Page 7 of The Bodyguard and His Bunny

Me: I don’t know what to tell you. He’s not there anymore.

Just then, there’s a knock at my door. I have a feeling I know who it is.

I guess the only way to deal with this guy is to be extra sweet and get him to like me so he won’t rat me out to my uncle when he finds out what I’m secretly up to.

It shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve sweet-talked so many security guards, bouncers, bartenders, and cops I would win gold if it were an Olympic sport.

I’ll make the Boy Scout feel so sorry for me there’s no way he’ll rat me out to my uncle.

CHAPTER3

Gunther

I’ve followed Sara long enough to know she won’t cause trouble. But how the big boss has constantly been checking in on this case makes me think there’s a lot more I’m not privy to.

For the second time on a Tuesday, Ms. Dunne calls me personally.

“The client would like an update,” she says, skipping over the hellos.

Somehow I doubt the Speaker wants an update twice in one day; he said he needs me to keep her out of trouble, and that’s it. As long as Sara’s name and photo aren’t in the paper or the police blotter, he’s covered.

Something in my boss’s tone makes my spidey sense tingle, though.

“She’s not doing much of anything. Goes to work. Goes home. That’s it,” I say.

“Have you seen any evidence of plans to revisit the chemical company?”

“Unless you want me to tap her phones, no. Does the senator need me to tap her phone?”

Ms. Dunne sounds impatient. “Is she attending any meetings with her friends?”

“Meetings? No. Twice a week, she goes to a storage facility in Fort Washington. At least every other day, she eats vegan chili in the Shaw neighborhood. I’d say the worst of Sara’s crimes is eating French fries smothered in chili smothered in some abomination made of soy calling itself cheese.”

“She could be meeting with political allies there.”

“If you mean friends, then sure.”

I would typically never give this sort of lip to a boss. Certainly, I never would have in the military. But Ms. Dunne seems unnaturally determined to know Sara’s every move throughout the day, to the point that I am beginning to wonder if Sentinel is the right fit for me. It makes me think this company is not at all what I thought it was.

“Tell me more about the storage facility in Fort Washington. What does she do there?”

I think back to the other day when I saw Sara go in with a backpack full of stuff and then come back out with a much lighter load. I don’t say that, though. Sara doesn’t appear to be breaking the law by entering a locker she has access to, so I say as little as possible. “She goes in, stays for a few minutes, then leaves again.”

I can’t shake the feeling that Sara doesn’t need a babysitter but someone to protect her from something bigger than herself. No way would a boss of a prestigious security firm worth millions take this much interest in a babysitting assignment.

Ms. Dunne makes an exasperated noise into the phone, out of character with her calm, unflappable demeanor that I observed at our last meeting.

“I was premature in assigning a case to you involving someone in such a powerful position. What you don’t know is, Sara is an office furniture heiress tied to an enormous fortune. Why would someone like her have business at a crappy storage facility?”

I wondered that too, and I have done some digging on my own. I’m operating under the assumption that Sara could be using the locker to house items that belonged to her mother. I can see people doing that when loved ones die and don’t have room for all the deceased’s possessions.

“I’ll have to send someone to watch the storage facility. Where did you say it was?”

“I don’t remember the exact address, but it’s across from a service station.” Lies. All lies.

“Get me the address next time she goes to it,” Ms. Dunne snaps, then hangs up.

Could my boss be trying to get her hands on some treasure belonging to Sara’s dead mother? I could be jumping to conclusions, but … I don’t like this feeling in my gut.

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