by Elle Casey
“I didn’t know who to expect. Want some popcorn?”
“Definitely. After work, though. Work before pleasure.” He looks around the kitchen. “Mind if I take a look around?”
“No, feel free. I’m on my computer in the living room, working on some photographs. Just shout if you need me.” I’m not worried about being judged this time; I made sure to make my bed and clean up the bathroom counter after Ozzie left.
“I’m just going to count up all the points of entry and see what we’ll need to get them secured and hooked into the network.”
“Network?” I chew my lip, wondering how much this is going to cost me. I don’t have a lot of savings left. My latest dry spell has been pretty desert-like.
“It’s a monitored system. If it goes off, someone will be on the line for you within twenty seconds. It’s state of the art. Wireless. You can use your cell phone to monitor it and change the settings if you want.”
“Great.” I don’t sound as enthusiastic as I should, but Thibault doesn’t notice. He leaves the living room to mount the stairs, and I get a small bowl and fill it with popcorn. When I’m in panic mode, I eat popcorn. I shove an entire handful in my mouth at once. Bits go flying everywhere.
I’m back at the computer, trying to concentrate on photoshopping errant hairs and pimples from the family portraits I shot earlier today, but I can’t. My mind keeps straying to the alarm system I’m about to have installed. I’m not even sure I want it. Do I need it? The killer’s had ample opportunity to come after me, and I’ve been safe all afternoon.
As rational as it is, that thought doesn’t make me feel any safer. In the movies, killers are always very patient as they stalk their prey.
I lean back in my chair, rolling my eyes up to stare at the ceiling. Money, money, money. I need more of it. When the economy takes a dip, photographers are some of the first to feel it. People don’t care about capturing precious moments when the moments suck. Look! Here’s Dad with his hair graying from the loss of his job! And here’s Mom with an extra twenty pounds from all the stress eating she’s been doing!
No. The portrait business goes bye-bye during a downturn in the economy, and it takes a long time for it to recover. In the meantime, I have to get creative. So far, I haven’t found much to cover the holes in my cash flow. Even the wedding bookings are getting scarcer.
A movement outside catches my eye. Tilting my head, I watch as a car crawls down the street, passing by my townhouse. I sit up straighter. Is that the guy who was following me last night?
Panic seizes me. I stand up quickly and move back from the window. The driver keeps going, but he’s definitely looking for something, his head swiveling left and right. He pauses when facing my direction, and I hold my breath. No, no, no, no, no! Do not shoot your gun at my house!
When he keeps on going, I let my breath out. Thank the stars I parked my car in the garage today. I often leave it in the driveway, but I was worried anyone coming to help me with the security stuff wouldn’t have a place to park if I didn’t leave the driveway empty. I’m starting to think I’m never going to feel safe parking out there again.
Thibault comes down the stairs, startling me.
“Jumpy.” He walks up and stands next to me, looking out the window. “See something out there?”
“I’m not sure.” I move closer to him. “I thought maybe I saw the car that followed me last night, but probably not.”
“Make and model?”
My face scrunches up as I try to remember. “Big? Ford? Cadillac? Buick?” I look at him. “Sorry. I’m terrible with the older models. Ask me about the 2014 economy models, and I could give you everything.”
“Special hobby of yours?” He’s smiling.
“No, I had to do some car shopping a few months back. It included a lot of research before I made my decision.”
“Ah, a car enthusiast.”
“No, more like a budget enthusiast. I wanted to get the best bang for my small buck.” I walk over and sit down at my computer again. Thibault’s easy manner has lowered my stress level. Plus the car that was out there is gone now and the street is empty once again.
“We really could use your help if you’re in the market for some work.” He comes over and stands next to me, watching me manipulate a photo on the computer. “I’m good at setting things up, but terrible at anything that requires looking through a lens.”
I look up at him and smile. “I don’t imagine surveillance work requires all that much artistic talent.”
“You’d be surprised.” He gestures at my screen. “You’re using some kind of program to fix the photographs?”
“Yes, I use Photoshop.” I quickly erase a hair that’s sticking up above the mother’s head.
“I can’t tell you how many times we shoot someone and the lighting is so bad, we can’t see a thing on the film. You can fix that, right?”
I shrug. “To some degree. I can lighten or darken, remove things, add things in. But I can’t fix everything. If you’re not taking the shots from the right spot, there’s not a lot that anyone can do.”
“That’s the thing. We’re missing that talent. We’ve got most of our bases covered, but not that one.”
My hand leaves the mouse, and I turn my chair a little to face him more. “What bases do you mean?”
Thibault grabs a chair from the nearby dining table and drags it over to sit near me. He starts counting off on his fingers. “Well, let’s see . . . we’ve got Dev on martial arts. He does all our physical training stuff, with help from Toni. Lucky’s the numbers guy. He can get into financials and find anything anyone tries to hide. He’s not a bad shot either. I’m on security, and Ozzie’s the brains behind everything. He’s also the public face of the business. He works with the police or whoever hires us to get the scope of the job and put all the pieces together. He also writes up the report at the end. He hates doing that part, but no one else will do it, so he gets stuck with it.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that I love writing up reports and essays and so on, but I keep it to myself. He doesn’t care about that. Instead, I decide to question him about something I noticed last night and have been reminded of today.
“I get the impression you guys know each other from somewhere else.” I hook my arm over the back of my chair and lean on my hand, waiting for his answer.
“We grew up together. Got into a little trouble together over on Bourbon Street from time to time when we were younger.” He grins. “Ozzie went into the military, and when he got out, he rounded us all up and made us an offer we couldn’t refuse.”
“And that was . . .?”
“Get on board or get your ass beat down. He made the decision real easy.”
I smile, picturing those exact words coming from Ozzie’s mouth. “He tries to be so hardcore.”
“Tries?” Thibault’s eyebrows go up. “And you think he doesn’t succeed?”
I shrug, my vision going fuzzy as I picture Ozzie in my mind, trying to stay serious, but smiling when his dog does something goofy. “I don’t know. I guess so. But he’s not as scary to me as I think he wants to be.”
“Most people think he’s the meanest bastard they’ve ever met.”
I snort. “Yeah, right. As if.”
Thibault stares at me, a vague smile on his lips.
“What?” I’m worried I have popcorn shrapnel on my face or something.
“Nothing.” He immediately shifts his attention to the pad of paper he threw down on the table after his review of my townhouse. “So, here we go . . . my assessment of your security needs.”
I lean over to see what he’s written, but his handwriting is undecipherable. I wait for him to translate.
“You have five windows upstairs, two in each bedroom and one in the bathroom. There are three downstairs and two entrances, one in the front and one in the back, plus the one from the garage. That’s a total of eleven entry points that need to be fitted.”
“Fitted?”
“Fitted with security devices. I’d also recommend a glass-break sensor at these front windows and the sliders on the back patio, motion detectors in the hallway and this room, and you also need pet immunity.” He makes a few notes on his pad.
“What’s that?”
“Just a device that makes sure your dog doesn’t set off the motion detectors.” He looks up and catches my expression. “What’s wrong?”
I look down at the floor, trying to ease my embarrassment. “I’m just worrying about how much this is going to cost me.”
He claps me on the back, throwing me forward a little. “Not a penny!” He stands and picks up the chair, swinging it around to put it back where it came from.
“What?” I get to my feet, not sure what he’s talking about.
“It’s not going to cost you a penny. It’s a perk.”
“A perk? A perk for what?”
“Anybody who works for Bourbon Street Boys Security gets a home security system as part of the deal.”
“Wow. That’s . . . generous. I guess.” I don’t remember telling anyone I was going to work for them, although I guess I did argue pretty forcefully in favor of my qualifications. Why in the heck did I do that?
“Nope, not generous. Smart. In our line of work, you can never be too careful.”
My face falls. “That’s really not the best way to sell me on the idea of working with you guys, you know.”
He scratches his head. “Probably not. But hey, taking pictures? That’s nothing. It’s practically no risk. None of the people we’re dealing with will ever even see you. You’ll be like the invisible man.”
“Invisible man . . .” I’m thinking about how much risk there might be for the invisible man when Thibault interrupts my thoughts.
“The job pays three hundred bucks an hour, plus expenses. Most jobs have a minimum of five hours of surveillance, give or take, and we do an average of five jobs a month. At least that’s what Lucky tells me.”
My eyeballs almost fall out of my head. I’m still stuck on the first part of his explanation. Surely I’ve heard that pay rate wrong. “Say what?”
He grins. “Three hundred bucks plus expenses.”
“And I’m supposed to believe there’s no risk?” My blood pressure is spiking. I could really use three hundred bucks an hour, even if it’s just one hour a month, but not if I’m going to get killed doing it.
“Not for the surveillance team. But their role is critical. Without them, we’re going into situations blind and deaf. We charge a lot when surveillance is part of the job.” He starts walking toward the door. “You should come see the equipment we have. See if you need to order anything else.”
“Order? What do you mean?”
“If you’re going to be doing the job, you need the right equipment, right?”
“I have cameras.”
“Ozzie wants all the equipment to be owned by the company, so if he doesn’t already have what you need, he’ll buy it.”
I stand at the front door as Thibault goes down the steps toward his SUV. “Is he expecting me to call him or something?”
“Maybe.” Thibault opens up his back door and pulls out a big case. A second one follows in his other hand. He puts them on the ground and then reaches inside the car once more, taking out a large cardboard box.
I run out to help him.
“What’s all this?” I ask, hefting one of the very heavy duffle bags over my shoulder.
“The stuff I need to install your system.”
“But I haven’t even agreed to take the job yet.”
“You will. Trust me. No one says no to Ozzie.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A text makes my phone beep. I’m standing at the alarm panel near my front door, trying to remember all the instructions Thibault gave me an hour ago. If someone comes in the door and insists I turn off the alarm so he can rob or murder me, I’m supposed to type in what four numbers?
Ozzie: Mind if I stop by around seven?
I guess he plans to make me that offer I can’t refuse tonight. I’ve already decided, though. I’m not going to work with them. I’m not a spy girl; I’m just a photographer with a special talent for catching a moment on film. Plus I’m not all that excited about being in danger. One night of being followed and sleeping in a warehouse is enough for me.
Me: If u want. I don’t want u to waste ur time though.
Ozzie: See you at 7.
He didn’t take the hint. Sigh. I look around the room and decide if he’s going to come over, I might as well pick up a few things. Like the socks I left on the floor by my desk, for one. I should probably also get a bottle of wine. Not that we’re going to wine and dine or whatever, but it would be rude not to have beverages, right? I walk quickly to the door, slide my feet into my sandals, and grab my purse from the floor in the foyer.
The door beeps, reminding me I have to set the alarm. I close the door again and stare at the keypad. Thibault used his own birthday as my code so I wouldn’t forget either one. It’s only a week away, he said.
I push in the four numbers I think I remember and leave the house, locking the door behind me. Waiting a few seconds, I hear nothing, so I assume it’s safe to leave.
The corner store doesn’t have the best wine selection in the world, but it’s all I have time for. The big store will be too busy to allow me to get me in and out in less than fifteen minutes.
I start with one bottle of merlot and then decide I should buy two, just in case. Just in case what? I have no idea. Just in case he brings a friend, maybe. Not that I expect him to stay for two bottles. That would suggest I’m thinking about getting tipsy and possibly a little handsy. And I’m not doing that, of course. No way. Just the idea makes me feel antsy in a sexy kind of way.
I pull my car into the garage and enter the house through the inside door. The alarm starts beeping immediately. I know I have a few seconds to turn it off, but does that stop me from panicking? No. I feel like I’ve broken and entered my own home.
“What was that code?” I mumble, staring at the keypad. The loud beeping is too distracting. I can’t remember! I yank my phone out of my purse, pressing on the calendar button. “When is your birthday, Thibault?!” I stare at the days of the week, but I can’t recall if it’s on Saturday or Sunday. I take a wild guess and press in the numbers.
Sirens start going off.
“Dammit!”
Felix comes running around the corner, barking his head off. Better late than never, I guess.
A voice comes out over a loudspeaker somewhere. “BSB Security. Please enter your pass code.”
“I don’t remember my pass code!” I yell.
My phone rings.
“Hello!” I’m yelling to be heard over the sirens.
“Hello, this is Amy from Bourbon Street Boys Security Home Monitoring Service. Who am I speaking with?”
“This is May. I’m May. I’m the owner of this house.” I press in a few more buttons on the keypad, trying the other date, but nothing happens. My eardrums are aching from the sirens and Felix’s freak-out.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine! I just can’t remember the stupid code to put in this thing, dammit!”
“Do you remember your secret password to tell me over the phone?”
My mind races. Thibault told me not to use the dog’s name. Too easy to guess, he said. A former pet was okay and a friend’s name was fine too. A Disney character was a popular choice. Which one did I choose? I thought of so many options when he was here, but I can’t remember which one I finally settled on . . .
“Sahara!” I shout. “Sahara is the secret code!”
“Great. I’m going to shut the siren off and cancel the call that went out to law enforcement.”
The siren goes silent and I lean on the wall for support.
“Is there anything else you need?” Amy asks.
“Yes. A shot of tequila.”
She l
aughs. “Maybe some tea might be a better choice.”
“If you say so. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Have a great night.”
“You too. Bye.” I hang up and slide my phone into my purse before bending over to get Felix and calm him down. He’s vibrating with energy.
Kissing his head makes him twist around to try and lick me. “Easy, little man. Everything’s fine. No bad guys coming in the house today.” Now that I’ve seen the system in action, I’m kind of impressed. Not that I really believe there’s a killer still looking for me, but still . . . better safe than sorry, right? At the very least, that siren would make him deaf.
My doorbell rings, sending Felix into spasms of outrage. I put him down so he can run to the door and scare the hell out of whoever is there. I check my watch. It’s probably Ozzie, even though it’s still ten minutes to seven.
I put the bottles of wine on the counter and go to the door. The peephole confirms my visitor is early. I unlock the door and pull it open.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he says, his arms wrapped around two paper bags. Sahara pushes past both of us and goes into the living room, her tail wagging. Felix begins his welcome-to-my-bachelor-pad dance as she turns in small circles, trying to get her nose on his butt.
“You brought gifts,” I say, trying to peek into the closest bag.
“I brought dinner. Hope you’re hungry.”
I hold the door open until he’s through and then shut it. He continues through the living room and into the kitchen like he owns the place.
Huh. Not sure how I feel about this impromptu dinner thing. Did he mention it in the text? I verify that he did not.
“How’s the security system working out for you?” he asks, unpacking the paper bags. White boxes of various sizes come out and get stacked up on the counter.
Both dogs are at our feet, hoping something will drop.
“Great. Had my first incident already.”
He pauses to look at me. “Incident? You had a break-in?”
I laugh a little self-consciously. “Not unless you count me trying to get into my own house and forgetting the code as a break-in.”
