Page 15 of Spring Break with a Bodyguard
I frown as I realize what I’m looking at. These aren’t routine housekeeping notes. These are theft reports—a series of them, concentrated on the upper floors of the hotel. Thefts that occurred while rooms were being cleaned, during hours when housekeeping staff would have access.
Carmen had mentioned something about missing items at a staff meeting earlier this week, but I hadn’t realized the situation was this serious or widespread. These aren’t just misplaced items—these are coordinated thefts.
I quickly snap a photo of the page with my phone before returning the notebook to Carmen’s locker. My mind races as I process this information. Valuable items disappearing from rooms during cleaning hours? That can’t be a coincidence.
And it certainly can’t be good for a new housekeeper with a suspiciously thin employment history.
SIX
JAVI
“Another theft report,”Roberts announces during our final security briefing for the day, his thin mouth pinched with displeasure. “Diamond earrings from room 412. Over five grand, according to the guest.”
I keep my expression neutral as the other security staff exchange glances. That makes three significant thefts this week, all from upper-floor rooms, all during housekeeping hours.
Why guests don’t store their valuables in the provided safes boggles my mind. Still, their valuables shouldn’t be disappearing no matter where they choose to set it down.
“We’re implementing additional measures,” Roberts continues, straightening his perpetually perfect tie. “Security sweeps of staff lockers, verification of all employee credentials, and rotating camera monitoring of the service elevators.”
“Any specific leads?” I ask, careful to keep my tone professionally curious rather than personally concerned.
Roberts’ gaze sharpens, landing squarely on me. “As a matter of fact, Conrad, I’m particularly interested in your new housekeeper.”
A muscle in my jaw tightens involuntarily. “My new housekeeper?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Roberts says, his voice dropping as the other security staff file out of the room. “I’ve seen you shadowing that new girl—Theresa Holden. She shows up with no prior hotel experience right before spring break, and suddenly we have valuable items disappearing?”
I meet his gaze steadily. “That’s circumstantial at best, sir.”
“Is it?” Roberts steps closer, lowering his voice further. “Because I’ve been looking into her background, and things aren’t adding up. Her references check out on paper, but when I made some calls yesterday, no one seems to remember much about her.”
Damn it. Preston’s cover story for “Theresa” was always going to be thin, but I’d hoped it would hold for three weeks.
I should report this development right away, but if I do, Preston would likely pull Teddy out at the first sign of complication.
But I can’t get Teddy’s reasons for doing this out of my mind. Sure, it would get me back to my regular detail of guarding Preston, but I don’t want Teddy’s experiment to end prematurely.
She’s worked too hard for this.
“I’ll keep a closer eye on her,” I promise, which isn’t technically a lie. I fully intend to watch Teddy even more carefully now—just not for the reasons Roberts assumes.
“See that you do,” he responds, glancing at his watch. “And Conrad? I don’t know why Hollister Security assigned you here specifically for spring break, but while you’re under my roof, you follow my protocols. Clear?”
It’s unlike me to allow an arrogant jerk like Roberts to talk to me like this, but an assignment is an assignment. “Yes, sir.”
By the time the meeting finally ends, I realize with frustration that Teddy has already left the hotel. A quick call to my backup team confirms they’ve taken over surveillance duty, but the delay grates on me. I hate delegating her security to others, especially with Roberts’ suspicions now in play.
I stop by a pharmacy on my way to her townhouse, grabbing muscle relief patches and a few other supplies. I’d noticed during the flooding incident how she winced with every movement, how she’d tried to hide grimaces of pain throughout the day. The patches are just basic first aid, I tell myself.
Nothing that crosses any professional lines.
Nothing at all.
* * *
I make it to Teddy’s townhouse before she arrives, parking across from her building and waiting with the pharmacy bag on the passenger seat. Professional protocol would have me simply observe from a distance, but there’s nothing professional about the relief I feel when her car pulls into the driveway.
I watch as she exits her vehicle, moving with careful, measured steps that telegraph her discomfort. She’s carrying a supermarket shopping bag and the stiffness in her movements confirms what I’d suspected.
