Plain Sight

by Katherine Rhodes

  She sighed and I heard a lot of guilt in it. “He found a laundering scheme in our books and reported it to us. When we were trying to trace it, they caught on that we had spotted it. His wife was raped and tortured, and then shot in the head in front of him as a means of keeping him quiet.”

  “And he didn’t?” My eyes went wide.

  “Not at all,” Emmy answered. “You’ll notice Nolan out of the corner of your eye once in a while. That’s his security that we hired for him. We have someone on his son as well—”

  “Tell me the kid didn’t see it,” I gasped.

  “He wasn’t home, thank God.”

  “You aren’t kidding.”

  She explained the police protection was just about up and that’s why there was private security on the guy.

  An idea hit me.

  Private security. Why couldn’t I do that? I had all the skills and more to do a protective stint. It might turn out to be exactly what I wanted to do. It would allow me to keep all my skills up and do something good with them.

  And I was in the perfect spot to be able to consider my options carefully. There were plenty of opportunities for an ex-MI6 in that field.

  I glanced into the room and this time, my new boss’s motions were calm and collected and he was standing taller, even if he was looking away from me. I knew he was probably pleased with whatever was being agreed upon on the phone.

  “You know I can handle this, Emmy—”

  She smiled. “I know you can. I never underestimate women. But he is an emotional basket case and I just want to make sure he’s okay with this for now.”

  That was a pleasant switch. Someone who trusted women. Most times my superiors thought we all got our information through sex and playing coy.

  When they knew I had shot a man in the head and pulled the information out of his ass.

  The door clicked open and Emmy stood from where she had sat on my desk. She walked over and made herself known to him so he wasn’t startled. Noted.

  “Good afternoon, Vaughn.” She smiled.

  “Hi, Emmy.” His voice was tired, but I still couldn’t see him just out of view in the door.

  “We got you a temp assistant, so you don’t feel like you have to do it all right now.”

  He sighed, and leaned against the door. I could see his shoulder. “You didn’t have to do—”

  She held up her hand. “Stop. We did. Too late.”

  The sigh was that of man who was emotionally exhausted. “Okay, yes. Fine. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  Emmy stepped out of the way. Vaughn Willard, please meet your temp assistant, Bridget McInnis.”

  Finally, he stepped clear of the door and stood just outside the frame.

  Holy shit.

  Vaughn Willard was a god.

  Tall, well over six foot, with dark brown shaggy hair that looked sexy as fuck and in desperate need of a trim. He had the physique of a man on the verge of dad-body, and that was doing things for me. His skin was losing its summer tan, and he had a five o’clock shadow at noon. His eyes were honey-hazel—

  And so, so, so goddamn sad.

  I was a complete shitbag. He was hot as hell, I was thinking about the size of his dick, and all he was thinking about was the wife who was ripped from him in a horrible act of violence.

  ...every damn reason I had gotten into MI6. The injustices visited on people, and the knowledge that sometimes, the law wasn’t enough.

  Switching off my libido, I held out my hand. “Mister Willard, it’s nice to meet you.”

  Chapter Five

  Vaughn

  I was going to hell, promptly.

  My new assistant was a drop dead gorgeous redhead with luminous, intelligent green eyes, hips for hanging on to, and a bosom I could bury my face in and die happy.

  What the actual hell was wrong with me? Why was my libido even still here, never mind sitting up and paying attention?

  I’d watched my wife die, and my dick didn’t care.

  I took the hand she offered, and smiled. “Ms. McInnis, a pleasure.”

  And zap, her touch was like lightning to my brain. Her handshake was firm, but her skin was soft and pleasant and warm.

  God. What was wrong with me?

  “So, Bridget is just back from the UK, and she’s going to be figuring out what do with herself. Meanwhile, we thought it would be a good idea for you to have an assistant while you’re interviewing for an assistant.”

  “I can actually handle the interviews, if you like,” she offered. “Once I get a feel for how you work and what you expect, I can do first rounds and eliminate the turds.”

  I stared at her. “That...actually sounds perfect.”

  “Excellent.” She nodded, and flipped the lid of her laptop up.

  Emmy smiled. “All right, then I’ll let you two get to it. Victor is usually bereft of any organizational abilities if I’m gone more than half an hour. Send me an email at the end of the day and let me know how everything goes, with both of you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Walsh,” Bridget called.

  Emmy waved over her shoulder and rounded a corner disappearing out of sight. I took a deep breath. Find the new normal.

  “Ms. McInnis, do you know what my problem is?”

  She jerked, visibly. “Mister Willard?”

  “Did they tell you why I’m a problem.”

  She cleared her throat. “Mrs. Walsh informed me you were a witness to your wife’s violent death, if that’s what you’re referring to. She never called it or you a problem.”

  That was a pleasant change. Someone who didn’t mince words. I didn’t need minced words. “Ms. McInnis, I’ve never had an assistant before. I was literally promoted yesterday. I am winging my entire life right now.”

  She laughed. Honestly laughed. “That’s good, because I’m kind of doing the same thing myself.”

  “Excellent. So we can wing this together.”

  “Agreed.” She held out her hand, and I shook it again. “I have some idea how this admin thing works, would you like me to take the lead on getting set up and starting schedules and the like?”

  “Yes. That would be absolutely amazing, please. I’m sure you realize I won’t be able to always hold myself together for a while?”

  “Yes, sir. Of course. Totally understandable. I can handle just about anything that you throw at me if you need to leave or lock the door.”

  Did I have to even look for a new assistant? “Thank you. I appreciate that. I wanted to take the rest of the day to unpack my office and get organized.”

  “Of course, Mister Willard. Shall I hold your calls?”

  I laughed. Honestly, truly laughed. It felt good, and I was able to walk back into my office with a nod at the young woman sitting there. “Please do, Ms. McInnis.”

  I closed the door, and I could see my cell phone had two new text messages. Swiping the phone open, I saw one text from Michelle and one from Dylan. Michelle wanted to know who the big dude was outside the house in the Tahoe, and Dylan wanted to know what was for dinner.

  One normal. The other, a reminder that things were not.

  Taking a deep breath, I moved to the boxes I had to unpack. I answered Dylan with a simple hamburger emoji, and I sent a slightly more detailed message to Michelle about the gentleman in the Tahoe.

  I spent the afternoon unpacking boxes. I broke down a few times, pulling things out, but none so bad as the family portrait Dylan had drawn in preschool at the end of last year.

  I crumbled to the carpet, clutching the frame. It hadn’t been a VanGogh level picture, but he had put in the dog he wanted and drawnthe necklace I had given Helen for Dylan’s first birthday. She always wore it, and he knew that.

  The door opened, and the pretty redhead walked in with a tray. She put it on the sideboard and closed the door. Moving the tray to my desk, she offered me a hand and helped me climb off the floor.

  The tray had a bottle of water, two little tangelos, and a pack of cookies. She
motioned to the chair and cracked opened the water. With a push, the tray was in front of me, and the bottle was on my right.

  She turned and walked out of the office, but not before turning the blinds so the only person who could see into my office was her from her desk. The door clicked closed, and I was alone again.

  But with that simple action of bringing me water and offering me something to help, Bridget had shown me that people could be there without saying a thing. Her simple offering of water, snacks, and privacy were perfect.

  I started sobbing again.

  Life would go on without Helen, and I wasn’t sure I wanted that.

  Bridget

  …a month later…

  I handed the massive security guy a bottle of water and sat down across from him at the table.

  “Where is he?” He started to stand.

  I waved the man off. “He’s fine. He’s on a conference call with someone in Washington State. It had to be first thing in the morning there, so he’s taking lunch late.”

  Nolan sat back down, relieved his charge hadn’t left without him. I pushed a sandwich toward him, and he definitely settled then.

  I unwrapped my own sandwich, and set myself up with my food and my drink, tucking the cookies into my purse for later.

  “So, Nolan.” I took a sip of the water. “Can I ask you something about your job?”

  He nodded briefly with a mouthful of food.

  “You’re assigned to Mister Willard, that’s not a secret. But I’m wondering if you’re supposed to be shadowing him, or making yourself known.”

  He tipped his head and quickly swallowed the sandwich. “That is damn good question,” he answered. “I was only told that Willard was my man and to stay on him.”

  “Either way works with this situation, really.” I uttered those words mostly to myself. “Did your bosses just not tell you what to do?”

  Clearing his throat, he stared at the sandwich. “No, not really. They aren’t ever clear on what they want me to do. I usually just rely on my brain and my ability to read the situation as it comes up.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “More than you can know.”

  Well, I didn’t know about that—I knew exactly how dangerous ambiguous direction from superiors could be. “So what makes you decide?”

  “How wound up Mister Willard is,” he said. “I’ve been with him for just about a month now, and it’s pretty easy to tell what kind of day the man had by the way he holds his shoulder. If they are loose and draped, he’s had a good day and is probably pretty alert to his surroundings. So I’m just an extra pair of eyes, and I hang back.

  “If he’s dragging, and looking at the ground, I move in closer and assume more of a bodyguard position .” There was a small pause before he picked up his water and took a sip.

  Enough of a pause for me to be curious. “You…don’t like your bosses?”

  His grin quirked up his lips. “I don’t get paid enough to think, miss.”

  That got a chuckle out of me. “Well, if you don’t like them, what’s to stop you from going to a new place? A different career?

  It was a touchy subject, I knew instantly. He got quiet and had his hands just resting on the table. “There aren’t many places that will hire an ex-con, and I don’t want to risk losing the job.”

  Raising an eyebrow, I took a bite of my sandwich. Nolan stared at me, and seemed to be waiting for me. I cocked my head.

  “You aren’t going to ask?”

  “Why you were in prison?” I hedged. “I mean if you want to share, but honestly, it’s not my business.”

  Leaning back, he considered me a moment while he opened the bag of potato chips. “Shot my wife.”

  I had to really work on biting my tongue with the questions because they were not normal questions a person would ask. Head or heart? Distance or point blank? Did you dispose of her, or were you upfront about the murder?

  There was one question I could ask, though. “What made you do that?”

  He was quiet, then shrugged. “Her piece of shit lover was abusing my baby girl. Caught him in the act. Choked him out, snapped his neck. She came at me with a butcher knife, and wouldn’t stop.”

  “Damn,” I whispered. “Where’s your kid now?”

  “My parents. Her parents had her for awhile, and then they started lying to her about what had happened until they had her so backward she didn’t want to go to school. The only time DHS has ever worked, because the school called on them, and my poor baby spilled her guts about that house. She’s with my parents now, and apparently they’ve made friends with the DHS worker for Serina.”

  I smiled. “So, she’s safe and sound again.”

  “Yes.” He nodded.

  Lifting a shoulder, I smirked. “I would have thought that a good lawyer would have gotten you off.”

  Staring at the tray, he shook his head. “Not when you’re the ADA.”

  “What?” I gasped. Now that one surprised me. “Forgive me, but…” I swept an arm up and down his form. The man did not fit the typical assistant district attorney. “You went Harvey Dent on this?”

  He chuckled, a lot. “I guess that’s one way to look at it. But yeah, I was an ADA in Scranton. Syracuse and Yale pedigree, two years in the Marines. I didn’t always have bulging pecs, a half sleeve of prison colors and a swole figure.”

  It was my turn to laugh. “No, I guess that’s true. I would also think that having time on the inside would be an advantage.”

  “I’m stuck between two worlds… I killed my wife and another man, but they were abusing my child. I am not a violent domestic offender, but I am a violent offender. What the hell do I do? I want to support domestic violence survivors, but…”

  “Did you ever, ever lay a finger on your wife before that day?”

  “No! Never. I fucking loved her…”

  Dude, this guy. Raw fucking deal on his head. “If you don’t have a single instance of domestic violence—and by the way, a good lawyer would have tried to get you off for the heat of the moment, and self-defense—go volunteer at a shelter.”

  “And do what? Scare the shit out of women?”

  “Imagine a terrified woman walking into court next to her pro-bono lawyer who was six foot seven, just about as wide, laced with prison tattoos and a bad-ass tactical briefcase for her divorce proceedings? Or for her custody hearing? You want to see a woman fight for herself? Just stand behind her like that, quietly.”

  His face lit up. “I never considered that.”

  Here I was fixing other people’s lives, and couldn’t fix mine.

  “Think about it, Nolan. I think you could really make a difference there.” I nodded.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Shrugging, I motioned for him to go on.

  “Willard. He’s doing better?”

  That made me smile. “Yes. He is. He only had a small break down yesterday. He put the picture of his wife on the top shelf of the cabinet so it’s there, but he’s not looking at her all the time. He moved the crayon picture there too.” I gasped, “Oh, Dylan made him a new picture! Him, Dad, and both sets of grandparents. It’s a much bigger drawing, and there’s a tree behind all of them. I think the tree is supposed to be Helen sheltering them all. Which, holy crap, kid.”

  Nolan nodded. “That boy is smart.”

  “Smart and sweet.” I nodded. “No sign of anyone coming after them?”

  “None.”

  I picked at the salad I had in front of me. “I don’t like that. That’s a precursor for a complete fucking disaster.”

  His eyebrow lifted. “It is, but that’s not exactly what most people would think.”

  Stabbing a cucumber, I shoved it in my mouth and refused to answer that. No, it wasn’t what most people would think. Most people would be relieved and say maybe they could get back to normal now. That perhaps the security could be dropped for Dylan, or even for Vaughn.

  That’s when the worst always
happened.

  I looked at the divot that ran around my entire ring finger, and ran a finger over the skin.

  Nolan leaned in. “It’s nice to know someone else around here is on their toes. Even if you don’t care to share why you’re on your toes.”

  He brushed a finger over the same divot, then grabbed his lunch tray and headed for the trash. “Thanks for lunch, McInnis.”

  I nodded, but I was a million miles away. Or, at least, four thousand in a smoky Irish bar.

  Chapter Six

  Bridget

  Vaughn stared at me. “You are acting strange, Ms. McInnis. You and Nolan. I don’t like it.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Strange how, Mr. Willard?”

  “You’re acting like someone is about to spring out of the shadows and yell oogie boogie boogie and steal my wallet.”

  Nolan snorted.

  I only wished it was his wallet.

  Just a few days after Nolan and I had the discussion in the cafeteria, his security company had decided that since there had been no movement on Vaughn, it was okay to drop the security on Dylan. Neither of us agreed with that. Dylan was way more vulnerable than Vaughn, especially to Vaughn, but they had gotten the okay from the Walshes.

  I had an appointment in two days to talk to Victor about that. I couldn’t make it urgent without letting everyone know I was former MI6, and I just wasn’t ready to do that.

  Instead, I had asked Nolan to make sure Dylan was getting on the bus every day. Since school got out at two-thirty in the afternoon, him popping over to the school and back was not a big deal.

  “What if he needs to go somewhere or leave early?” Nolan considered me at the reasonable suggestion.

  “I’ll cover for the hour you’re gone,” I said.

  His eyebrow went up. “Cover, Ms. McInnis?”

  “I am perfectly capable of watching my boss, in his office, for an hour.”

  He leaned in. “Is that a gun under your jacket or are you just happy to see me.”