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“You’d do the same for me, Sid.”
“Yeah. But you didn’t put me in danger of being maimed, crippled, or murdered.”
“I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather be maimed, crippled, or murdered for, honey.”
We laugh and my mood lifts slightly. Michelle orders another round of coffee and pastry. The waitress serves us as I sit, looking at the pedestrians walking along. At this time of the day, I would have been knee deep in files at my desk or working on letters and invoices for shipments and orders. Instead, here I am, wondering what my next move will be.
“Earth to Sidney. Come in, Sidney.”
I look across at Michelle, “Huh?”
“I was suggesting that since the police aren’t going to get off their fat asses and do anything, we may have to take matters into our own hands.”
“I’ve never held a gun in my life. I’m liable to blow my finger off instead of shooting Spike. And I can’t think of hurting another human being, no matter how despicable they are.”
“We could take self-defense classes. Or walk with mace,” she offers.
“Or get a bulldog.” I smile at her playfully.
“A chihuahua! And just throw it at him the next time he tries to attack you!” We double over in peals of laughter. We finish our coffee and pastry and ask for the bill.
“But on a serious note, Michelle. What am I going to do apart from moving in with you? What do I do next?”
“First, let’s scour the ads. You, my friend, need a job. Next, we need to get you protected. And since guns, mace, karate, and chihuahuas are out of the question, the next best step is to get someone who would do it for you. What about a bodyguard?”
I laugh and then look at her straight face, my smile dying on my lips. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Dead serious.”
“That must be expensive.”
“Let’s at least find out before we write it off, okay?”
“I can’t afford to pay back Spike but I can afford a bodyguard? A bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”
“Grant’s debts are not yours to pay. He took the cowardly way out by leaving you in danger like this. Let’s check some companies and see what the bodyguard rates are okay? Then we can take it from there,” Michelle says.
I nibble my lower lip as unexpected tears fill my eyes once more. Is this what my life is going to be now?
Chapter four
Archer
“Well,Mr.Jackson,nicedoing business with you. I’ll have my team there first thing in the morning for an assessment, and within a week, your cameras will be installed and operational. Excuse me a second,” I press the intercom which had crackled to life. “ Yes, Colleen?”
“Sorry to interrupt you, sir. But just to let you know we have a walk-in.”
“Thanks, Colleen. I’m almost done here. I’ll let you know when to send them in.”
I shake Mr. Jackson’s hand and escort him to the door. Upon returning to my desk, I immediately bring up the reception area cameras to examine the walk-in client. An electric jolt pulses through me as I see two stunning women. The blonde is sitting upright and looking around curiously. She is dressed in a very artistic manner, full of flamboyance and color. Her bag is one of those knotted types that are usually made by hand. At one point, she looks directly into the camera. She is beautiful – from the soft curls that bob from beneath her knit cap to the gentle curve of her lips. She has her hand on her companion’s shoulder.
The brunette sits slumped forward. Her plain jeans and gray shirt with a bulky gray jacket make her seem like a little forgotten child. Her very posture shows dejection. My gut instinct tells me that this is my client. Her hands are gripped so tightly I can see her knuckles turn white. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail. I examine what I can see of her downturned face. There is no evidence of bruising. But maybe they are hidden beneath the clothes or covered in makeup. It wouldn’t be the first time I come across someone who has tried to cover up the physical hurt they’ve gone through.
The blonde leans over and whispers something in her ear and then she looks up at the camera. If I’d been shocked before, I now feel as though I’ve been punched in the gut and all the air has left my body. Even in her haunting sadness, she is stunning. Long dark lashes frame her green eyes. And the shadows beneath them only give her face a more exquisite beauty. Her cheekbones seem as though they have been carved from the finest marble, and her lips–wow!
I take a deep breath, forcing myself back into my professional mold. Besides, she is far too young–young enough to be my daughter. At the thought of being a dirty old man or, worse yet, having a daughter being preyed upon by a dirty old man, all thoughts of admiring this woman go out the window. As I look at the brunette who seems to be close to tears, my protective instincts are on full alert. Whatever the problem is or whoever has brought her to this state, I’m going to handle it.
I press the intercom. “You may send them in, Colleen.”
