, Jay was a law student. At night, he totally smashed it on stage. He spent good time and energy making sure his assets were kept in awesome shape. He’d never had an opinion on ink before, other than to say the process must hurt like a bitch. Laycee and Sammy had gone into shock when he’d announced he was ready to join the masses and get his first tat.

  Laycee was asking Sammy, “Don’t suppose the club guy asked for your number.”

  On so many levels, “As if. I looked him up on the website,” Sammy said. “His name’s Chase Wild. He is exactly what a private investigator slash bodyguard ought to be.”

  Laycee arched a brow. “Bet he’d be fun between stake-outs.”

  When Laycee and Jay shared a look, Sammy rolled her eyes. Why those two didn’t get over the drama and simply admit they were into each other on a more than friends level, she had no clue. If she were ever that interested in someone, she sure as hell wouldn’t mouse around. Trouble was that there simply weren’t that many good ones to choose from. For too long, no one had inspired or excited her too much that way.

  Excluding Chase Wild, of course…

  “Hey. Sammy?”

  She blinked. Jay had said something?

  He repeated the question. “This Wild character said he wouldn’t help, right?”

  “He says he wants nothing to do with it. But that’s more about not wanting to get Hector Garfield off side, like the rest of the world.” Her gaze landed on the filled ink caps and she grinned. “You’d like his tat, Laycee. Original sin. When his shoulder moves, the snake sways.”

  Laycee’s blood-red lips curved. “Nice.”

  “Who’s he like? The Mentalist or more James Garner, Rockford Files?” Jay was a TV tragic.

  “Well, his hair is dark,” Sammy said, smiling as she thought back, “and there was a certain gleam in his blue eyes when he asked all those questions. The color is amazing. It kind of shifts and shines like ribbons of lake water under full moonlight.”

  Laycee reached for her machine. “I definitely need to meet this man.”

  Chase was definitely worth meeting. And he’d given her food for thought. “Maybe I could hire my own P.I.”

  “Those guys want up-front fees, expenses paid,” Jay said. “Of course, you could take up my offer to dance a night or two a week…bring in some big bucks.”

  “I love you, Jay,” Sammy said, “but no.”

  Jay had seen her routine with a pole; she’d perfected it for a big part in a sitcom she’d missed out on getting by a whisker. Jay had said if she ever wanted a spot at his regular haunt to just give him a shout. Knowing the tips Jay got stuffed down his pouch most evenings, the offer was tempting. But her body was nowhere near as spectacular as Jay’s. And while she loved performing, she didn’t want to get into that particular scene.

  Thinking more, Sammy pushed to her feet. “Maybe Ann will have an idea.”

  “Thought you said your sister didn’t want to be reminded about any of that stuff,” Laycee said, concentrating on her start point at the same time Jay took an extra deep breath.

  “When that ring vanished,” Sammy explained, “Ann was just as upset as I was. Now she’s settled, she doesn’t see any point in looking back. She says she wants to concentrate on what’s important now.”

  Ann lived in a palace in St. Helena with her husband, a successful vintner. While Ann and Rick had been sweethearts for over a decade, Sammy had never warmed to her brother-in-law and vice versa. It was one of the reasons the sisters didn’t see each other as much as they could.

  “Maybe Ann’ll change her mind,” Jay said, “when she knows you’re not giving up.”

  “If you need moral support when you speak with her,” Laycee said, “I’ll tag along.”

  “You bet,” Jay agreed, and then winced as that machine’s motor started up. “Although...maybe not today.”

  Poor Jay looked pale around those handsome gills.

  “Stay strong.” Sammy squeezed Jay’s shoulder before heading for the door.

  Over the motor, Laycee called after her. “I wouldn’t give up on Mr. Fancy Pants P.I. just yet. If you’re right about him itching to pin the badge back on his shirt,” she said, bracing Jay’s upper arm and bringing the machine’s tip close, “you won’t need to beg him for help. He’ll come looking for you.”

  Sammy was digesting that when Laycee turned her motor off again.

  No tattoo today.

  Magic Mike had passed out.

  Chapter 4

  Monday was Chase’s day off. Time to relax. However, try as he might, he couldn’t shake Samantha Mayne and her plight from his mind. So, he’d made a phone call. While he waited for that contact to phone back, he began a new project.

  Thirty minutes into it, an insistent knock at his Priest Street address interrupted. As Chase fanned back the front door, the boys sauntered in.

  “What’s with the goggles?” 6’4” Taylor Wild studied the protective glasses perched on his cousin’s head. “You sanding again, Cha
se? You’re always sanding.”

  The youngest of the three single-sibling cousins, Leo announced, “We come bearing gifts.” He offered over a cold six-pack and then frowned at Chase’s perplexed look. “You are aware the Giants blitzed it last night.” Leo followed Taylor toward the living room where he started his search for the widescreen remote. “Replay starts in five.”

  “It’s a weekday. Why are you two playing hooky?” Chase shut the door and tore off a can.

  “I ran into a high school classmate last night.” Combing a hand through his dark hair, investment extraordinaire Taylor whistled long and low. “Man, has she changed. I didn’t get to sleep till dawn. I decided to put my feet up for the day and simply bask in the afterglow.”

  Chase handed Taylor over the beers. “You slept with her the first night?”

  “She’s a virgin.” When Chase arched a brow, Taylor ripped off a can looking offended. “It’s true. They do exist. She’s saving herself for the marriage bed.”

  Smirking, Chase lifted the beer to his mouth. “That counts you out.”

  “That’s what I keep telling myself,” Taylor groaned.

  “And Leo?” Chase asked. “You’re here for moral support?”

  “I have a new assistant who’s driving me nuts,” Leo said, at the same time Taylor tossed over a can.

  “So, get rid of him,” Chase said, finding the remote under a throw cushion.

  “It’s a her. Catalina,” Leo murmured like the name tasted of honey. “And I admit to hiring her for all the wrong reasons. If I hadn’t got out of there this morning, I might not have been able to defend my actions later.”

  Taylor wandered over to the worktable displaying Chase’s most recent project. He nudged his beer at the mess—what was destined to become a stained glass panel.

  “Well, now, this looks almost arty,” Taylor said.

  “It’s more about attention to detail,” Chase said. “Adding a truly personal touch.” When Taylor eyed the snapped pieces of glass—the bits that hadn’t worked—Chase explained. “It’s not as easy as you’d think.”