by Banks, R. R.
“Can I get your name, miss?” Stanton starts.
“Manson. Felicity Manson,” she answers.
“She’s got a 007 rating and likes her martinis shaken, not stirred,” I crack.
Her head whips around so fast, I’m half-afraid she’s going to give herself a nasty case of whiplash. There’s fire in her eyes and a sneer on her face as she glares at me.
“Shut the hell up,” she roars. “I don’t need your help.”
I open my mouth to fire back, but Stanton gives me a look that tells me to button it, so I do. He guides Felicity to another area, leaving me standing there with Flores. Well, him and the older lady with Felicity who’s taken up the torch and is glaring daggers at me in her stead. Flores steps closer to me, a wry grin on his face.
“So, what happened, man?” Flores prompts.
“Would you believe I just stopped in to pick up a book?”
He grins. “Hell no. I’m not even sure you can read.”
I chuckle. “As long as it’s a pop up or a scratch n’ sniff book I’m good,” I tell him. “They’ve got plenty of both for you to choose from. You should feel right at home.”
“Screw you, Vaughn,” he laughs. “Now spill it. What happened here?”
“Felicity’s brother asked me to shadow her tonight,” I explain. “She’s had a guy – that guy – following her around lately. He’s been freaking her out.”
“Has he done anything to her physically?”
“Not that I’m aware of, no,” I admit. “I think her brother would have killed him if he had.”
“I didn’t do nothin’,” the guy on the ground mutters.
“Can I kick him?” I beg. “Just a little bit?”
Flores chuckles and shakes his head. “Sorry, we’re trying to avoid beating suspects these days.”
“Damn all the political correctness these days.”
“Come on, Vaughn,” he presses. “You know the drill. I need your statement.”
I let out a breath. “You’re no fun anymore, Flores,” I crack. “Fine. As I said, her brother hired me to keep an eye on her tonight, given that the suspect has been stalking Ms. Manson.”
“Excuse me, this is the first I’ve heard of this,” the older woman interjects.
I turn and give her a smirk. I open my mouth to reply, but Flores cuts me off quickly, obviously trying to get ahead of my sarcasm to keep from escalating the situation. Probably a good call.
“And you are?” Flores prompts.
“Maura Kazmeyer,” she replies. “I’m Ms. Manson’s agent and publicist.”
Kazmeyer gives me a sidelong glance, clearly intent on asserting her own dominance in the situation – agent and publicist trumps personal security in her world, apparently. Flores gives her a patient smile.
“If you’d step back, Ms. Kazmeyer, I’ll take your statement in a minute,” he says. “I just need to finish up with Mr. Vaughn first.”
“I don’t even know who this man is,” she huffs. “Or what he thinks he’s doing here.”
Flores looks pointedly at the man on the ground. “Looks to me like he’s trying to keep your client safe,” he shoots back at her. “Now please step back, Ms. Kazmeyer. I’ll be with you shortly.”
A look of outrage darkens her face, and she gapes at Flores. Her expression of outrage quickly morphs into one of haughty disdain and contempt. She’s clearly a woman who is used to being obeyed and having people jump at her command. She’s not used to being put off or told to wait. She’s the type of woman who gets what she wants when she wants it.
Except for this time – something that makes me laugh. Inwardly, of course. Even I know better than to burst out laughing in a situation like this.
When she steps back, disgust radiating from her every pore, I turn and face Flores again, rolling my eyes dramatically. He has to suppress his smile – Flores doesn’t suffer fools any better than I do.
“Anyway,” I continue. “I observed the suspect staring at Ms. Manson in a way that set off warning bells for me. And when the crowd began to line up for the signing, I observed the suspect moving toward Ms. Manson. It was at that point I decided to intervene.”
Truthfully, I didn’t actually see the guy heading for Felicity, but I thought he might. The way he was looking at her made me nervous. Things – bad things – can happen in the blink of an eye. Rather than stand by and wait, putting her at risk, I chose to act.
“And as you can see, the suspect is uninjured,” I go on. “Any health issues he may have are not my fault.”
Flores grins and jots a few things down in his notebook. Behind us, I can feel the hostility still coming from agent and publicist extraordinaire Maura Kazmeyer. It’s washing over me like waves of heat coming off the sun. It’s getting annoying. I turn around and stare at her for a moment.
“Any particular reason you’ve got such a hard on for me?” I ask.
“I don’t know you or what your deal is,” she snaps. “And I’m very protective of my client.”
“If her safety was as important to you as you claim, you’d have somebody keeping an eye out for her,” I shoot back.
“Her safety is of the utmost importance –”
“If that’s true, how did you not know she had a stalker?”
The tension in the air between us was growing thicker than Seattle fog. We both stand there glaring at one another, both of us stubborn, neither of us willing to give ground. I can tell she’s a tough lady who doesn’t give a shit by the way she stares me down. I like her.
“She never mentioned it to me,” she sniffs, obviously flustered. “But you can believe we will be having a talk about this. And about you.”
I shrug. “Don’t take your feelings of impotence out on her,” I grumble. “Not her fault her brother tried to do right by her.”
The anger and frustration on her face deepens, and she turns away, stomping back to where Felicity is talking to Stanton. I chuckle and turn back to Flores.
“Good to see you still got that charm workin’,” he grins.
“Always, brother.”
Flores gets the guy on the ground into a sitting position, then gives me a nod, obviously asking me to give him some space. Taking the hint, I turn and walk a few steps away, giving them some space but making sure I’m still available to answer more questions.
Stanton finishes up with Felicity and makes his way back over to his partner as they question the guy. Maura Kazmeyer huddles with her client, no doubt giving her the third degree about Felicity not telling her she had a stalker. Their conversation is quiet, but animated. Plenty of recriminating glares are shot my way.
Stanton steps up beside me and leans close. “Listen, we’ve got nothing to hold this asshole on,” he confides in a low tone. “We’re gonna have to cut him loose.”
I nod. “Great.”
“His name is Elliot Graham and he’s a prick, don’t get me wrong. Dude’s got a screw or two loose,” Stanton goes on. “But we can’t prove he’s done a thing. Not even Felicity –”
“I know, I know.”
“Wish I could do more, but you know how it is, Vaughn,” he commiserates. “I can’t bust somebody based on your gut feelings.”
A crooked grin stretches my lips. “World would be a safer place if you could.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah right. The very thought of that happening makes me glad we’ve got laws and shit,” he chuckles. “Anyway, listen – best I can do is give her a head start. Flores and I are gonna take him down to the station to ask a few follow up questions. It’d behoove Ms. Manson to clear out PDQ.”
“Yeah. Copy that,” I confirm. “Thanks for the assist, man.”
“Just remember you owe me one,” he says. “Seats on the fifty to the next Reign game would help even things up.”
I laugh and shake his hand. “You got it, man.”
“Appreciate it.”
I watch as Flores and Stanton haul the guy to his feet and lead him away. The next thing I see
is Felicity crossing the room, heading straight for me with a head full of steam. I can see the nuclear explosion coming and turn, ready to take her head on.
Her publicist-slash-agent standing behind her, Felicity stops a few feet from me, plants her hands on her hips and gives me her best expression of rage – which actually falls pretty short of actual rage. Her cheeks are red, her eyes are narrowed, and her full lips are turned down into a frown. It’s actually kind of adorable.
“Who in the hell do you think you are?” she growls. “You ruined my event.”
“Forgive me. I actually thought I was watching your back,” I respond. “The whole ruining-your-event thing was just an unfortunate side effect.”
“Did it occur to you that I don’t need you to watch my back?”
I shrug. “Your brother thought it needed to be watched,” I fire back. “Turns out, he was right.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but her face turns an even deeper shade of red. Her eyes are so wide and filled with fury, I actually think they could possibly pop right out of her skull. I do my best to stifle the smile that’s tugging at my lips – but fail miserably. Which only seems to enrage her even more.
“I’m so glad you find this funny,” she snaps. “This is my career you’re screwing with – whatever the hell your name is.”
“Knox Vaughn,” I announce. “At your service.”
The light of recognition dawns in her eyes, and her mouth compresses into a tight line. She cuts a glance at the older woman behind her, then turns back to me.
“That’s right. I’d forgotten in all the commotion. You’re my brother’s friend,” she mutters. “The bodyguard.”
Her words carry a thick tone of condescension and distaste. “Which bit is it you find most objectionable – that I’m your brother’s friend? Or that I’m a bodyguard.”
“Neither. Both. Just – shut up,” she stammers.
Maura is still glaring at me but remains silent. I flash her a roguish grin. Felicity is flustered and sputtering, unable to vent her rage upon me.
“Look, all kidding aside, that guy is a menace –”
“Oh gee, you think?” Felicity spits.
“Is that your professional opinion?” the older woman finally chimes in. “How astute.”
“Mock me if it makes you feel better, but I’m telling you, this guy isn’t done with you,” I inform them, my voice serious. “They’re going to have to release him –”
“Yeah, they told me,” Felicity replies, her voice softer than before.
“You really need to think about getting yourself a bodyguard,” I press.
“And I just bet you know the right guy for the job, don’t you, Mr. Vaughn?” Maura sneers.
I shrug. “Hire me, or don’t. I really don’t give a damn, lady,” I fire back. “But if Felicity’s safety is as important to you as you claim it is, you’ll get somebody to watch her back.”
“If? If?” the older lady roars. “I have been with her from day one. She’s like a daughter to me. How dare you question that. How dare you question my integrity.”
“If that’s what you’re taking away from what I’m saying, so be it,” I counter. “All I’m saying is that Felicity is obviously scared of this guy. And probably with good reason. The dude is a kook, and he’s going to keep harassing her. What you choose to do with that is on you.”
Felicity looks at me, some of the rage in her eyes dissipating. She still looks angry, but it’s blended with a healthy dose of fear. I think somewhere inside of her, she realizes this guy is going to keep coming, but she’s determined to stand strong. Determined to not be intimidated or otherwise pushed around.
I only just met her, but I can already tell that Felicity is stubborn and strong willed. There’s no question about it. She’s got an inner strength and a core of steel I find admirable. And yet, despite that strength and courage inside of her, I can see that she looks to her agent for guidance. Felicity defers to the older woman a lot more than I’d like.
As has been the case more than once already, Felicity cuts a look at Maura. The older woman gives her a quick, subtle shake of the head. There’s a brief flash of concern in Felicity’s eyes, but it’s gone as fast as it had appeared. She turns back to me again, her face set, jaw clenched, and a look of iron resolve in her eyes.
“No bodyguards,” she tells me. “I don’t need or want one. I can handle this on my own.”
It makes me wonder if her answer would be the same if her agent weren’t standing there, shepherding her down a particular path – the path Maura wants her to walk.
I’m hoping to get her to reconsider that decision. “No disrespect intended, but I think you’re making a mistake,” I implore. “I have some experience with these kinds of cases and –”
“She’s made her decision, Mr. Vaughn,” Maura crows. “You may go now.”
I sigh, knowing I’ve lost this round. Her mind is set. I can see as plain as the nose on my face that there’s no way in hell I’m going to get her to change it. I’m pretty sure it’s going to take something pretty fucking dramatic to get her to change her mind. I just hope it’s not something fatal. I’ve only got one card left to play – it’s a Hail Mary pass really – so I fling it out there.
“Listen Felicity, your brother is only –”
“You can go,” she snaps. “I’ll deal with my brother later.”
I look at her evenly for a long moment. I’m not getting through to her. And I know there’s nothing I’m going to be able to do to crack through that armor she’s wearing.
“Lash out at me, I don’t give a shit,” I tell her, my voice cold as ice. “But your brother was only trying to protect you because he loves you.”
She looks at me, fire in her eyes, and stands up a little straighter, that steel core inside of her stiffening her spine.
“Like I said, I’ll deal with my brother. That’s no concern of yours,” she grumbles. “Now please leave.”
I chew on my bottom lip for a moment, then nod. Turning away from her, I walk across the room and take the escalator up, knowing she’s making a huge mistake. But I also know I’m powerless to do anything about it.
Felicity
“What a night, huh?” I muse, shaking my head.
Maura smiles softly. “Not a bad one, though. People will certainly be talking about you.”
“Yeah, not necessarily in the way I want them to be talking about me.”
She shrugs. “Most of the time, any press is good press,” she tells me. “Having your name on people’s lips and generating some interest in you is a good thing, kid.”
“Even if it’s for the crap that went down tonight?”
Maura’s smile is one filled with wisdom. “They’ll forget the exact reasons eventually,” she explains. “And even if they don’t, does it really hurt to have a renowned mystery writer involved with some real-life mystery of her own?”
I laugh. “One, I’m hardly renowned –”
“Not yet,” she interrupts. “But soon.”
“And two,” I pick up my thread of thought. “I don’t think the story of the would-be stalker and the meathead bodyguard makes for a very compelling story.”
“It all depends on how you spin the narrative,” she winks at me. “As a writer, you know that.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t want to do anything with it. Right now, I just want to go get some sleep.”
Maura’s laughter is rich. “Well, go get some rest then. You’ve earned it,” she praises me. “Great job tonight, kid. Your audience is growing. Each event is bigger than the last. Let’s keep that momentum building.”
“Thanks for everything, Maura.”
She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “We’re in this together, kiddo. You want me to walk you to your car?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m good. But thanks.”
“Okay then, have a good night, kiddo.”
I watch her walk to her car, the sound of her heels clicking ec
hoing around the underground parking garage. The night is dark, and the garage isn’t very well lit, making me shudder with a sense of dread. I strain my ears to listen for the sound of furtive movement but hear nothing – then mentally chastise myself for being such a paranoid fool. I really doubt ballcap guy – Elliott something or other, I think they said his name is – would be stupid enough to come back again tonight. At the very least, he has to be wondering if Knox Vaughn is still hanging around and doesn’t want to tangle with him again.
At least that meathead did something good for me tonight.
Despite the scene that meathead caused and the chaos that ensued, quite a few people still hung around to have their books signed. I’m surprised so many stayed. But then, people do love a good train wreck. That scene was probably better than most reality TV programs.
Personally, I feel pretty humiliated by the whole damn thing. I hate being turned into a public spectacle. My brother knows that, and the fact he sent that meathead friend of his to ‘watch my back’ anyway pisses me off. He totally embarrassed me and should know better than that. I’m going to have some words for him, you can bet on that.
My car is on the next floor down. The only thing Maura didn’t plan for tonight was parking. Knowing it would be dark by the time we were finished; I would have preferred to be closer to the bookstore.
Having run so late tonight, as I walk through the gloom of the underground garage, my imagination starts working overtime. Every sound is the furtive scuff of a foot. Every movement from the corner of my eye is somebody rushing toward me. Every puff of wind, somebody’s breath on the back of my neck.
Yeah, I don’t need a stalker there in the flesh – I’m doing a good enough job of freaking myself out. And yet, even knowing there’s nobody out there, I can’t stop the tension from rising higher and higher inside of me. I can’t keep my heart from beating a little faster or my body from tensing up. I know I’m alone, but I still can’t stop the thick cobwebs of fear from clinging to me.
