Page 17 of Sasha’s Secret

So much for “getting right on it”. Rocco filed the genial blustering under the same heading as the saccharine overuse of his forename and the false bonhomie—all for show. “And I need to carry out my assignment in a thorough manner, in accordance with my orders. Part of my brief is to assess your people for suitability for the duties required of them. If that’s going to be a problem—”

“No, no, it won’t be a problem, Rocco. I’m sure we can all get along.”

Schofield seemed to lose a little of his faux buddy-buddy manner—someone less observant might never have noticed. “I’m sure we can.” Rocco removed his billfold from his pants pocket and withdrew a business card. He offered it to Schofield. “I’d also like to see a schedule of all known visitors for the next month, if you have that information to hand. If you need to contact me, all my details are there. I would appreciate the roster information by email as soon as possible, if that’s not inconvenient for you.”

“Of course. I’ll get it to you by the end of the day.” Schofield’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Thank you. I appreciate your assistance.” Rocco stood. “I know you’ll be busy, so I’ll leave you to get back to work. Thank you for your time. I’ll see myself out.”

Rocco closed the office door behind him, and before he’d taken three steps, reached the conclusion that he didn’t like Frank Schofield, and more to the point, didn’t trust him. In Rocco’s opinion, he should probably have stayed retired from the police department, rather than seeking out a position in private security. It wouldn’t take much for Rocco to recommend he be replaced.

“Hey. Hold it right there.”

Rocco stopped dead. An order delivered in exactly that tone was usually backed up by a weapon. When it came from behind him, it was especially bad news. He raised his hands and kept them well away from his head and his shoulder holster. “My name is Rocco Equizi, and I’m here—”

“Oh shit. I am so sorry, sir.”

Rocco let out a long, low breath. He lowered his hands as slowly as he’d raised them, and turned to see who had challenged him.

The tall, blond man finished holstering his sidearm as he stepped out of the cover provided by the doorway to the locker room. In his mid to late twenties, he was almost wearing the uniform of one of the estate security guards. His shirt wasn’t quite buttoned up, and he was missing the ball cap—as if he’d just arrived and had been interrupted in his preparations to go on shift.

“No problem. You didn't know who I was. What’s your name?”

“Scott Monroe, sir.”

“Nice to meet you, Scott.” Rocco held out his hand in greeting. “And it’s Rocco, not ‘sir’. Have you worked here long?”

“Only about six months—I’m still the new guy. I usually pull the night shift, but someone called in sick, so I volunteered to cover some extra shifts.”

An impressive work ethic. Rocco nodded. “You’ll probably see me around for a few weeks. I’ll try not to get in your way.”

“I doubt you’ll do that, sir.”

Rocco chose not to remind the other man about using his name. The respectful form of address was clearly second nature to the other man, so Rocco left it at that, and after chatting for a few more minutes, he resumed his walk back to Sasha’s office. He’d arrive just in time for coffee, and when he did, there was something very specific Rocco wanted to discuss with her. It related to Scott Monroe, and depending on what Rocco found—or didn't find—in his records, he had a somewhat different duty in mind for the security team’s latest recruit.

* * *

Sasha screwed her eyes up and pinched the bridge of her nose. Getting older sucked sometimes, but it beat the alternative.

She was more than ready to take a break from her computer. She wondered if Rocco was on his way back from seeing Frank Schofield, and it wasn’t only because she was craving an injection of caffeine. She was keen to hear his assessment of the head of security, and how closely—if at all—it matched hers.

Frank was already working for Linzi by the time Sasha came along. The way Gerry told it, he’d been recruited in a hurry because someone had sent Linzi some packages containing “gifts” that clearly hadn’t come from her legions of adoring fans. Sasha’s instincts were probably doing Frank a disservice, but she’d never been able to shake the feeling that there was something not quite legit about him—that he was pretending to be something he wasn’t. She had no proof, and there was no evidence—the man had never, to the best of her knowledge, done anything that could be construed as threatening, but the suspicion wouldn’t go away.

“Now there’s a serious expression. Got something on your mind?”

A delicious quiver of awakening shimmered down Sasha’s spine at the mere sound of that English accent. If Rocco recited the alphabet, she’d be in a puddle before he reached H for Hot-As-Sin—a perfect description for the man standing in the doorway to her office. “No. Yes. I don’t know… Maybe.”

A frown creased Rocco’s brow. “Sounds to me like you need a good, strong coffee. Why don’t we grab one and take a breath of fresh air?”

“Fresh air? Are you kidding me? It’s winter,” she complained, almost to the point of whining.

“It’s Texas, and it’s sunny. Did you or did you not tell me just yesterday you’re more used to seeing snow in winter? Back home, we don’t always have summers as good as this. Come on—I need to talk to you about something.”

That snagged Sasha’s attention. Had he detected something sketchy about their head of security? She rose and came out from behind her desk. “Sure. Let’s get that coffee and we’ll find a quiet corner.”

Having sneaked a couple of mugs of the constant supply of superior coffee from the kitchen, Sasha led the way around to the secluded area of the garden that was perfect for a discreet discussion that shouldn't be overheard. Ever the gentleman, Rocco waited until she was seated in one of the Adirondack chairs before taking the one beside her. She refused to feel bad about being wrapped up in a warm coat while Rocco was dressed as if it were spring.

Sasha took a sip of liquid bliss and gave a soft sigh of contentment. “So, what’s on your mind?”