Tell It Like It Is

by Stanalei Fletcher

O’Neal shot a warning stare in Shelby’s direction before turning his attention back to their client. “As long as it takes, Rosalee.”

  One of the reasons for Northstar’s generous salary was that assignments took precedence over personal time. Usually Shelby didn’t mind putting in all kinds of overtime. It wasn’t as if she had any family to accommodate. However, this Christmas, she’d finally decided to reach out, give back to her community. Having spent much of her youth in and out of foster care, the children’s home seemed a perfect place to spend her free time.

  She looked down at the file. The extra money would go a long way toward some of the home’s expenses, and buy forgiveness for breaking her promise. “Of course.” Swallowing her disappointment, she gave Ms. Kane a small smile. “I’m at your service until your case is resolved.”

  Ms. Kane clasped her hands together, accompanied by the clink of bracelets. “Excellent.” She beamed at everyone in turn. “Let’s continue, shall we? I find all this preparation fascinating. I might use the research for my next book.”

  With the author’s words, Shelby relaxed. At the same time, some of the tension seemed to leach out of the room. She didn’t understand why everyone seemed in awe of Ms. Kane. Northstar’s policy dictated they treat all clients with equal deference, regardless of financial, political, or celebrity status.

  O’Neal cleared his throat. “Shelby, you’ll join Rosalee on her flight to L.A. this afternoon. From there, you’ll secure all physical locations, especially her Long Beach home.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded to her folder. “I suggest you review the case details while you wait for your flight.”

  “Don’t fret, dear.” Ms. Kane leaned forward a bit. “Even though I can’t see how a slip of a girl such as yourself can be so lethal, if your qualifications are as good as Byron has told me, you’ll do just fine.”

  Shelby gave O’Neal a sidelong glance.

  His reserved expression was at odds with the compliment. His usual impassive face slid into place when he turned and addressed his son. “Riley, you’ll accompany them. Assess and secure Rosalee’s primary residence, and then return on a flight the next day. With Allison about to deliver, I can’t spare you out of the office longer than that. You and Allison will coordinate with the NYPD on the murder investigation.”

  Ms. Kane reached over and patted Allison’s hand. “I hope we wrap up my case before your baby comes. I don’t want to put you in any unnecessary risk.”

  “Don’t worry.” Allison smiled sweetly at the older woman. “We haven’t yet determined who is behind the threats, but whoever it is, we’ll catch him.”

  Ms. Kane grimaced. “It’s all so strange. Everyone I’m writing about is dead, or so old they couldn’t possibly care what I put in my autobiography.” She lowered her voice. “Although, it could be the Mafia. They must think I learned secrets when I dated Antonio Denato.” She gave a whimsical smile. “Little do they know that dear Tony and I had other things on our minds.”

  Allison cleared her throat as she jotted notes on a pad. “So this Antonio Denato was in the Mafia? We’ll add his name to the list of suspects to check out.”

  Ms. Kane waved a dismissive hand to the accompaniment of more jingling jewelry. “My dear, I hope you don’t waste your time on dear Tony. I haven’t heard from him for almost fifty years.” She looked pointedly at Shelby. “Speaking of years, Ms. Shelby is correct on one account. If I don’t write this book now, I won’t be around to do it later.”

  Shelby wondered if Rosalee Kane’s courage was real or an act. A maid had already been killed. Had she been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or was her death a warning? The file indicated that prior to the maid’s death, the only threats the author received had been untraceable letters. Shelby tapped her lips with a finger. This assignment wasn’t going to be as simple as it appeared on paper. Protecting a spry fighter like Ms. Kane would keep Shelby on her toes.

  “Oh, and one more thing.” Ms. Kane leaned forward in her chair. “I’ve not told my family about the unfortunate episode in New York, yet. Once they find out, the FBI might try to interfere.”

  Shelby silently groaned. Involvement with the feds made for a jurisdictional nightmare. The NYPD already had lead on the homicide. It wouldn’t be long before the FBI would want details regarding the threats, too. She opened her mouth to object, but clicked it shut when Allison nodded at O’Neal.

  “I thought we’d settled all that,” O’Neal said to Rosalee. “Northstar is handling your protection detail.”

  At least O’Neal was on Shelby’s side regarding the FBI.

  Ms. Kane looked a bit sheepish. “My mistake. I’m sure the FBI will be more than happy to let you guard me. It’s my nephew who’ll have heartburn.”

  Allison bit her lower lip. “Special Agent Nelson Kane?”

  Ms. Kane smiled. “The same.”

  This complicated things. Shelby hadn’t made the connection with the last name until now. Two years ago, Allison had been in Agent Kane’s custody during an assignment. He’d been shot and left for dead when someone kidnapped Allison to use her as leverage in exchange for the release of a federal prisoner. Fortunately, a combined team of Northstar and federal agents rescued her from the kidnappers.

  Ms. Kane continued, “When I told Nelson I wanted Northstar to handle this problem, he tried to persuade me to find another agency. He’s still a bit unhappy about that incident.”

  “I don’t blame him.” Allison frowned. “He nearly died protecting me and my nephew.” She shuddered, remembered horror crossing her pretty features.

  Ms. Kane tilted her head toward O’Neal. “It wasn’t your fault the operation was compromised. Paying all his medical expenses more than made up for it. I’m extremely grateful for Nelson’s care.” Tears welled in her eyes and she sniffed. Then she composed herself. “If anyone can get to the bottom of these threats, I know you can.”

  “That’s our plan,” O’Neal said as he walked around the table. He stopped beside the author’s chair and held it as she stood. “If our arrangements meet with your approval, Rosalee, I’d like a moment with my agents to review some additional details. I hope you won’t mind waiting in my office. I’ll have a cup of tea and some Danish brought to you.”

  The director’s regard for their client surprised Shelby. Was there more than a business relationship going on here?

  Ms. Kane smiled graciously. “Of course not.” She nodded to Riley and Allison, and then looked at Shelby. “I’ll see you soon.” She winked as she took O’Neal’s arm.

  Shelby stared, wondering if she’d imagined that wink.

  The door closed behind O’Neal and Ms. Kane.

  Riley’s chuckle floated across the table. “You’ll have your hands full with that one.”

  Shelby couldn’t agree more, but wisely kept her mouth shut and stared at the file.

  “This autobiography must be as juicy as her novels,” Allison said. “Why else would a book cause such a stir?”

  “You’ve read her books?” Shelby tried to remember the last time she’d read anything besides assignment briefs.

  Riley leaned back in his chair and linked his hands behind his head. “I’m not surprised. You’re a romantic at heart, Allison.”

  Allison scrunched her nose at Riley. “I don’t understand why anyone would want to harm her. She may be outspoken, but I think she’s a dear.”

  “Since you’re more familiar with her, perhaps you’d like to trade—” Shelby stopped and frowned as the lab’s cyber-queen patted her mounded belly.

  Right. When Allison sat behind a table, she didn’t look pregnant. Only when she stood did she look like she’d swallowed a basketball. There wasn’t an ounce of spare fat on her to herald the birth of her and Sloan’s first child.

  At twenty-eight, Shelby hadn’t thought much about having a family. She enjoyed being around the kids at the children’s home. However, playing Santa, and taking full responsibility as a parent were completel
y different things.

  Her own upbringing had only offered examples of broken promises and distrust. In addition, her profession demanded a lot of time and would complicate single motherhood. Shared parenthood was out of the question, as marriage didn’t enter into the equation. Few men would put up with her outspoken opinions, and none of her brief relationships thus far in her life had survived the demands of her job.

  “Stop scowling, Shelby,” O’Neal ordered as he walked into the conference room and took his place at the table.

  “Why me, sir? Riley would make a much better—”

  “Don’t say it,” O’Neal warned.

  Shelby swallowed. Babysitter was the wrong word for Ms. Kane, anyway. Watching over the author would be more like being a prison warden. She took a breath and picked up the file. Maybe she was overreacting to her missteps during the meeting. “I don’t think I’m the right person.”

  O’Neal cleared his throat. “In this one instance, I’m almost inclined to agree with you.”

  Riley and Allison stared at the director. He rarely failed to assign the right agent for any job. However, Shelby wasn’t surprised to hear him admit it this time.

  His fingers tapped the table. “Your blunt approach works well when guarding rock stars and prima donnas. You hold your own in volatile situations. Keep in mind this assignment requires a lighter touch. We need someone who will blend in. Someone who won’t raise any suspicions while staying close to Ms. Kane, but also knows the southern California area well enough to get around quickly and safely.”

  “We want whoever is making the threats to keep trying,” Shelby said with sudden understanding. “I’ll be undercover.”

  O’Neal nodded. “We don’t have enough solid leads to do an in-depth investigation. So far, the crime scene techs haven’t proven the maid’s death is related to the threats. Some jewelry was missing. The killer may have felt cornered during a burglary.”

  “Have they released a cause of death?” The method used could be telling and Shelby didn’t see a COD noted in the file.

  “A knife across the throat.”

  Shelby swallowed. That was an ugly and painful way to die. “Weapon at the scene?”

  O’Neal shook his head. “If this was a warning to Ms. Kane, then whoever is behind it is committed. If not, then we don’t want to spook the real perpetrator before we can put a stop to the threats.” He leaned forward. “I want you with her day and night. There’s been no mention of retaliation once the book is published, but we can’t rule it out. Her publisher wants this autobiography in the worst way, and will stand behind her once it’s in their hands. Finishing the book is paramount for Ms. Kane. As part of your assignment, you’ll help her meet the deadline. Her book is overdue and that will lend validity to your presence as a companion.”

  “Companion.” Shelby mentally backpedaled, realizing this wasn’t her usual assignment. “Because of this?” She tugged a lock of her short hair.

  O’Neal nodded. “Your hair color will certainly help your cover.”

  This wasn’t her first bodyguard assignment. Her martial arts skills put her on the short list for most personal protection cases. It was the first time her looks, specifically, her prematurely gray hair, played a role in an undercover assignment. “What about her secretary? Surely we’ll need to put protection on her as well.”

  Byron shook his head. “When the threats started to become more frequent, Rosalee gave all her business help extended paid leave. She wasn’t willing to risk their lives for her story. That’s why she’s behind on her deadline. You’re the replacement until this is over.”

  “Yes, sir.” Typing wasn’t one of Shelby’s strongest skillsets, but as long as she wasn’t asked to take a creative role during transcription, she could hold her own. “Anything else I should be aware of?”

  “Review the file, and the details in her book.” O’Neal pulled a USB flash drive from his pocket. “This holds all known aspects of Rosalee’s public life. There’s also a folder containing personal details, but it’s not everything. Use your free time to study and learn as much as you can.” He handed the drive to Shelby. “If you find anything that warrants deeper investigation, send it here. Once Riley has secured Ms. Kane at your destination, he and Allison will provide logistical support. Send daily progress reports. And as always, any emergency requires immediate communication.”

  “You got it.” On-the-job investigation in tandem with personal protection wasn’t unusual for Northstar, but it was different for her. She typically provided muscle while others sought out the threats.

  Shelby fingered the drive. Thirty-two gigabytes was a lot of space for simple text documents. There were probably high resolution photos as well. “Is anything on here password protected?”

  “One file.” O’Neal wrote something on the back of a business card and passed it over to her. “Memorize the password.”

  She stared at the series of eleven letters and numbers on the card, then closed her eyes and mentally recited it. Satisfied she had it memorized, she tore the card into tiny pieces and put them in her pocket with the flash drive. She’d put the pieces through the shredder when the briefing ended.

  O’Neal leaned forward to make his next point. “Once Ms. Kane leaves this building she is your sole responsibility.” He shifted his gaze to encompass all the occupants at the table. “Any questions on your assignments?”

  Riley and Allison shook their heads.

  Shelby met O’Neal’s frank stare with one of her own and moistened dry lips. “No, sir.” He trusted her to protect Ms. Kane. She might not like the timing, but she wouldn’t let him—or the client—down.

  “Good.” The director tapped the table with his index finger. “I’ll do what I can to make up the loss of vacation time once this assignment is over. For now, Ms. Kane will remain under my supervision until your flight. You’re dismissed.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Shelby left the conference room and set up temporary camp in an empty cubicle. The laptop O’Neal promised was already on the desk. As the computer booted, she called the children’s home. She’d already bought the Christmas presents so she offered her regrets at missing the party, told the home’s staff someone would deliver the gifts, and then promised to stop in to see the children as soon as she was able.

  Once the call was completed, Shelby installed the USB drive and opened Rosalee Kane’s electronic folder. One file contained the assignment details, several other files contained images of the threat letters—magazine cutouts pasted on paper. Some of the words weren’t even spelled right. Each note threatened physical harm if she continued working on her book.

  Shelby clicked to open the next document file. A request for the passcode popped up. She keyed it in and stared at the first page. This one, and subsequent pages, looked like old military briefings typed on a manual typewriter. Every page was pockmarked with blacked-out words. In some paragraphs, complete sentences were missing. Almost all the pages dated from 1945.

  She opened the paper folder and studied Ms. Kane’s photograph. Running a quick calculation in her head, she figured the older woman would have only been a child when the military briefings were typed.

  What did these World War II documents have to do with the threats Rosalee Kane received? And why were they still redacted seventy years later?

  Chapter Two

  Special Agent Nelson Kane hugged the wall of the dingy apartment building corridor, slid the 9mm pistol from its holster, and steadied it in his right hand. Thin walls muffled tired Christmas carols as the stench of overcooked cabbage seeped up from the floor below and mingled with odors from musty carpet and cannabis. Despair hovered like a bleak winter storm over the four-story walk-up.

  This section of Los Angeles attracted more than its share of undesirables, but as long as the rent was paid, the property managers tended to turn a blind eye to certain tenants’ activities.

  Despite adrenaline firing through his veins, Kane’s breathing remained calm—
eyes and ears alert for the slightest inconsistency. Surprise was his ally tonight. Not taking advantage of an ally was just plain stupid.

  Special Agent Kyle Roberts hovered on Kane’s six, his tall, muscular build matching Kane’s like a shadow. Moving in tandem, they approached apartment 4C. Two more agents trailed along the corridor behind Kane and Roberts.

  Kane paused next to the suspect’s door that was adorned by a Christmas wreath made from dried pine boughs and faded red ribbon. His gun was angled toward the floor, his finger at the ready beside the trigger. Roberts skirted to the other side, his weapon also angled down for safety. Headquarters frowned on errant bullets causing collateral damage during a bust.

  The team had a no-knock entry warrant for Grady Cooke, the prison escapee, suspected to be inside the apartment, and they carried a battering ram for the impolite admission.

  The danger awaiting them inside was very real. The federal ID they carried offered less protection than the Kevlar body armor with the letters FBI stenciled across the front and back. In fact, it guaranteed they were more of a target with a convicted cop killer on the other side of the door. As Special Agent In Charge, it was Kane’s responsibility to make sure everyone on the team returned home safely tonight. He paused to give the team a moment to settle into position.

  Catching his partner’s attention, Kane lifted two fingers near his eyes, then pointed diagonally across the doorway. Roberts’ head dipped in acknowledgement of the non-verbal signal to cover the opposite corner.

  Kane swallowed, noting the predictable dryness in his mouth. No point in delaying the inevitable. He held up his free hand, palm open then slowly curled each finger into his fist as he counted down.

  When he brought his gun to eye level, the agent holding the battering ram slammed it against the flimsy apartment door, busting it open in a single blow. All four agents stormed the room.

  “FBI!” Kane said. “Nobody move.”

  Chairs crashed to the floor. Franklins flew like trash in a windstorm as four men scrambled for the stash of firearms mixed with piles of cash and drugs in the center of the table.