1

 

 

August 2013

 

Victor couldn’t find Staci. Not in the midst of the craziness of the Hollywood nightclub. Like some sort of sea monster, the dance floor pulsed and writhed with people. Lasers and flashing lights nearly drove him mad as the music pounded through the earplugs he wore. The smoke emanating from the machines next to the lights made him hack. He sucked down a sip of Coke and climbed onto one of the chairs lining the wall.

Great. No Staci Logan, washed-up movie starlet. What was it with him? He’d gone from protecting the First Daughter to guarding…her. He scowled.

A movement caught his eye. A blonde with hot pink highlights slipped through a beaded curtain into a hallway.

He hopped from the chair and pushed his way onto the dance floor.

It reminded him of what it might feel like to be in a crowd of raucous zombies going to an all-you-can-eat human buffet. The music penetrated his skull and increased to a frenetic pace. A guy slammed into him. Victor staggered and nudged him away. As a woman threw her arms in the air, her hand slapped him across the face. Her pal laughed and turned. Her stiletto heel almost drilled through his hiking boot.

“Sorry.” She giggled and lifted a glass of bright green cocktail to her lips.

Victor winced and limped as the pain faded. Once in the hallway, his breath quickened. Where had Staci’s friend gone?

He crept onward. Only black lights lit the way before him. More bead curtains separated private rooms. He lifted one. The male half of a couple making out on a couch raised his head.

“Wrong room,” Victor muttered as he let the curtain drop.

Then he smelled it.

Hookah smoke.

Victor grimaced. He hated hookah smoke with a passion.

As he progressed down the hallway, it grew stronger until his eyes began watering, then his nose. He shoved the beaded curtain aside and stepped into the room.

A group of several people sat on the floor around a hookah that bubbled with water. He instantly recognized most of them. A minor Saudi prince and known playboy. A young man who’d had one big movie before succumbing to drugs. Staci’s pink-highlighted friend who’d spent a stint in rehab by the age of sixteen. And others, most of them with stars rapidly fading as they over-indulged in the life money could buy.

Then he saw Staci.

She sucked on the pipe and sighed as a blissful smile tipped her lips upward. As if she noticed him for the first time, she grinned. “Vic! Hey. Come and try some.”

“Pass, thanks.” His eyes narrowed. “Stace, it’s two and time to go.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Your curfew is three.”

The group began giggling as if he’d said the funniest thing in the world.

Anger nipped at Victor. He stepped to his client and hauled her to her feet.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, Stace. Time to pack your toys and come with me. Say goodbye.”

“I’ll see everyone tomorrow.” She waggled her fingers at the group.

Victor gripped her arm and led her down the hall, along the perimeter of the dance floor, and into the hot, airless night. Even outside, the music reached him. His gaze swept the long line of people huddled behind the velvet ropes as they waited to get in.

No threats.

At least none he could see.

His eyes never ceasing their scan, he stopped at the valet’s stand and handed the young man his ticket.

Staci leaned against him and coughed.

“Hookah smoke’s bad for you, you know.”

“Says who?” She reeked.

“Me. And it stinks to high heaven.” Victor sneezed.

“What are you, my mother?”

“Just a concerned bodyguard.”

A silver Cadillac Escalade pulled up.

He handed the valet a fifty from Staci’s money and helped her into the front seat.

As they pulled onto the street and headed toward The Ten, she turned on the satellite radio and hit a button. Another throbbing dance tune filled the interior.

The headache that had begun in the nightclub increased. “Can we have something different?”

He pressed another one.

A soothing Garth Brooks ballad reached him, and he lowered the volume so he didn’t have to scream to talk.

“Yuck!”

“What?”

“That song. It’s awful.”

“Country music’s some of the best stuff out there. At least the older tunes are.” He got up to speed on the interstate that would take them to the Pacific Coast Highway and Staci’s home in Malibu. “You know, three months ago, the judge was very generous with your parole terms. I had to pull you out so you don’t violate them.”

“No one would know.”

“Says who?” He nodded toward her left leg where a small unit had been attached around her ankle. “Four more months, okay? I’m trying to protect you from yourself so you won’t wind up behind bars.”

“I’ll never go to jail.”

“You keep thumbing your nose at the judge, and you will.”

“Whatever.”

He bit back a retort and let the rest of the ride pass in silence.

They turned through a pair of gates and down a winding drive guarded by trees. Spotlights highlighted the way they swayed in the breeze. Victor drew in a breath of tangy salt air through the open window. Almost instantly, his headache receded a little.

He helped her from the SUV and led her to the front door.

As he turned to leave, Staci stopped him. “I want to go shopping tomorrow afternoon.”

“What?”

“Shopping. Be here at one, okay?”

Victor blinked. “Tomorrow and Monday are my days off. Jeremy can take you.”

“No, I want you to take me.”

“Stace…” He rolled his eyes. “I haven’t had a day off in two weeks. I need some downtime.”

“Why?”

Take a deep breath. Hold. Don’t scream at her. “Because I’m exhausted. And I’ve got chores to do. Like cleaning and doing laundry.”

“So get someone to do those for you.”

Take another deep breath. Hold longer. Don’t tell her what you really think. Slowly, Victor released it. “No can do on my salary.”

Staci stepped closer, bringing her hookah stink with her. “I’m going to go shopping tomorrow.” She slowly enunciated her words. “You’re going to go with me. Then I’m going clubbing again. Say anything else, and I’ll have Stuart call Benny to have you fired.”

Victor held her gaze for a long moment. Then he huffed out a sigh. “Whatever.”

A saccharine smile crossed her face. “I’m glad we have an understanding.”

With that, she turned and flounced into the house.

Victor climbed into his white Jeep Commander and sat there as he stared at the front room of the house. Two forms stood in the dim light and appeared to argue. The light switched out.

“Why couldn’t you stand up to her?” he muttered into the still air. He banged the headrest with the back of his head and started the motor.

As he sped down the highway toward West Los Angeles, his answer came clear. He had no fire, no drive.

And Staci knew it.

“Dumb, dumb, and dumber.” He turned into the parking lot of the three-story apartment complex. He stopped under the only functioning streetlight, secured a club on his steering wheel, and slid from the SUV as he began his self-flagellation. “You knew this wasn’t a good idea. Yet you jumped at it.”

Victor climbed the open staircase. Even at this late hour, a television blared from one of the second story units. A sickeningly sweet odor seeped from underneath another where his neighbor got high on a regular basis. He turned a one-eighty and headed up the last set of stairs.

“Why did you think this could help you start over?” He continued his one-sided conversation as he unlocked his apartment.

He sniffed his jacket. It reeked of hookah smoke, which made the headache return full force. After shoving open the sliding glass door, he left his jacket on the plastic lawn chair he’d bought for his balcony. Now fresh air and the sounds of the nearby freeway penetrated the small living room.

Victor snagged a bottle of water from the refrigerator and sank onto the recliner. He lowered his head and rubbed the back of his neck. Several deep breaths relaxed his muscles. He leaned back and stared at the dark night toward where pinpricks of red and white raced by on the freeway. The tautness in his shoulders finally dissipated.

“Hey, silly, it’s time to go to bed.”

Victor opened his eyes to see Rachel crouching next to his recliner.

“Sorry. I guess I fell asleep.” He stared.

She still wore her navy pin-striped suit from that fateful night sixteen months before. Her honey blonde hair tumbled around her face.

She brushed his cheek with her fingers. “You’re so focused on making sure nothing goes wrong.”

“Huh?”

“This.” She nodded toward the pile of papers that sat on the arm of the recliner.

With a start, Victor noticed the words Makmoud Hidari in bold, black type across the top, along with the man’s face. When had he gotten that? He blinked and gazed around the room. Walls in a warm camel color surrounded him instead of the dull contractor’s beige of his apartment. How was he back at his house in Raleigh?

“I promise you’re worrying over nothing. It’ll go off without a hitch.”

“I hope,” he murmured.

“Come to bed.” With that, she leaned forward and brushed her lips across his.

“Rachel,” he sighed.

Victor’s eyes flew open.

Contractor beige surrounded him now.

He’d been dreaming.

“I hate this,” he muttered as he pushed himself to his feet. After draining the remainder of the water, he tossed the bottle into the recycling bin that sat in a corner of the dining area. He crossed the living room and shut the door.

As Victor turned toward the hallway, the bookcase from the study of his old house caught his attention. He’d placed books on the two lowest glass shelves. He touched the deep blue sweater on the middle shelf. How many times had Rachel worn that?

“Our first kiss,” she’d always murmured to him since he’d given it to her the night he’d kissed her.

His eyes filled as he stared at the velvet jewelry case that held the diamond ring he’d used to propose.

“You should be over this,” he muttered.

As per habit, his gaze shifted to the top two shelves. Pictures crowded there. Pictures of Rachel on her own, of her with her family, with friends, with him. The pearl necklace he’d given her snaked through the frames on the top shelf. Had Staci seen that display, she would have suggested that he light candles and worship his dead fiancée.

One particular picture caught his eye. A much younger Rachel crouched next to the family golden retriever and hugged him. The rose arbor from her parents’ house arched overhead. Victor picked it up and ran his finger across her face.

“I miss you so much, Rachel.” He set the frame on the glass.

Part of it caught on the necklace. Off balance, it tipped over, tumbled from the glass, and hit the tile floor. It shattered, sending shards of ceramic frame and glass front all over the living room floor.

Grumbling, Victor made his way to the kitchen closet and grabbed a dust plan and broom. He turned on the overhead light, which only increased the intensity of his headache. He stooped and tossed the larger pieces into the dust pan.

A golden gleam caught his eye.

Victor picked up the necklace that must have been between the photo and the backing. He stared at it. The writing wasn’t English or any other western alphabet. It seemed Semitic but not Hebrew. Arabic, maybe?

He couldn’t be sure.

Victor remained in his crouch as he turned the necklace over and over in his hand. Finally, he set it aside and finished cleaning up his mess.

After dumping the remains of the frame in the trash, he shut off the lights and retreated to the bedroom.

He eased onto the edge of the bed and examined the necklace again. Why would Rachel have hidden it in a frame? Was it from a long-lost boyfriend? A family heirloom? He doubted the second hypothesis. Victor laid it on the nightstand in front of another photo of Rachel and switched off the lamp.

Its mystery would have to wait until later, when he could focus.

 

 

“Rachel.” Victor sighed her name in his sleep as he shook her head from side to side. As he dreamed, images from the past couple of years swirled and melded together like two different colors of paint.

“I love you,” Rachel whispered. The soft touch of her lips on his forehead calmed his frazzled nerves as he huddled at the kitchen table of his old house.

Another, more strident voice of the Secret Service agent interrogating him broke into his peace. “Did you know that your comms unit was off?”

“No.” Victor gripped the edge of the table so hard that the edge bit into his palms. Suddenly, he realized that the light wood of Maggie McCall’s table spread before him rather than the dark one of his own kitchen table.

“Why did you order her to change the egress point?”

“What?” Shock rooted Victor to the spot. “I didn’t!”

“Agent Cooper says Agent Marina called him, per your directive, to change the egress point.” The agent tapped his pen on the notepad.

Suddenly, Victor realized what he insinuated. “You think Agent Marina had something to do with the ambush?”

“I’m not thinking anything. I’m simply gathering facts, Agent Chavez.” He offered a tight-lipped smile as he doodled on the pad. The red lines began coagulating and spreading.

Like blood.

The liar.

A phone started ringing.

“I need to get that.” Victor couldn’t rip his gaze from the growing puddle.

“You’ll do no such thing.”

Victor leapt to his feet and dove for the phone.

His eyes flew open. He lay in bed, the sheets kicked down and wrapped around his feet.

He’d been dreaming.

His cell phone buzzed incessantly from its place on the nightstand. He snatched it before it rolled over to voice mail. “Victor Chavez.”

“Vic, hey!” A chipper baritone echoed across the airwaves.

“Gary?” Victor pushed himself upright and slouched over.

“You got it.” His best friend laughed. “I figured since you’re such an early bird that I’d catch you up already.”

Victor muffled his groan as he stared at the clock. Six in the morning. Already, the anemic light of another LA day pushed around the edges of his venetian blinds. On the other side of the thin wall of his bedroom, a radio played, even though it was Sunday. “I didn’t get in bed until four.”

“Uh, oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that.” Gary cleared his throat. “I’m flying out to LA for a conference, like leaving in a few minutes, and I wanted to see if you’d be up for grabbing some supper tonight.”

Victor ran through his calendar in his head. Then he grinned since time with Gary meant he could truly tell Staci he had plans for that night. “That’d be great.”

“Name the time and place.”

“Six at Sunset Pier? It’s in Santa Barbara, has the best hamburgers around, and has a great view.”

“That works. I’ll be there. Get some rest, bro.” Gary hung up.

Victor remained hunched on the edge of the bed. His eyes slid to the necklace, and the headache returned with a fierceness that turned his stomach. As he rubbed his temples, he stumbled into the bathroom and threw back some aspirin. He braced himself against the counter and hung his head as the accusations from the attempted kidnapping that left three dead faded. Finally, Victor shut off the lights and retreated to the bedroom.

His gaze slid to the picture of Rachel. “They accused you of treason, said you colluded with Makmoud Hidari. How dare they?”

As he climbed back into bed, the beautiful but undefinable writing of the necklace haunted him.

He needed answers.

Fast.