Page 54 of Things I Read About
The tech wiz and the painter sister are in from New York, then heading to some art thing in London. Fergus has a detail waiting for them there.
The oldest daughter is married, and the couple employ one of our drivers, plus additional security at her gated neighborhood and at the company headquarters in Tulsa.
Which leaves me with the youngest. The girl genius who graduated top of her class in pre-med and scored a perfect score on the MCAT. An achievement by about fifty each year, out of three hundred thousand or so.
I honk at an idiot going the speed limit in the left lane. “Moron,” I yell as I pass.
I feel the tension in my shoulders and try to release it.
If this Canton kid is that smart, then maybe, somehow,please universe,she’s not a spoiled little princess. A nerdy princess, a weird or socially awkward one, but maybe not an entitled, bossy, raging witch, like the last heiress I had as a charge.
That’s not fair to Camilla, not really. Because I was her guard in San Francisco right after my time withher.Sally.
Sally seemed so down to earth. Normal. Sure, she was faking a bit, acting bolder and braver than was her norm.
I could tell that easily. But I didn’t think she’d straight up ghost me. I didn’t think the whole few days together was meaningless.
I see the sign for my street and change lanes.
I huff out a laugh at myself, remembering how hard I scoured YouTube for a video of Sally playing piano. Nothing. Kat said her parents were protective but not even audience video? Fans, fellow players? Not one impromptu jam session?
Wait, do classical pianists jam? Hell, if I know.
At least she didn’t find anything on me either, if she looked. Which I doubt, because she left without a word.
She is a… actually I don’t know what she is. A mystery, I guess.
She was a puzzle when she walked up to me, beautiful and sweet, but with very bold, dirty things coming out of her shy little mouth. She seemed young, but then she also had an old soul. Grief will do that.
And the grief part, I almost told her my whole freaking sob story. The way she looked up at me as if I was a dream, her dream, I would’ve done just about anything she wanted. But then, a puzzle still, she fawned all over my body but didn’t want to actually take me for a ride.
I adjust myself at a stoplight.
Get a grip, Nate.
She’s probably with some older professor or a cello playing douche from the orchestra. He’s probably thin and sweet and wears a leather messenger bag. Definitely glasses and maybe a bowtie. Elbow patches.
That’s good. She can be with someone nice and safe, not busted up six ways to Sunday.
It’s not like I’m going to run into her in a metro of 6.5 million. And why am I even thinking about her? I have a job.
This kid I’m watching is alone at the football star’s house outside of Dallas for a couple weeks, then starts at UT Southwestern. Easy gig. I’m in, keep the brainiac alive, I’m out, and I’m a partner.
I pull into the event and park. As I do, I get a message from Fergus to run a perimeter and then clear the interior. All five sisters are at this theater tonight for a presser for the company. They must not have known about the threat or, like, many of my very wealthy clients, they’re oblivious. Obtuse.
Doesn’t matter. We’re on it now, lucky for them. I keep one hand on the butt of my gun as I scan my surroundings.
Across the street. Clear. Sidewalks, no visible threat. Visible roofline, clear from this vantage point. I go around back. Fire escape to the roof. Full sweep. Clear.
I head inside the back door. This place was an old movie theater with just one screen, then a performance stage, and now it serves as vintage theater and event center. I get out my flashlight and sweep the back of house scaffolding, which is a security nightmare. Luckily, there aren’t multiple curtains and backdrops. This area is a hazard.
Hazard.
Nate. Not now.
I move down to the theater and scan every person, and each of the exits and corners. I scan the staff, cocktail servers walking around, the bartenders. I enter the lobby, clearing the storage closets. I do one more pass through the main area, checking every set of eyes.
Multiple men here are carrying, and one woman has on a thigh holster… or some very odd lingerie. But it’s Texas so that’s expected. No visible threat. I walk quickly to the back kitchen, where the clients, Fergus, and Dean wait.
