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With a chop of my hand, I send the bag flying from his grasp. I slam my hip into his side and flip him head over heels to land hard on his rump.
“Keep your hands where I can see them!” I holler. “Let’s see who you are under this fake ass beard.”
I yank on the beard, and he howls. Shit, this thing is real.
I look over the spilled gyros, the puddle of iced tea, and realize that this isn’t a trained assassin in disguise as a delivery guy.
It’s a delivery guy who needs to rethink his hygienic and fashion choices.
“I’m sorry, man,” I say, helping him up. “Did I hurt you?”
“Are you crazy?” he blurts. “Look at the food I was supposed to deliver. I’m not paying for this!”
Emory comes over to me and puts a hand on her hip.
“Well, I’m glad you protected me from that Greek lamb wrap. It might have really hurt someone if it had the chance.”
It takes me a few days, but I get used to the regular delivery people, and the production assistants, the grips and the camera crew. That doesn’t mean I don’t still stop and frisk them if I suspect something is up. On the fourth day of the week, Emory takes a break from working with the band to speak with me.
“Look, you’re really starting to upset people. John from catering is NOT likely to secretly be a hired assassin.”
“You never know who a man like Lovejoy can get to. With his money and ability to manipulate–”
“John. From catering!” She slaps me on the chest. “Cut these people some slack, will you please? No one is going to like you otherwise.”
“This isn’t a popularity contest. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to keep you safe.”
There is a root for my ill feeling and anxiety. There are tons of people looking for Lovvejoy and his accomplices. The police, the FBI, the CIA, and even the boys from Platinum Security, both on and offline. The prison Lovejoy escaped from even hired a private investigator to try and find the missing inmates to help stave off bad PR.
And yet, despite this massive manhunt, no one has been able to find a trace of any of the three missing men.
It just doesn’t make any sense. They should have at least been spotted by now. Unless…
Unless someone is helping them.
“Can’t you keep me safe without scaring the shit out of everyone who works here?” She sighs, and puts a hand on myshoulder. “I know you’re just doing your job, but you’re going to have to learn to trust some people, sometimes…aren’t you?”
After that conversation, I try to be a little bit nicer for the rest of the day, at least. I still have to do my job, though. I still have to keep her safe.
When we arrive home on Friday at the end of the week, I insist on going in first to check things out. After I give her the all clear, Emory looks at me with exhausted eyes.
“When is my life going to go back to normal, Cole?”
“Soon as we catch the bad guys and put them back in jail,” I mumble in response. I’m not really paying attention, either to her or what I’m saying. I’m focused on a car down the street which I’m mostly sure isn’t a threat. Mostly.
“Oh gee, well, thanks. That just clears everything up for me.”
She storms past me on stiff legs. I watch her vanish into the house, and realize I’ve fucked up.
Disarming a white phosphorus bomb underwater is less tricky than dealing with Emory, or my growing feelings for her.
It takes me some thinking to figure out what I did wrong. My response, it was too cavalier. She probably thinks I don’t really care about protecting her, that it’s just a job to me.
I go inside and track her down, intending to apologize. I’ve stepped in it, but I think I can make things better.
I find Emory in the guest bedroom, sitting stock upright on the bed. Her phone is up to her ear. The look in her eyes makes my heart squirm.
“What are you saying, Mom? Is it serious? Do I need to come up there?”
