“That’s gross. It sounds like something the Romans would have done when their decadence ran amok.”
Christian shrugged. “The perks of power.”
“Why that tone of voice?”
Give Stone Jackson points for hearing the sarcasm. “Lacey comes from the school of letting his staff members do all the grunt work while he… indulges himself. We brief him on the highlights, and he takes all the credit.”
“Similar thing happened in the military sometimes. We put our necks on the line and some asshole drinking coffee in the Pentagon got all the glory.”
Christian sincerely hoped the generals running the military didn’t have Jack Lacey’s vices. He changed subjects and veered for safer waters. “I have a briefing scheduled with Jack after lunch to go over his votes on a couple of major bills coming up in the Senate in the next few weeks.”
“Shouldn’t he know how he’s going to vote on a bill if he’s the guy doing the voting?”
“One would think.”
“Jeez, Christian. Is there anything redeeming about your boss?”
“His wife rocks. She does a ton of charity work and outreach to Texas constituents.”
“How did an asshole like him land a woman like her?”
“I chalk it up to her being young and in love when they met in college. And the ladies seem to think Jack’s hell on wheels in the sack.”
“‘Ladies’ plural?” Stone asked.
“Affirmative. Although I’ll deny having said that. You have your classified secrets. Senate staffers have theirs.”
The hotel loomed in front of them.
“Thanks for the walk, Christian. It did clear my head. I just may let your chief of security live now.”
“Please do. You have no idea how hard it is to find a good man for the job who will put up with Lacey’s antics.”
Stone shook his head. “If the threat against your boss is as real as Tucker says it is, Lacey may not survive too much longer anyway. His security is completely inadequate to face a real threat from a determined assassin.”
Christian sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that. Just do your best. But I meant what I said before. Don’t die to save him.”
“No matter how epic a jerk he is, my reputation in the security business would be ruined if I let a client die on my watch. I’ve got no choice but to do my best to protect him.”
Christian didn’t actually wish ill upon his boss, and certainly not death. But it didn’t seem fair that a decent, upright, competent bodyguard should be put in this impossible position. He sighed. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Make sure he follows our instructions if we tell him to do something. I’m going to take advantage of the senator’s spa date to have a little conversation with Mr. Tucker. I don’t have time for any more of his hijinks. He and I need to get down to business and figure out exactly how we’re going to keep the client alive, with or without the senator’s cooperation.”
“Yeah. Good luck with that,” Christian replied. “Jack’s more likely to do the opposite of what you say just to show that he doesn’t have to follow your orders.”
“Duly noted.”
“Will I see you at the five o’clock press conference the senator has scheduled?” Christian asked.
“I’ll be at every public appearance the man makes from now on. You’re going to get sick of my face.”
Christian highly doubted that. Stone Jackson had the kind of face he could look at a long damned time without the slightest hint of sickness. “Jack will go straight from the press conference to the mixer afterward. From there he’ll retire early. Likely not alone.”
“I thought the wife was in Texas.”
“She is.”
“Ahh.”
They traded knowing looks. Christian expected that in Stone’s line of work, he’d seen it all. Men cheating on their wives was probably kid stuff to him.
Stone opened the door leading back to the lobby for him, and Christian stepped inside. As he passed close to Stone, he said, “Let me know how your talk with Tucker goes. I’ll do my best to run interference for you if he’s not on board with what you want to do.”
“I can fight my own fights.”
He got the feeling Stone’s words were habitual, more knee-jerk than thought-out response. “I’m sure you can,” he answered evenly. “But in Washington politics, it’s not a bad thing to have a few friends in your corner who can back you up. Trust me. You’re going to need that one of these days.”
An eloquent eye roll was Stone’s only response.
He’d done his best. He’d tried to warn the security agent what he was up against in trying to keep Jack Lacey alive. Frankly, he just hoped the would-be killer was an amateur lunatic without the wherewithal to plan and execute a decent attack. But something deep in his gut warned him that this time, the senator might not be so lucky. Which, in turn, made him worry for the dark and gorgeous security man walking away from him with a grim set to his jaw.
STONE
stood just beyond the bright lights, scanning the crowd of reporters and cameramen. As press conferences went, this one reminded him of an awkward seventh-grade dance where everyone fidgeted around the edges of the gym and nobody actually wanted to be there. Apparently Jack Lacey’s political real estate was in more trouble than he’d realized. Particularly for a man rumored to be considering a run for president.
Not that Stone was complaining about the bored crowd of journalists. He’d been able to carefully assess the body language of every single person in the room and determine that no one was showing the signs of stress associated with someone about to kill another one.
He was more fascinated by the dynamic between Christian and his boss than with any of the reporters. About twenty minutes prior to the start of the press conference, Christian had delivered a sheaf of papers that contained every question any of the reporters would be asking the senator today, along with a prepared answer, presumably written by Christian.
While a pretty young woman did his makeup and hair, Lacey read through the papers and familiarized himself with the contents.
When the press conference got rolling, Christian stationed himself in the front row of reporters, in plain sight of Lacey. Each time someone asked the senator a question, Christian subtly held up his fingers to indicate a number. It took about three questions for Stone to realize that Christian was signaling to his boss which page in his notes held the answer to the question. His opinion of Jack Lacey shifted from “what a douche” to “holy crap put that asshole out of his misery.”
The press conference took an anemic fifteen minutes. The camera lights went off and the reporters packed up, completely disinterested in Jack Lacey. Stone spied a half-dozen civilians approaching the senator and dutifully moved in beside his client.
“Great job as usual, Senator,” one of them boomed. “Keep performing like that, and you’ll be front and center in presidential debates in no time!”
Christ. Could the man stick his head any farther up Lacey’s ass? Lacey didn’t act like he could produce his own name without Christian’s cheat sheets. Stone doubted he could take those on stage with him in a debate, and he got the distinct impression the guy would be shit outta luck without them.
“Do you need a lift over to the party, Jack?” Booming Voice asked.
Stone interrupted politely. “We’ll be taking care of the senator’s transportation.”
Boomer slapped Stone’s shoulder jovially, which made him grit his teeth behind a stiff smile.
Don’t touch the armed man who already thinks you’re a waste of oxygen.
“Gonna be a hell of a bash. Plenty of pussy for everyone.”
Was the loudmouth actually suggesting that the bodyguards would stop doing their jobs long enough to catch a little snatch on the side? Just what kind of incompetent yahoo did this jerk think he and Wild Cards, Inc. were?
A familiar voice muttered in his ear, “Ignore him. He has the social skills of a spoon. He’s no threat to the client.”
Holy cannoli, Christian was good at reading him. It was actually starting to be a little uncanny. He’d no sooner felt the irritation at the loud buffoon than Christian said exactly the right thing to defuse his annoyance and refocus his attention on his work.
The reporters dispersed to cull through their footage for sound bites to put on the late local news, and he and Tucker herded Lacey out to the armored SUV waiting at the Imperium Hotel’s loading dock.
The drive into Coral Gables was interminable. Saturday night in Miami apparently involved every single resident going out cruising in vintage convertibles or clogging the sidewalks on foot and tying up crosswalks. But eventually they pulled into the circular drive in front of an obscenely opulent Spanish-style mansion. He’d seen some obnoxious places in his work as a bodyguard to the rich and famous, and this place was right up there.
Stone held the car door for Lacey and was surprised when Tucker didn’t fall in behind his boss. He started to follow the senator, and Christian touched his sleeve. He turned, frowning.
“He won’t want you sticking too close to him.”
“Then how in the hell am I supposed to do my job?” he demanded.
Christian shrugged. “Watch him from a distance.”
“And do what? Call him on his cell phone to tell him to duck?”
Christian winced.
“Look. I shouldn’t bite your head off. I know you’re only the messenger. But your boss is making it impossible for me to do my job.”
“I know.” Christian sighed. “Just do what you can.”
They stepped into the grand foyer, and Stone stared around at the crowd, which was standing room only. Even if he spotted an assassin, there was no way in hell he could get over to Lacey’s side in this crush to protect the guy.
The good news was a hefty chunk of the crowd was women who couldn’t possibly be concealing weapons under their skintight minidresses. The bad news was that any number of those women would likely throw themselves at him before the night was over. Apparently, as gay men went, he wasn’t much for putting out signals that people with reasonably good gaydar could intercept.
He didn’t mind women. Hell, he really liked intelligent, confident ones. He just didn’t want to sleep with them. That interest he reserved for intelligent, confident men. Like Christian.
His gaze roved across the crowd, and he easily spotted Christian’s chestnut hair and chiseled features. No surprise, a hot Latina was already flirting with him. Something unpleasant twisted at his gut. Oh puh-lease. He did not get jealous. And certainly not of women who stood no chance with his lover. Of course, jealousy presupposed actual relationships, and he did not do those. For that matter, he and Christian were not lovers.
He continued scanning the room, looking for the telltale signs of individuals with murder on their minds. There had to be five hundred people crowded into this house, and more were coming in the front door every minute. He’d worked in nightclubs and rock concerts with crowds a lot bigger and a lot wilder than this one before. But he’d never had to work in one halfway across the damned room from the client. Hell. He was having trouble even keeping Jack Lacey in sight.
Following the senator, Stone shoved his way across the foyer toward what he presumed was the back of the house. Oh Christ. The crowd extended to the backyard and spilled around and into a huge swimming pool. There had to be at least two hundred more people out here. Of course, the swimmers were exclusively young, bikini-clad women.
He took a hard look at the men outside. Most were focused on the women in the pool, drinking and speculating on which ones they could end up having sex with before the night was over. At a party like this, there would be a number of call girls who expected compensation for their efforts, sprinkled in among the groupies who’d fuck a politician for free in hopes of living a perceived high life, or perhaps a little lucrative blackmail. Yup, sweet little shark bitches and politicians. A match made in heaven.
Jack Lacey was right in there with the other males trawling the edges of the pool, scoping out the local talent. The bastard moved around the pool with a connoisseur’s concentration. Hard to believe the guy had a wife, and apparently a formidable one at that.
The ladies wasted no time hitting on Stone. They rubbed up against him like cats in heat, brazenly groping his junk and purring at what they found. He pasted on a polite smile and mumbled what he hoped was an inoffensive apology about being at work while he brushed their hands away.
Alcohol flowed, lines of cocaine disappeared, and inhibitions evaporated over the next few hours. Whether Jack Lacey was eliciting pledges of funds was anybody’s guess. Stone couldn’t get close enough to the man to hear anything he talked about with anyone. And the longer this travesty of a protection detail dragged on, the more disturbed and angry he got. Finally he couldn’t take it any longer, and he pulled out his cell phone. Time to talk to his own boss.
It was early morning in London. Very early morning. But Peregrine Cardiffe, one of the two founders and CEO of Wild Cards, Inc., was used to middle-of-the-night phone calls.
“Go ahead,” the familiar British voice said after one ring.
“Up early or still awake?” Stone asked, amused.
“Both. No rest for the weary, my dear Stone. What prompts this call?”
“The client refuses to cooperate with me or with his own security man. There’s no way the Wild Cards can or should take responsibility for keeping this jerk alive.”
“The jerk is paying us a substantial sum of money.”
“I’m not kidding, Pere. I’ve worked with some assholes in my day, but this guy’s in a class all his own. I’m at an unsecured party right now with close to a thousand unnamed, unvetted, unsearched partygoers, at least one quarter of whom are consuming controlled substances, and another quarter of whom are paid prostitutes. And I’m under strict orders to stay away from the client.
Away from the client
, Pere.”
“How far away?”
“He snapped at me the one time I ventured within thirty feet of him. Stormed over and told me to lurk somewhere else, entirely out of his sight.”
A long silence. “Does the senator have a death wish? Maybe get an adrenaline rush from flirting with disaster?”