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In the back of the lot was a line that included short limos and town cars, the kind driven by chauffeurs at yesterday’s party, maneuverable in the city.
Well, when you make millions to tens of millions a year, it made sense to conduct business from the backseat while the cars idled in D.C. traffic; time was money.
Parking in an open guest spot, Ethan released his belt. “Here we are, Tango. You ready?”
Tango yawned the way she did when she needed to release stress.
Ethan wondered if he had put Tango on guard because he himself was out of his element. Not that he gave money power. Not that he gave a shit about someone’s “social standing.” But because he’d been “summoned.” It had the same feeling as getting called down to the principal’s office when he didn’t know what he’d done wrong.
“We’ll be fine, sweetheart, we’ll just remember the golden rule. You’re not going to suddenly lose your mind and bite somebody, and I’m going to watch every word out of my mouth that doesn’t have to do with the weather.”
They walked up to the door.
“You know, Tango, I didn’t expect roses and champagne. I was just doing what needed to be done. Still, I think it’s a mistake to walk in on high alert. We’re going to be neutral. Deal? Golden rule, sure-footed, but neutral.”
When Ethan walked through the front door, the security guard’s eyes widened, and he noticeably flinched. Lots of people were afraid of dogs. Especially working-line dogs with their intense gazes.
“Ethan Osbourne, I was the security professional at the Mrs. Amanda Harcourt incident,” he said, biting back the “I’ve been summoned.” He replaced it with, “I’ve been asked to come in this morning.”
The guard sat at an ornate desk in the middle of the octagonal foyer. His finger traced down a sheet of paper in a leather folder. He looked over at the grandfather clock at the side of the room. He lifted the landline on a fancy, period phone.
“Ms. Tifton’s security is here.”
There was a pause.
“I’ll escort him—them right up.” As he stood, he pressed a button on the desk.
Another security guard came out, and they exchanged places.
“Follow me, please,” the first guy said.
Ethan moved Tango to the far side away from the guard so the guy would feel more comfortable.
As they rode the elevator to the third floor, Ethan asked, “Everything okay?”
“I’m a cat dad. Dogs aren’t my thing.”
“Tango, center.” Ethan moved Tango between his legs. “Nice weather we’re having.”
They walked in silence up a long hall, lined with portraits; some were the same as the website had next to stories of the Harcourt family’s scandals.
At the end of the hall, the guard knocked on the open door. “Mrs. Harcourt-Swain and Executives, Ethan Osbourne from Pickeridge Security. With his dog, Tango.” He extended his hand and stepped back.
“Ethan, come in.” The woman stood and gestured his way. “Everyone, these are the heroes who saved our dear Amanda from the kidnappers.”
The men stood and applauded him.
Ethan didn’t know what to do.
Tango sat at attention, looking regal.
“And this is the dog?” Mrs. Harcourt-Swain asked, retaking her seat.
“My partner, Tango, yes, ma’am.”
“Please come in, sit down, Ethan. Make yourself comfortable.”
Ethan pulled out a chair and signaled Tango under the table. “How is Mrs. Harcourt?” he asked as he sat.
