The Bodyguard (18)

“I’m really not worried about being assassinated.”

“And so the number one thing we need from any protected figure is awareness. Most people sleepwalk through their lives, barely cognizant of the dangers everywhere. But people under threat don’t have that luxury. You must train yourself to notice the people and objects around you—and to question them.”

“You’re kind of like a talking textbook, did you know that?”

“I’ve worked for Glenn Schultz for eight years and made my way to the highest rungs of his organization. I have a PPO certificate, as well as advanced training in countersurveillance, evasive driving, emergency medicine, advanced firearms, and close combat. But if I do my job right, we’ll never need any of that. You and I and the team, working together, will anticipate threats and diffuse them long before any crisis occurs.”

“I think I liked you better as the maid.”

I met his eyes. “You won’t say that at threat level orange.”

He looked away.

I took a breath. “I can sense from your body language that you’re not too interested in reading the handout, so I’ll summarize the most important guidelines for VIPs.” I ticked off the list on my fingers, going faster than necessary, just to show off:

Don’t meet with strangers at unknown locations.

Don’t book restaurants in your own name.

Don’t travel at night.

Don’t frequent the same clubs and restaurants.

Walk in groups whenever possible.

Don’t drive a distinctive vehicle.

Alert the police to any new threats.

Keep your gas tank at least half-full at all times.

Always keep your car doors locked.

Avoid stopping at traffic lights by pacing your speed.

Establish special code words to indicate all is okay.



There was more, but he was smiling at something on his Instagram.

I stopped talking and waited for him to notice.

After a long pause, he looked up. “What was that last one?”

I quoted myself: “‘Establish a code word to indicate all is okay.’”

“What’s the code word?”

I decided on the spot. “The code word is ‘ladybug.’”

Jack dropped his shoulders. “Could we do something a little more badass? Maybe ‘cobra’? Or ‘beast mode’?”

“The client doesn’t get to choose the code word.”

Clients chose the code words all the time.

But that’s what you get for texting while I’m talking.

Jack frowned. “How am I supposed to remember all those rules?” he asked next.

“Read the handbook,” I said. “Many times. With a highlighter.”

It’s possible my tone was a little sanctimonious.

Jack set down his phone with a sigh. “Look,” he said. “I won’t be going to clubs or restaurants—or meeting with strangers at unknown locations. I’ll just be staying home—or going with my mother to her doctor’s appointments.” He sighed. “I will also … under duress … make a few trips out to my parents’ ranch, but God willing, those visits will be short and rare. And that’s it. I’m not here to have fun, or make trouble, or get assassinated. I’m just here to be a good son and help out my mom.”

“Great,” I said. “That makes our job easier.”

He started to pick his phone back up.

I added, “I just need to collect fingerprints, a handwriting sample, and a vial of blood, and we can call it a day.” I was forgetting the Very Personal Questionnaire. But I was doing pretty well, all things considered.

“A vial of blood?” he asked.

I nodded. “I’m trained in phlebotomy.” Then I glanced down at his forearms. “And you’ve got veins like firehoses, anyway.”

He put his arms behind his back. “What do you need blood for?”

“Basic bloodwork. And to confirm your type.”

Now he was blinking in disbelief. I enjoyed shocking him a little.

This was way better than being the maid.

“Your assistant filled in your blood type on the form as AB negative,” I said, “and, if that’s confirmed, you’re lucky, because that’s my blood type, too.”

“Why does that make me lucky?”

“We always like to keep at least one person on the team who can act as a donor for our principal,” I said, pulling out the rubber tourniquet and snapping it. “So you might’ve just met your own personal blood bank.”





Six


TEN MINUTES LATER, I had everything I needed, and I was packing up my stuff, more than ready to get out of there.

There was something so exhausting about all that handsomeness.

Seriously. It was unabated. It was relentless. It was grueling.

And I wasn’t even looking at him! He was looking at me.

Finally, I paused to look back. “What?”

“You’re nothing like I thought you’d be,” he said.

I gave him a look. “Right back atcha.”

“I expected you to be bigger, for one,” he said.

“You didn’t even know I was coming.”