Be on the Lookout (2 page)

Chapter Two

Kate Spears sighed as she looked down at the letter covered in blood. It, like the handful of others before it, was folded and had been placed squarely on the middle of her doormat.

Her father, Deacon, a man who was made of worry more than anything else, was lagging behind her, talking on his phone. His current worry that his wife, her stepmother, was having a less than good day at work rated low on the stress totem pole. But like his ability to worry, he took pride in being a good husband. So there he paced across the sidewalk next to Kate's mailbox, listening to his wife's woes as his daughter tried to figure out how to handle the bloody stationery.

“If this isn't a true case of the Mondays, I don't know what is,” she muttered as she riffled through her larger-than-life purse. Unable to distinguish or adhere to the line between work and home, she found the pack of latex gloves within seconds and pulled one on. In another pocket of her purse she found a clean baggie. Being a scientist had its perks.

“Okay, honey, love you, too,” Deacon said, suddenly closer. Kate panicked and stuffed the note into the plastic bag along with her latex glove as quickly as she could. The bag was then stuffed into the purse. All within seconds. It made Kate momentarily feel like she'd gotten away with something. Though, in hindsight, she would realize there were few things you could get past Deacon Spears. “Are we going to pretend that I didn't just see you shove several things into your purse?”

Kate let out another long breath. While she didn't always leave work at work, she didn't want to bring this conversation home. Especially not during lunch with her father.

“I don't know what you mean,” she lied, finally opening the front door.

“And there's the higher pitch to your voice,” he pressed, following her into the entryway of her town house. Normally she would place her purse beneath the table next to the front door, but she kept it close to her side this time. Or else her father would already be going through it.

“Can you stop analyzing me? I'm not data, you know,” she said, grinning. While Deacon owned a hardware store, Kate still insisted on cheesy jokes from her field of work. He usually laughed at them. Not now. The fake mirth didn't dissuade Deacon's determination. He crossed his arms over his chest and used the voice reserved only to scold his daughter. Never mind that she was twenty-nine, had a mortgage and had just completed a five-year project that could save countless lives.

“Kathryn Gaye Spears, I don't know why you're lying to me, but I do know you better cut the crap now.”

Kate physically shied away from the accusation by moving down the hallway and into the kitchen. Her hand clung to the strap of her purse as if the contact would somehow help it magically know it needed to hide until lunch was over.

“Dad, do you want some coffee?” she hedged. “I
really
need some.” Deacon followed silently and stood like a statue next to the refrigerator. From growing up with him, Kate knew it was a matter of minutes before his steely resolve broke hers, but Kate was also stubborn. She met her father's blue-eyed stare with her own brown-eyed one and was reminded in full how the two of them looked nothing alike.

Short yet solid, Deacon had been blessed with a hereditary tan from his half-Hispanic mother, but had his father's once blond-white hair—even though it was sparse at the crown around an almost shiny bald spot. Besides his overall look that just cried “retiring in Florida,” the fifty-six-year-old had a young, slightly rounded face. One that was partially hidden by another sun-bleached mustache he said his wife Donna thought made him look regal.

Kate, on the other hand, was the spitting image of her mother. Before her death, Cassandra Spears had been taller than her husband when she wore high heels—though she never did—and much leaner. In the same respect that was true for Kate. At five-nine, she could see over Deacon's head with heels—though she also wasn't a fan—and was lean but without the muscles that had been a necessary part of Cassandra's job in law enforcement. Kate also shared the rich brown hair her mother had once sported, waving to her shoulders with thick bangs across her forehead, and her mother's teardrop face and full lips. The only way she differed from either parent was the less than active tan that graced her skin. In the last five years Kate had resided in labs or over her computer screen during almost all waking hours. There was no time to go outside and play in the sun for her.

Though, as her father's stare bored holes into her own, Kate thought a break for the park might be better than what was about to happen.

“It's really not that big of a deal,” Kate finally conceded. “Can't you just let me deal with it?”

Her father shook his head with a firm no.

Defeated, she put her purse on the counter and pulled out the baggie and its contents.

Alarmed
wasn't a strong enough word for Deacon's reaction.

“Is that blood?” he asked, voice a mile past concerned. Careful not to rumple the letter inside, he took the bag and set it on the counter.

“It's made to look like it, but if it's like the last one it's synthetic.” His eyes widened.

“The last one? You mean you've gotten one before this?”

Kate gave one more sigh. She'd hoped to avoid this conversation with her father until after her trip, when she was sure the letters would stop altogether. Sitting on one of the bar stools opposite him, she explained.

“Over the last few months I've received a handful of letters here and at the office,” she admitted. “Only this one and the last one were covered in what
looks
like human blood, but we tested and confirmed it to be fake. Though, I still wouldn't touch that without gloves on.” She pulled another set out of her purse and passed them to her father—a man curious enough to want to pull the letter out. Silently he slipped them on and did just that. Kate quickly put down a paper towel so the blood—fake or not—wouldn't touch the granite.

“It's covered front and back with writing,” he observed, squinting at the handwritten letters. It was identical to all of the other notes she'd received. “But it's only one word, repeated.
Zastavit.
” He kept saying the word, as if tasting it to figure out its root.

“I think it's Czech,” she said after a moment.

“Are you sure?”

She shrugged. “No, but I can guarantee it means ‘stop.'”

His eyebrows rose in question.

She held up her index finger and made a quick trip to her bedroom. There she picked up a small box and brought it back to her father. Sitting back down, she waited for him to open it and extract the bundle of letters.

“Only a handful of letters? How many hands are you talking about in this scenario?” The letters numbered eighteen in total. Each had a single word repeated over the paper's entirety.

“They are all in different languages, but they all roughly translate to the word
stop
,” she explained. “Plus, the first one was in English. I suppose to help me out just in case I didn't understand...or, you know, use a translator or the internet.”

“Stop...stop what?” Realization lit his features before Kate had time to answer. “Your research.”

She shrugged. “I suppose so. That's the only thing I really have going on in my life. Unless they want me to stop drinking coffee. Which, I'll be frank, isn't going to happen anytime soon.”

“Dammit, Kate!” Her father slammed his free hand down on the counter, making her jump. “Stop joking about this!” He waved the note closest to him—the Hungarian one—in the air. “These are
threats
, not some love letters. Someone obviously invested a lot of thought and time into these.”

“But they aren't threats, Dad,” she insisted. “They are simply eclectic suggestions. No threat of harm has been given in any of them.”

“But they've been delivered to your
home
, Kate!”

“And that's what I told the cops after the second one I received.”

He was surprised at that.

“What did they say?”

“Exactly what I just said. They aren't really threats and nothing else has happened. They suggested putting a camera on the front porch, but...” She quieted.

“But what?”

“But I've been so busy preparing for the convention that I keep forgetting.” Her father seemed to be trying very hard to keep his anger at his daughter's apparent lack of concern under control. He placed the letters back in the box and the newest one back into its bag. He slid that one over when done.

“You will test this as soon as possible to make sure it is in fact fake. I am calling in to the store and taking off the rest of the day. Make me that coffee you mentioned.” He picked the box up and walked to the eat-in table. “I'm going to look through all of these in silence while I try to figure out what I did to deserve such a stressful child.”

* * *

K
ATE
PINCHED
THE
bridge of her nose and hoped the pain behind her dark brown eyes was a tease and not the beginnings of a headache. Sprawled out on her bed, amid her suitcase and carry-on, she called upon every entity there was and begged that the headache would stay far, far away.

She didn't need any more complications than she was already dealing with.

“Having a bodyguard is not that big a deal,” her father said from the doorway. Since learning about the notes a week ago, she'd had constant supervision and parental advice. “Stop being such a baby!”

Kate, often referred to as brilliant by her supervisor, stuck out her tongue before responding.

“I'm not being a baby,” she retorted, trying to keep the whine from her voice. “I think I'm reacting normally given the circumstances.”

“Most daughters would be grateful, you know.”

She laughed.

“Most daughters don't have their fathers go behind their backs and hire
bodyguards
to supervise their trips to life-changing work functions!”

He managed to look momentarily guilty before shooting back with a response. “Well, most daughters don't—” He held up his hand, stopping himself. “Listen, we can sit here and fight about this all day while you lie next to your empty luggage, or you can just take the gesture with graciousness and understand that I only have one baby girl and that's you.” His voice took on an edge that Kate recognized as vulnerability from the almost always strong man. It killed the less-than-nice reply she'd had waiting on the tip of her tongue. He walked over and took a seat next to her. She sat up to look him in the eyes.

“It's because of that fact that I can say this without getting into trouble,” he started. Kate swallowed, unsure whether or not she was about to get into more trouble. However, when he continued, his voice was kind. “You've spent most of your life fighting to help people you'll never meet by doing research and working tirelessly in labs. Along the way you've achieved a level of greatness I never could have, and for that I'll be forever proud... But your drive—your dedication—often puts blinders up, making it hard for you to see the big picture. While your research is important,
you
are, too. You've tried to keep your work a secret, but what have I told you about secrets?”

“They don't exist.”

He smiled.

“Someone will always tell someone else. It's the law of the land. And one that your mother tried to teach us. Someone obviously knows something, and whether or not it's the truth or some half-baked version of it, they have set their sights on you. Now, you've told me this convention will change everything. Well, I want to make sure you're there to see that through and continue to see it through long after it's over. Because even though you won't see the big picture—and its danger—I'll tell you right now that it's there.” He patted her knee. “So, please, accept this protection, if only to give your old man some peace of mind.”

Kate watched as a range of emotions played across her father's face. It reminded her of all the sacrifices he'd had to make to raise her on his own since she was nine. Never once asking anything of her.

Until now.

“Because I love you and can see your point, I'll make a deal with you,” she offered. “I will humor you by accepting the protection of only
one
bodyguard. Any more than that will bring unwanted attention and, well, freak me out a little. So one and that's it, okay?”

He looked like he was ready to fight her again, but after a moment he nodded.

“Okay.” He stuck out his hand to shake. “Deal.”

They shook and she rolled her eyes. Their tender moment dissipated as he stood and stretched.

“Now, I have to ask, how exactly are you
paying
for this bodyguard service?” Like Kate, her father wasn't particularly wealthy. He worked at the hardware store he and his wife of five years owned.

“I was lucky enough to get connected to a place that works for free on cases they believe need it. One of my customers worked a news story for them when he lived in Dallas and was kind enough to give me a reference.” He grinned.

“Oh, so they're amateurs, then.”

“Definitely not. Their track record is impressive, to say the least,” he answered. “Don't worry, I vetted them pretty well.”

“So why exactly are they doing it for free?” she asked, perplexed. Deacon smiled wide.

“I guess that's a question you'll just have to ask your bodyguard.”

Chapter Three

Traffic.

Here it was again.

Jonathan looked out his rental's window and snorted.

“Welcome to New York City,” he said to himself.

He'd been stuck in standstill traffic for the last half hour thanks to a fender bender that had escalated to the point of the cops being called. It had made the two lanes of traffic that had been moving along nicely stop dead.

Unnecessary. Annoying. Unpleasant.

It probably didn't help that he could use all three descriptors for his current client, Kathryn Spears. Instead of waiting for him at the airport like Nikki and the woman's father had agreed on the night before, Jonathan had landed to a voice mail from her saying she'd gone ahead to the hotel.

Because, in her words, “I really need some better coffee.”

After ten more minutes of waiting, traffic finally started to pick up again. Jonathan had spent the time while he waited going over the route to the hotel in an attempt to not get lost. He'd been to New York before and he knew the frustration of getting turned around this close to Times Square. Thankfully he avoided any misdirection, a feat considering if he had missed the turn into the hotel's parking garage—an almost hidden entrance due to the sidewalk that was barely sloped for a car to drive up—he would have had to take a series of left turns until he made his way back. Costing him more time away from fulfilling Orion's end of the contract.

He parked, sent a text to Nikki to let her know he'd finally gotten in and collected his bag. It contained a suit, pressed and folded, along with a myriad of pristine yet flexible clothing. It was light but had everything he needed for the Friday-through-Tuesday stay—not the longest contract he'd done nor the shortest. But, as he'd told Nikki, it would be his last. In his mind he went over the layout of the building as he rode up in the elevator. Above the parking garage, there were four floors. A lounge area branched off the lobby on the first floor with guests having access to a twenty-four-hour gym. There were two sets of stairs on opposite sides of the building with two elevators positioned next to them, diagonal from the lobby front desk. The front entrance led directly to the sidewalk that ran along the street.

Jonathan hadn't stayed at the dismal pink-painted hotel before, but Jillian had walked him through its layout before he'd left. It was nice to know what he was going into versus going in blind. Orion agents prided themselves on being prepared—though that wasn't always easy, considering people often did surprising things—and since Orion's expansion three years ago they'd gotten better at it. Even when a contract changed at the last second.

He looked at his reflection in the elevator door and let out a grunt. Not getting the best sleep the night before and catching an early flight, he hoped the client didn't notice the dark circles beneath his eyes. He blamed the chatty man who'd had the aisle seat next to him. It made him wonder if Kathryn was like that, recalling what he had been told initially by Nikki at Mark's engagement party.

“I wouldn't ask you to take this one, since, for one, you just got back, and, two, you just asked for a desk job. But the man requesting our services was so concerned...I could almost feel it myself.” Nikki's eyes had traveled to the wall at that. It was a blank space, but he knew on the other side was her real target. A single picture of a young woman. The reason behind Orion's origin. The woman who had changed their lives, whom Nikki, Oliver, Mark and Jonathan couldn't have been what they were now without. The woman they hadn't saved. “He lives in Florida but heard about us through one of Thomas's recent clients. His daughter has been receiving some really troubling letters.”

“His daughter?”

“Yes, a scientist—book smart but maybe not exactly up to par on the common sense. Her father, Deacon—what a name—says she's pretty nonchalant about the whole thing, but he's completely freaked. She's due to present her research at a convention in New York City on Sunday and he's worried the person or persons sending her the letters—to her home, I might add—might try to cause her harm before she can make it there.”

“And that's where we come in.”

“Hopefully that's where you come in.”

Jonathan respected his boss and friend too much to turn the request down on the spot. Though he had been on the fence about it until the next day.

When she'd shown him the pictures of the letters Deacon had faxed over, they'd made a chill run up his spine despite his calm.

“Okay, I'm in.”

And he'd stayed in even after the call had come in that said scientist refused to have more than one bodyguard around. Never mind her safety was in question.

The doors slid open and Jonathan made his way to check in with a suddenly sour mood hanging over his head at the thought of Kathryn Spears. Other than the basic information about her, he really didn't have much to go on, but he had already formed an opinion about her.

She was controlling, apathetic and had an ego. There were no doubts about it.

“Welcome, and how may I help you?” chirped the front desk attendant. He looked to be in his early twenties. His name tag read Jett.

Jonathan set down his bag and started to take out his ID.

“Check-in for Jonathan Carmichael.” He passed his driver's license over as well as the company credit card, having done the hotel check-in dance many times before. Another part of this routine was his next question.

“Can you tell me if my friend has checked in yet? The name's Kathryn Spears.”

The man looked back up and without missing a beat nodded.

“About an hour ago.”

That surprised Jonathan.

“You remember her?” he asked.

“Yeah, the first thing she did was ask for coffee that was actually good.” Jett didn't seem to be offended by the question. “I sent her to a café a block over.” His eyes went over Jonathan's shoulder. “I guess she found some.”

Jonathan didn't have to follow the man's gaze too far. Walking through the front doors, Kathryn had a cup between her hands and no trace of a smile across her lips. She met his stare with recognition he didn't expect and made a beeline for him.

“Mr. Carmichael,” she said, stretching out her free hand. There was no question in the greeting. “Glad to see you finally made it.”

Despite himself he grinned.

“Miss Spears, glad to see you were able to get that coffee that was so important.” They shook and he was once again surprised by the woman. Not only was her grip firm, but she held it longer than necessary, squeezing tight as she answered.

“Two coffees, actually.”

They dropped hands but his grin stayed. Even though he'd been shown her picture before he'd left Orion, the still of the woman sitting behind a desk covered in papers didn't do the woman before him justice. She was attractive, sure, but there was something else there that caught and held his attention. An unspoken element that he couldn't yet place or define.

Suddenly, Jonathan Carmichael was intrigued by his client.

“I would have waited for you,” she continued, voice notably cool, “but I'll be honest, I think you being here is a bit unnecessary.”

Jonathan let out a laugh at that, considering earlier he had thought the same about her.

“Don't you want to play it safe rather than be sorry?” he asked.

Kathryn's lip quirked up at the corner. Her smile wasn't humorous.

“I'd rather not have to worry about a bodyguard following me around everywhere, watching my every move while I get ready for one of the largest career moves of my life.” She popped her hip out to the side a fraction, he noticed. “That would be my choice if I'd been given one.”

Jonathan couldn't decide if the way she spoke was born out of ego or frustration, but he definitely felt a chill wafting from each word. Part of him instantly felt the need to defend his skills and the company that was more than just his employer but an important part of his life. However, Jett was obviously still listening in, so the bodyguard went a more judicious route.

“The Orion Security Group doesn't force clients to hire them,” he pointed out. “It was your father who did that, and you consented. As for watching your every move while I'm on the job, I can assure you that—if I'm doing said job correctly—my eyes won't be on
you
but on your surroundings, trying to keep you safe. So if you have a problem with this arrangement, it's your father—and really, yourself—you'll need to be speaking with.”

Kathryn didn't immediately respond. When she did it was clipped, definitely chilly.

“Noted. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to do some work up in my room.”

She started to turn to go—already testing the boundaries of his job as her bodyguard—when Jonathan smiled once again.

“Hey, I'll walk with you on the way to mine.” She gave him a questioning look. “Oh, didn't your dad tell you? He requested we have adjoining rooms.”

Jonathan might not have known the scientist long, but he knew he'd struck a nerve with that comment.

It was going to be an interesting few days.

* * *

K
ATE
DIDN
'
T
WANT
to wait for the bodyguard. No matter how attractive he'd turned out to be. The picture she'd been forwarded from her father and Orion's Nikki Waters had shown her a lightly tanned man who looked like a stock image a website might use to show an everyman, not a bodyguard. He had seemed flat, one-dimensional. Someone who would easily blend into the background and, hopefully, not bother her.

However, in person she'd been surprised to see that maybe she'd misjudged him in that department. His dark blue eyes had depth, his facial features were sharp and his goatee was trimmed and neat, matching the jet-black hair that stood an inch or two high. He wore a gray tee and jeans and he wore them well. When he turned back to the desk attendant, she even spotted the bottom of a tattoo on the back of his upper arm, peeking out under his sleeve.

Maybe Jonathan Carmichael wasn't the type of man to blend.

“This is a massive invasion of privacy,” Kate commented as she led them into the elevator. Like the hotel, it was dated. She pressed the second-floor button and hoped above all hopes that it didn't get stuck. Her nerves had been rubbed the wrong way, annoyed at her father and the man next to her. Getting trapped in the small space with him would most likely incite a flurry of rudeness from her. She was already having a hard time being polite without the added close proximity.

“Again, I'll remind you that your father hired Orion and you agreed,” he said, not looking at her but obviously surveying the elevator. He was tall enough to reach up and push against the ceiling—trying to do what, she wasn't sure.

“I meant the adjoining-room situation,” she corrected.

Jonathan stopped his inspection and gave her a dry smile.

“Just because there's a door there doesn't mean I'm going to use it. I don't even have a key. We just wanted the rooms to be close, and since it's an older hotel they just happen to share a door.” His eyebrow rose. “Unless you want me to get
you
a key?”

Kate felt heat crawl up her neck.

“No,” she said quickly. “I don't need or want one.”

“Good. Then there shouldn't be a problem.”

The elevator doors slid open and Kate hurried with her coffee to her room down the hall. Jonathan was right behind her with his bags.

“I'm going to look in your room, okay?” he said as she pulled out her key card. “I'd like to know the layout, just in case.”

Kate wanted to argue, but was trying to channel her inner Spears' manners. She still rolled her eyes.

“Sure, why not?” She opened the door and swung it wide for the bodyguard. “Knock yourself out.”

He moved past her, bags still in hand, into the room. For a moment she worried about her more intimate things being left out in the open, but it was a baseless fear. She was meticulous, a trait that had bled over from her professional life into her personal one. She'd already unpacked and sorted her things.

“To be honest, I expected something different,” Jonathan said, apparently okay with his inspection.

“Something different?” she repeated. “Like a man in a mask lying in wait?”

The corner of his lips pulled up a fraction.

“I meant I expected to see, I don't know, test tubes and beakers on the nightstands. Aren't you a scientist?”

Kate walked over to the small desk in the corner and leaned against it. She felt a twitch try to pull her own lips into a small smile, but she tamped it down.

“Generally labeled, yes, I suppose.” She took a sip of her coffee. “What else do you know about my work?”

If Jonathan knew about her project, she was sure she'd have seen some kind of reaction to her question. However, the man simply shrugged.

“If you're asking do I know what you're currently working on—why you're here for the convention—I don't. Orion tries to look into a client's life without being intrusive. Our analysts dip into your past and present to try to find potential threats, but we don't overstep. Your father and Nikki made it clear that, as far as your work goes, the only person who can tell me about it is you.” He paused, tilting his head slightly. “And I suspect that that information is something you won't be sharing with me.”

Before Kate could stop it, the image of a bloodied woman tied to a chair flashed across her vision. Head bent over, body beaten. Her last breath having already left her body hours before.

The image was something she'd had to confront for a long time. It twisted the very core of her heart.

“No,” she said, voice turned to ice. “I won't.”