“Forrest McMahon. I need to know everything about him and I need it fast. I’ve got to be back at his house at noon tomorrow, and I need to get some sleep. Can you research the guy for me?”
“You want the dirt that’s not out in the open, right? And see if I can find a connection with Chancellor?” Cal was a recluse who rarely went out, and he lived on the edge of the law. He specialized in computer viruses and virus protection, and he could hack into almost any system and find just about anything. The man could uncover the Pope’s secrets, if he wanted to.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll bet there’s something on McMahon. You don’t find yourself with enemies, and needing bodyguards, without doing some shady things.”
“You want this before your meeting?”
“Is that too soon?” I asked.
“Not a problem. Call me when you get up.”
As I hung up, I thought about Bodyguard, starring Lawrence Tierney. He played an ex-cop who’s hired to guard a rich woman who happened to be the owner of a meat packing plant. It was a B-grade film noir, full of action and violence, but it has largely been forgotten. It had just been released on DVD, and I wondered if I should buy it – maybe I’d get some tips on how to be a bodyguard. I let out a cynical laugh, then finished my beer and went to bed.
CHAPTER FIVE
I called Cal the next morning as I drove back to Cherry Hills.
“You get some sleep?” he asked. Cal was not one for small talk on the phone, and he had a difficult time conversing with others, especially women.
“Yeah. Were you up all night?”
“Uh huh. I’ve got a client who wants me to chase down some guys who broke through their firewall.” I almost felt sorry for those guys because Cal would definitely find them.
“What’d you find out about Forrest McMahon?” I asked.
“He’s an interesting guy,” Cal said. “Graduated magna cum laude from Brown. Family money that goes as far back as granddad, Franklin McMahon, who made a killing in stocks in the 1920s. It’s rumored that Franklin was involved in some illegal schemes, possible bootlegging with mob connections. His net worth was in the hundreds of millions.”
“Sounds like the Kennedys.”
“That’s what I thought. Anyway, old granddad passed along his money to his son, Charles McMahon, Forrest’s dad. Charles did well, too, in the stock market, and he managed hedge funds. Forrest followed in Daddy’s footsteps, and created his own hedge fund, mostly with the old man’s connections.”
“Okay, they’re a Who’s Who of bluebloods,” I said. “Any dirt on Forrest?”
“He’s well-connected, knows a lot of politicians and Wall Street types. He runs a foundation that donates millions to various charities. As for dirt, there doesn’t seem to be much, other than he knows every tax loophole around, but that’s not really dirt. I didn’t find much else. He’s surrounded by the best legal and accounting minds available, and he looks pretty clean.”
“There’s got to be something there,” I said. “What about Chancellor?”
“Nothing so far. It’s going to take a lot more digging. You want me to do some more?”
“No, I’ll do some looking when I get a chance.” I thought for a moment. “Right now I’m going to watch my back and see where this goes.”
“Okay, I’m going to bed for a while,” Cal said. “Have fun with McMahon’s daughter.”
I started to retort but he’d already hung up.
A few minutes later I parked in the McMahon mansion circle drive, arriving earlier than Stephanie, as requested. The sun was shining but it was frigid outside. I climbed the porch steps and rang the doorbell, then put my hands in my pockets as I waited.
“Good morning, sir,” a man in a black suit opened the door. “Mr. McMahon is expecting you.”
I followed him across the marble floors in the foyer and into the living room. It was posh, decorated in soft white tones, with an antique cream-colored Louis XVI settee and matching chairs. An ornate carved fireplace mantel made of marble took up the bulk of one wall. The room was beautiful, but had the feel of a museum. I was admiring a painting that I was sure was another Monet when McMahon came in.
“It’s a Monet,” he said, his tone implying he knew I was questioning the painting’s authenticity.
“Nice,” I murmured.
Even though it was Saturday, he was still impeccably dressed in wool pants and dress shirt. Very formal.
“Stephanie should be here shortly,” he said as he gestured at the settee.
I sat down on the edge, wary of damaging it. McMahon stood near the window, looking out.
“She’s not going to be happy,” he said, more to himself than me. “But it’s what’s best.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Tell me more about her.”
He turned around and gazed at the ceiling. “She’s my youngest. I have two boys as well. They work for me, and do quite well.” He sighed. “She has always been a handful. No direction, no desire to do anything with her life. Her mother and I have tried. I’ve pulled strings to get her jobs, but she doesn’t take it seriously and they let her go. What can one do?”
Before I could answer, the front door opened and Stephanie stormed into the foyer. She started toward the staircase, heels clicking angrily on the tile, and then she saw McMahon standing in the living room.
“What’s with Tyrone and Oscar?” she snapped, pulling off dark sunglasses. “I told you I don’t want those two around.” Her voice was low and tight, and she had a way of emphasizing words as if they were in italics.
As she talked, I got a good look at her. Last night she’d been drowning herself in martinis. This morning she looked like she’d just crawled out of the glass. The clothes were designer – tight jeans, silk blouse, and brown leather jacket – but her makeup couldn’t disguise the tired face or the shadowy circles under her eyes.
McMahon held up his hands to shush her. “Stephanie.”
“And this time they were with some idiot who…” she stopped when she saw me. “That’s him! That’s the guy with Tweedledum and Tweedledee.”
“This is Reed Ferguson,” McMahon introduced me. “He’s going to be your bodyguard.”
“What? I told you, I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“It’s not negotiable. I need you protected.”
Stephanie’s eyes narrowed. “What have you gotten yourself into now, Father?”
“That’s not your concern,” he replied. “I’ve chosen Reed because he’s not a ‘goon’, as you say. He’s discreet, and he won’t draw attention to you.”
“I don’t care if he’s not a goon, I still don’t need anyone watching over me.”
McMahon’s lips formed into a tight line. “If I have to, I will cut you off.”
“Ha, go right ahead.” Stephanie put her hands on her hips. “You can’t touch my trust.”
“I can and I will. I’ve met with my attorneys and we’ve found a way.”
She opened her mouth to say something, then faltered. It was obvious she wanted to call his bluff, and yet wondered if he was really bluffing. “You wouldn’t dare,” she finally said.
“Try me.”
She glared at him for at least ten seconds. “Fine. What’s next?”
“I hope to have things resolved soon and then I’ll leave you alone,” McMahon said.
“Yeah, right. I said, what’s next?”
“Reed will go with you now.” McMahon pointed at me. “He’ll be with you twenty-four hours a day.”
“What?” both Stephanie and I said.
“No way,” she said.
“Wait.” I stood up. “I’ll need some time to myself. I thought those goons would watch her some.”
“Of course not,” McMahon said.
Oh crap. What was I thinking?
“This is soooo not cool,” Stephanie said.
McMahon looked at me. “You need to accompany her everywhere she goes. And I want you to stay at her place so she’s protecte
d there as well.”
I nodded. I don’t know why that hadn’t occurred to me; I guess I’d blame it on being tired, irritated and knocked silly earlier this morning when he’d hired me.
“Stephanie, do you understand?” McMahon stared her down. “He’ll follow you home now, and he’ll stay with you until I say so.”
“Okay,” she said, stretching out the word. “But I’m not doing anything different.”
McMahon nodded. “Agreed.”
I raised a hand. “Excuse me.” They both turned to me as if they were surprised that the help was speaking. “I’ll need to run by my place and get some clothes and overnight things,” I said.
Stephanie rolled her eyes. “Oh brother.”
“Of course,” McMahon said. “You can drop Stephanie’s car off at her place, and then she can accompany you while you go gather your things.”
“Oh joy.”
Wow, she made the Kardashians look like nuns.
I looked at her and smiled. “Time to go.”
She threw me a disgusted look, then turned and strutted out.
McMahon handed me a card. “That has my private number. I expect daily updates. Call me if you need anything.”
I took the card and headed after Stephanie, certain I’d be in touch with him before the day ended. Maybe to tell him I’d strangled his insolent, spoiled daughter.
CHAPTER SIX
Outside, Stephanie was waiting at her car, a brand new red BMW M6 series sports car.
“You can follow me to my place,” she said as she donned her sunglasses. “I live at the Glass House.” She gazed at me askance. “And try to keep up.”
I hopped in my 4-Runner and by the time I’d buckled in and started it, she was already turning onto the street, tires squealing. The Beemer barely slowed as it passed the gatehouse, and then it was peeling off up University. I was sure she was trying to lose me because she drove like a NASCAR racer on University to I-25, then dodged in and out of traffic until she turned off on Speer Boulevard. She tore down Platte Street and onto 15th, and we ended up on Bassett.
I’d heard of Glass House Denver. It was an expensive and exclusive area just west of Union Station, an up-and-coming neighborhood near the Platte River, with the 25-acre Riverfront Park right across the street.
The BMW disappeared into a covered parking garage near a towering glass-and-steel complex. I parked on the street, walked up to the south tower and waited outside, hoping the little snot wouldn’t ditch me here. I was just thinking she’d indeed given me the slip when I spied her sauntering toward me.
She nodded at the 4-Runner, parked a few spaces away. “That your car?”
“Yep,” I said.
“Gawd, is that all you can afford?”
I counted ten, then went to the passenger side and opened the door. She drew in a breath, then exhaled dramatically, walked over and got in.
“You think you’re like Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard?” she asked as I got in. She studied me. “You’re not good-looking like he was. Or what people back in your day thought was good-looking. Like Whitney Houston would fall for him. Puleease.”
I gritted my teeth as I shoved the key in the ignition. Don’t say anything, just ignore her. I thought about my cinematic hero, Humphrey Bogart. He got to work with Lauren Bacall. I got this.
“So, where do you live?” she asked.
“I’ve got a condo in Uptown.”
“Where the want-to-pretend-like-they’re-rich live?”
“It suits me fine.” I kept my eyes on the road.
We drove in silence through the heart of downtown Denver. After a few minutes, I wondered if a dark sedan was following us. I kept an eye on the rear and side mirrors, but after a minute, I didn’t notice it anymore. Must not have been anything, I thought.
“What made you want to be a bodyguard?” she asked, breaking the silence. Too bad.
“I’m not a bodyguard, I’m a private eye.”
“Oh, well in that case, you should be investigating my father.”
I glanced at her. “Why?”
She shifted in her seat so she was facing me, then crossed her arms. “What’d he tell you? He’s got enemies who want to get at his family? Doesn’t that sound just a little too pat for you?”
“As a matter of fact, it does,” I said, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “But it’s more complicated than that.”
She thought about that for a moment of serene silence. “What’s dear old Dad up to?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Gawd, I could tell you stuff.”
“I’m all ears.”
She put on a pout. “If I did, dear Daddy would take my trust fund away.”
“And we don’t want that, now do we?” I said.
She cursed at me.
“Charming,” I said.
“You think you’re so much better than me.”
I ignored that as, thankfully, we’d turned onto my street. “My condo’s there,” I said as I pulled up in front of the building.
“You have to park on the street?” she asked, incredulous.
“There’s a garage, but since we’ll only be here for a moment…” Really, I had to explain this? What had I gotten into? I shook my head. Now I was talking in italics. “Come on.”
She got out and barreled up the sidewalk ahead of me.
“On the porch and around the corner to the left,” I called as I hurried after her.
I was almost to the stairs when I heard a soft voice. “Reed.”
I turned around to see Willie Rhoden, my neighbor and girlfriend, come around the corner. She was in her khakis and gray CU sweatshirt, but she looked elegant and sexy to me. She held a Starbucks coffee in her hand, and she gazed at me, her forehead wrinkled in puzzlement.
I smiled at her. “Hey, how are you?”
She glanced over my shoulder. “I thought you had a meeting.”
“I did.”
Stephanie halted and leaned against the stair railing, her hips out and chest thrust forward. Willie gave Stephanie the onceover. And Stephanie did the same to Willie. I couldn’t tell who won.
“Who’s she?” Willie asked.
“I was the meeting,” Stephanie said as she preened herself seductively.
Willie cocked an eyebrow at me. “Really?”
“Yes, I –”
“And he was goooood,” Stephanie interrupted.
Before I could clarify, Willie said, “Reed, maybe when you get a minute, you can call me and let me know what’s going on.” With that, she turned and walked away.
I could tell by her tone that I shouldn’t put off calling her.
“You.” I jammed a finger at Stephanie. “Wait for me upstairs.” She frowned, but turned and clomped up the stairs. I ran after Willie, catching her on the Goofball Brothers’ porch.
“Hey!”
She turned around. “On to the next thing so soon?”
“Of course not,” I said. “She’s my new case.”
“And you’re bringing her to your house? Isn’t that a little too much?”
“You don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m her bodyguard.”
“What?”
“Her father hired me to be her bodyguard.”
Her jaw dropped. “That’s a new twist.”
“I know. And she’s a real pistol so far.”
“I can see that.” Humor lines crossed her face, then quickly vanished. “Why bring her here?”
“I have to stay with her 24/7, so I’m getting some things to take back to her place.”
Willie stared at me. “Excuse me?”
“Do I detect a hint of jealousy?” I took her hand. “Come on, you know me. I wouldn’t mess around on you.”
She softened. “You’re right. I’m sorry. But look at her. She’s dressed to the nines, and she’s pretty.”
“Trust me, anything in the looks department is lost when she opens her mouth. Besides, she’s ten years younger than I a
m.”
“Charlie Chaplin’s wife was forty years younger.”
“I’ll be sleeping on the couch,” I assured her.
She looked away and chewed her lip, and man, it was cute. How could she think I’d want that immature vixen over her?
I jerked my head toward the stairs. “I better get back up there. Princess of the Damned has probably broken in and is trashing the place right now.” I threw her my most charming smile. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
She finally smiled back. “I’ve got a long weekend. I’ve got an extra shift at St. Joe’s today, and then a double shift at Denver Health tomorrow. And you’ll be busy, too, so I’ll call you Monday.”
“You sure you don’t want to talk sooner? Check up on me?”
Now I got her trademark tuck-the-blond-hair-behind-the-ears that was so adorable. “I’ll be fine.” She gave me a lingering kiss. “Go on.”
I watched her walk down the steps and across the street to her condo. She waved and then disappeared inside.
I rushed upstairs, wondering what hell awaited me. Luckily, Stephanie had not managed to weasel her way past my door, but was waiting impatiently on the landing.
“Hurry up, it’s cold,” she ordered.
I unlocked the door and we went inside.
“Wait here while I get a few things,” I ordered her back.
“Fine.” She plopped down on the couch, took out her phone and began texting.
I hurried into the bedroom, grabbed a duffle bag from the closet and packed enough clothes for a few days. I got some toiletries from the bathroom and was putting them in the duffle bag when a flash of light out the window caught my eye.
I glanced outside. A brand-new black Toyota sedan was parked across the street. I didn’t recognize it as one of my neighbors and I didn’t think much about it. Then I remembered I had Stephanie with me, and someone might be after her. I stepped into the bathroom, then edged my way back toward the window and peeked out. Whose car was it? Someone was in the driver’s seat. I watched for a minute. Were we followed? Was the driver waiting for someone? Was I paranoid? As these thoughts raced around in my brain, a thin guy in dark pants, ski jacket and baseball cap got out of the car and walked up to another building.
Out of the Past: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 5) Page 3
