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“Yes, that’s right. My name is Ivy Brooks. I’m a freelance photographer. I take mostly wildlife and wilderness photos, but lately, editors have been sending me on more investigative-type assignments.”
She knew she was nervous and speaking rapidly, but Ivy couldn’t help it. This man was intimidating as shit! His shoulder-length salt and pepper hair, combined with the beard and six-foot-four of muscled badass was frightening.
“Okay. Sorry, I don’t really know who you are. I mean, I’ve never seen your work.” She nodded, smiling at him.
“You wouldn’t know my name, but I’m sure you’ve seen my work.” She held up the cover of a national magazine. The gripping cover of what was supposed to be an idyllic tropical paradise showed a mass grave of local villagers who had opposed the government. She’d gone to capture the mating habits of South Asian sea turtles and instead caught photos of genocide in the act.
“That, I’ve seen,” he said, frowning. “There’s no reason to be nervous, Miss Brooks. If we can help, we will. Why don’t you tell me who sent you and tell me why you need protection, Miss Brooks?”
“Ivy, just Ivy,” she smiled. “I was sent by a friend, Captain Eggers. He and I worked together to stop a ring of poachers in Africa. I was filming the slaughter of the rhinos. He was catching the killers. I called him for help after my recent assignment. I was in southern Arizona, trying to catch some photos of illegal aliens crossing the border near Nogales.”
“I know Eggers,” he said casually. “Nogales and illegal aliens, that’s a dangerous business, Miss Brooks.”
“Ivy,” she repeated. “Yes, it’s dangerous, Mr. Ghost…”
“Just Ghost.”
“Just Ivy,” she smirked. “I know the dangers of what I do. I do it every day. Normally, I can go undetected. This time…”
“This time you didn’t?”
“Not really. I’m not sure. It was after midnight, and I was walking the foothills, following an informant who said he knew where a group was crossing. We climbed this rocky hill, and he told me to get down, so we crawled the rest of the way, and then he shoved me down as we reached the top. When we stopped, he pointed down the side of the hill to a group standing around a fire. There were maybe a dozen men, but there were at least fifteen women and children with them.”
“And you photographed this?” he asked with a concerned frown.
“I did. I got photos of the men. The men raping the women and stripping the children, loading them into vans, and driving toward Nogales. The other Nogales on the Mexican side. I think those children were American children, not Mexican.”
“Fuck,” he growled. He texted a message out and just sat there, waiting. Ivy stared at the man, waiting for him to say something other than ‘fuck,’ but he didn’t utter a sound, just watched her.
“Mr. Ghost, are you going to help me or not?” she asked impatiently. He held up a finger, silencing her, only sending angry thoughts to her brain. Just as she was about to stand and leave, the door opened and shut behind her.
“Bryce Nolan, this is Ivy Brooks. She needs protection.” That’s all he said. No details, no re-telling of her story, nothing.
“Okay,” said the man casually.
Ivy turned to see a blindingly handsome face. His dark hair and full, thick beard only made his startling blue eyes stand out even more. He was tall, at least six-foot-two, maybe more, his muscled body visible beneath his cotton sweats and t-shirt. He looked as though he’d just come from the gym, sweat dripping down his forehead.
“Where are the pictures you took?” asked Ghost, staring at Ivy.
“Here,” she said, sliding the envelope toward him. “I printed them to be sure I had paper copies as well as digital. I asked Captain Eggers if he wanted them, and he said, and I quote, ‘fuck no.’ So, I have these, the digital copies, and another set on a flash drive in a safe.”
The new man, Bryce, sat beside Ghost, looking at the photos. As they scanned, the horrors of what she’d seen came to light in vivid, grotesque color. When they reached the last photo, the only one where she’d gotten a clear picture of a face, they both froze.
“Fucking hell,” muttered Bryce. “The Angel of Death.”
“The Angel of Death? What does that mean?” asked Ivy, staring at Bryce, and then looking to Ghost for clarification.
“Lady, that means you’re in a helluva lot of trouble, and you’re going to need more than a bodyguard. You’re gonna need a whole fucking battalion.” Bryce crossed his big arms over his chest, the sweat still beading on his thick forearms.
“Then get me one,” she said, staring at the two men. Ghost looked at Bryce with a raised brow. This chick had balls. That’s for sure.
“Did he see you?” asked Bryce.
“No.”
“Did you expose yourself to him?”
“No.”
