Protecting The Boss. Beverly Long

he’d immediately assumed that she’d been hit. And the idea of that, of her being physically attacked, had made his empty stomach roll.

      He’d felt a little better once she’d explained that it had come from a car accident but he’d still felt bad that she’d been hurt.

      He opened the door of his old Jeep and drove the twenty minutes to the house where his mother had lived for the last thirty years before she’d moved in to the assisted living center a few years earlier. She’d been reluctant to totally leave the house. He’d been more reluctant to let her stay, a mile from the nearest neighbor, after she’d fallen and broken her leg and lain in the yard for four hours before help had happened by. In an effort to compromise, he offered to leave his city apartment and move in to the house if she’d agree to move in to Everpark. That way, they still both had their independence but the house would be there for her if she ever wanted to come back.

      Now she came for Sunday dinners that they cooked together and seemed okay with that arrangement.

      Once at the house, he started more coffee and stepped into the really hot shower. Ten minutes later, he was finished and pulling on clothes. Then he pulled a suitcase off the top shelf of his closet. Started packing. Mostly dress shirts and dress pants. Things that he could wear a sport coat with so his gun would be hidden.

      He grabbed some other essentials, remembering at the last minute to add some workout clothes. You’re not exactly dressed for the gym. If Megan thought that was going to stop him, she had a few things to learn. Seth had in the past, and likely would in the future, looked like an idiot. He never cared.

      But nor did he want to stand out unnecessarily, especially when he was working a job. Which was why the last thing he packed in his bag was his tux for Rico’s wedding. He folded the plastic suit bag it was hanging inside, hanger and all, hoping that it wouldn’t wrinkle too badly. He glanced at his watch. It was fifteen minutes before seven. He dialed his friend. “Morning, sunshine,” he said.

      Bobby Bayleaf, who was big, black and had played tackle in college, offered up a string of profanity that ended with Seth sticking the sun where it wouldn’t shine.

      “Now, now,” Seth said. “Isn’t your department working on better relationships with its citizenry?”

      “You’re not citizenry. You’re the guy on the bus who used to pick fights with me, even when I got big enough to pound on you.”

      For a long while, he’d solved a number of problems with his fists. But then he’d started to fly and everything had changed. “I was just preparing you for your future,” Seth said. “Listen, do you have anything on the shooting last night?”

      “Nope. I talked to the detective who snagged the case. Officers canvassed the area where the shots were thought to come from but nobody saw nothing. And there weren’t any other shootings in that area. They’re writing it off as an isolated incident.”

      Was that what it was? Hard to know. “And what about Megan North?”

      “Found her in Carmel, California, just like you said I would. No police record with the exception that her name came up in connection with a traffic accident that occurred recently where the other driver got a ticket for blowing a stop sign.”

      “Okay. That’s it?”

      “There was just one other thing. I was able to find a report where she’d made a 911 call, indicating that there were intruders in her apartment complex.”

      “In her apartment?” Seth clarified.

      “No. In the complex. She lives on the second floor and she said that there were people having a threatening conversation under her window.”

      “A threatening conversation? Two people threatening each other?”

      “I don’t think so but there’s not a lot of detail. The cops responded to the 911 call, evidently had a conversation with Megan but didn’t see anybody. I think you’re going to have to ask her if you want more information.”

      That would go well. She’d want to know what the hell he was doing looking into her background. “Okay. I’ll do that.”

      “I’ll be in touch if I hear anything else about the shooting,” Bobby said. “Other than that, I guess I’ll see you when you get back from your shopping trip.”

      That’s what Bobby had called it when Seth explained the assignment the night before. The idea that anything he was doing being in the same sentence as boutique had seemed to tickle Bobby.

      “When I get back, I’m going to take some money off your hands in cards,” Seth said, ending the conversation.

      He put his luggage into his vehicle and drove back to the office. He had work to do before leaving town. When he got there, he studied his desk. Then the two tall windows behind his desk.

      He liked those windows. They had a western exposure that offered spectacular views of sunsets. But there was something wrong with them this morning.

      They didn’t face Megan’s boutique.

      He started gathering things up, taking them to the small conference room. It was all cleaned up; no one would ever guess that there’d been a party there the night before. He spread everything out on the table. He’d been there about an hour when Trey walked past his door. “Morning,” Trey said. “What are you doing in here?”

      “Clearing off my desk,” he said.

      “How much did you have to drink last night? Because that’s not your desk.”

      “Funny guy,” Seth said. He had his chair at just the right angle that he could see the front door of Megan’s building. He was confident that Megan had not yet arrived.

      Trey walked over to the windows. He sipped the coffee that he carried. “I’m glad we were able to help Abigail and Megan. That means a lot to Kellie. They both seem very nice.” He turned to look at Seth. “And Megan is really gorgeous.”

      “I guess,” Seth said. “But she may get me killed.”

      The amused look left Trey’s face. “What?”

      “Last night when I took her back to her hotel, shots were fired in our direction as we exited the cab.”

      “Holy hell. Did they get the shooter?”

      Seth shook his head. “Nope. And Megan said there was absolutely no reason that anybody would be shooting at her.”

      “You didn’t believe her?”

      He’d wrestled with that question during the night. “I don’t know. For one thing, the reason I was hired was because of concern about a competitor—J.T. Daly’s—wanting some revenge for North and More Designs besting them. But it doesn’t feel right. I did some research on them. By and large, they are a reputable company. There was a suspicion that they might have been involved in a questionable fire of another competitor but it wasn’t proven. And even if it’s true, burning down an empty warehouse is different than taking potshots at the executive team.”

      “So if not them, then who?” Trey asked.

      “I don’t know. And Megan claims not to, as well. But she said a few things that were kind of odd and it makes me think that there’s a story there.”

      “You going to initiate a background check on her?”

      They did that sometimes with new clients. A clause in their standard contract gave them that right. Bobby had done the quick check on her recent criminal history but Wingman Security had contacts who could dig deep. With a few clicks of his computer, he could initiate a background investigation that would tell him everything from her grammar school teachers to her shoe size.

      He’d know everything there was to know about Megan North. “I’ll think about it,” he said. “She has meetings today at the boutique. Made it clear that my services were not needed until we leave town late