Bodyguard Reunion. Beverly Long

your bedroom and bath,” Jules said, pointing off to the left.

      Charity nodded, still looking awestruck. “I guess I should let Hogi out. He really liked it when we stayed at the Super 8.”

      Well, then, the cat should be ecstatic at the Periwinkle. Calling up all his cat friends, inviting them over for tuna.

      The vision in Royce’s head made him think that he might really have lost his mind. But then again, it was easier to think of stupid things than remember what it had felt like to see Jules’s body up against the wall, her air supply being shut off.

      Her, being there in that squalid little apartment, in that kind of danger, it made him crazy.

      Once Charity and her cat had gone off to her bedroom, he turned to Jules. “All of this was unnecessary,” he said. “All you had to do was stay here. Like I asked.”

      Jules sighed. “I’m sorry, Royce. I really am. But in retrospect, I’d do it again. If that man had come home and seen Charity all packed up and ready to go, well, like she said, she might be one of the horrible news stories that we hear about and shake our heads. I couldn’t have lived with myself if that had happened.”

      And I couldn’t have lived with something happening to you. He thought it, but he didn’t say it. They’d ended their relationship eight years ago; there was no reason for her to know that the old feelings that he’d long believed buried had sprung up from the dead and were now a waving red flag. And he was the sorry-ass bull that couldn’t keep from charging.

      “So you two have been corresponding back and forth for some time?”

      “Today was our second conversation and our first face-to-face meeting. But what does it matter?” she asked, her tone suggesting that he was pushing some buttons.

      “Because my job is to provide security for you. And you’ve just introduced a new person into the mix. So now my job is to figure out who this new person is and identify any risks that she may pose to you. It’s what you’re paying me for.”

      “Fine,” she said, her mouth barely moving.

      “What’s her mother’s name?”

      “Linette White.”

      “And how did your mom and Linette become friends?”

      “She came to the house to wash windows,” she said.

      He supposed odder things had happened. But not much odder. “There had to be more than that.”

      “Of course.”

      Royce had trained himself to hear even the slightest nuance in a person’s delivery, to note a change in tone, pace or inflection. And that’s what he heard now. Was she lying to him? Why?

      “And that was...?” he prompted.

      “I think my mom was impressed by her work. She must have thought that Linette could do more. Ultimately, she recommended Linette for a position at the bank where my father worked.”

      “So your dad was friends with Linette, also?”

      She shook her head. “I’m not sure about that. I just know that my mother kept in contact with Linette for several years after she stopped coming to our house to wash windows.”

      “When’s the last time your mom saw Linette?” he asked.

      She shrugged. “I’m not sure,” she said. She looked him squarely in the eye. “Linette died eight months ago. I guess that takes her off the list of suspects who may or may not be trying to harm me.”

      He didn’t take the bait. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.

      She didn’t acknowledge his half-baked consolation. “Is there anything else?”

      “How is it that you and Charity found each other?”

      “Recently I remembered that Linette had a daughter and I hired someone to find her.”

      “You just remembered this? And felt compelled to find someone that you’d had no contact with?”

      “Yes.”

      Now he was fairly confident that she was lying. But he didn’t think she was about to tell him the truth.

      He wanted to know more. But since his gut was telling him that it was unlikely Charity had written threatening letters and postmarked them from three different cities, he decided it could wait. He opened the leather briefcase that he’d pulled from the car. “I have the contract,” he said.

      She took it, glanced at it and tossed it on the coffee table. “I’ll give it to Barry.”

      “Tell me about Barry,” he said.

      “I thought we’d covered that. He’s the chairman of the Miatroth board.”

      “And...”

      “How do you know there’s an and?”

      He glanced at his watch. “We could probably get through this more quickly if you were more forthcoming with the answers.”

      She sighed. “I’ve known Barry since I was a kid. He’s my dad’s friend.”

      He did not want to talk about Jules’s father. “And that’s how he got to be the chairman of the board of Miatroth?”

      “Of course not. Barry was an executive at Geneseel. That’s where we met. He later retired. It’s not unusual that former industry executives become board chairmen somewhere else.”

      He had sensed that Barry cared deeply about Jules. He was confident the man was not a threat to her.

      “Tell me about your schedule,” he said. “We need to start planning.”

      She nodded, as if she’d accepted the inevitable. “Fine. But I’m going to order some lunch first. Charity said she was hungry. What would you like?”

      To hear the truth. “Anything is fine.”

      “Still like burgers?” she asked, already picking up the receiver of the phone.

      “Still like turkey clubs?” he asked.

      The air in the room seemed to still. They had a history. Brief, perhaps. But significant. They knew things about one another. Simple things. And very intimate things.

      She put down the phone. “Is this going to work?” she asked.

      “It might be best if we stop making assumptions about the other,” he said, talking as if he had a stiff board up his butt. He was rattled and hated the feeling.

      “It’s hard,” she admitted. “In some ways, it doesn’t seem as if eight years have gone by. Maybe that sounds silly to you.”

      No, it didn’t. But he couldn’t admit that.

      She was staring at his left hand. “You aren’t wearing a wedding ring, Royce. Did you ever marry?”

      Had barely dated. Had told himself, and the others who were brave enough to ask, that he was too busy working and going to school. Hadn’t been a monk, that was for sure. But the relationships were brief, unencumbered.

      He hadn’t been stupid enough to think he was waiting for Jules. Just hadn’t been willing to accept something that was so much less than what he’d known that summer in New York.

      “No,” he said. “Appears you weren’t married for long.”

      “No,” she whispered. “Bryson deserved better.”

      He could not have a conversation about the man. Eight years ago, she’d told him it was over. He’d believed her.

      Had never guessed that she’d lie about something so important. Had never guessed that a few short months later, she’d hurt him so badly.