Chapter Two
Elizabeth Walkert peered around the side of her high-backed booth, watching the tight buns of the man who’d just hit on her. He’d asked her to pick a song. Even asked her to dance. That tall, broad-shouldered, muscled-biceps guy had actually made a pass at her. Her insides tingled. Had been a long time since someone hit on her.
If she hadn’t been so focused on everything wrong in her life, she might have taken him up on the dance. Instead, she turned her attention back to her phone. And her worry.
Four days ago, she’d received a couple of texts from her dad, warning her to be alert to danger. Danger? There’d never been anything even remotely dangerous about her dad’s life. He’d worked for the same firm forever. Drove the same brand of car. Got his hair cut by the same barber, in the same style, every last Thursday of the month.
As she’d grown up, the biggest excitement in their lives had been the occasional movie night, maybe a weekend road trip to see a ballgame. Her mother had never asked for much. She always seemed resigned to their life. Happy, but resigned. On the other hand, her dad had ruled with a look or a word, restrictions, implications. Forever serious and indifferent, yet always blaming their life on his background, which he refused to discuss.
Some months after her mother died, Drake had been the one person her dad told her she could trust if something ever happened to him. That had been part of the message her dad sent four days ago, too. She’d picked up on the fact his words had to do with Florida and the Mariner’s, the island and a vacation, 8:00 and 10:00 p.m. Her dad had also instructed her to catch the next available flight to Fort Myers, Florida, that his friend from St. Louis would be in touch. After landing, she’d made her way to the house on Captiva Island, the one they’d stayed at for vacations with Drake when she was in high school.
Sure enough, the place had been leased to her, complete with a live-in maid and a new phone. Good thing, because her phone had gone belly-up when she tried to power it on after landing at the airport.
Drake’s note attached to the new phone had said the housekeeper would dispose of the old phone and place the SIM card in the on-site safe. Consequently, she no longer had access to any of her old numbers or contacts’ information. All of that had struck her as more than strange. However, when she powered on the new phone, there were copies of her dad’s previous texts waiting for her in the notes section along with her calendar. She’d read and reread the last one.
So, here she was, following strange directions. Watching for an unknown danger. Waiting for all the pieces to fall into place. Knowing that even though she didn’t agree with her father on much of anything, she still wouldn’t want to see him harmed.
For the past couple nights, she’d been at the Mariner’s Bar and Grill between 8:00 and 10:00. Waiting for a sign. Any sign.
She jumped with the ring of her phone. Please let it be my dad.
Caller ID read “Man from St. Louis.” She held the phone close and shielded the screen as she accepted the call, and, there on FaceTime was Drake Lawrence.
“Where’s my dad? What’s happened to him?” Elizabeth whispered.
“We’re looking for him. Top priority right now is to make sure you’re safe.” Drake’s serious expression alarmed her.
“Safe? Why wouldn’t I be safe?”
“There’s no time to explain. You’ve got to trust me.”
Trust was one thing. Being treated like she had no say in what happened to her was another. No one got to keep her in the dark. “Don’t try to evade the question. I want an answer. Why wouldn’t I be safe?”
“This is serious, Elizabeth, and I don’t have time to go into details.” His tone turned authoritative. “I can only emphasize what your dad told me when we talked a few days ago. You are in danger. That’s why I’ve had some of my security people watching you.”
Someone watching her? For days? What was going on?
As a journalist, she’d learned there were risks with everything from walking down the street, to contacts she interviewed for articles, to eating the wrong food and having a severe reaction.
But this…this sounded different. Ominous. Like being in a dark confine. She didn’t like the dark. She didn’t like being confined. She didn’t like this situation.
“Okay. Let’s say I can accept that for the time being.” She couldn’t believe how fast her life had changed in only five days. Much longer, and she’d be out of money. “What should I do?”
“I’ve sent someone to protect you. He’ll explain everything when he—”
“Hold on.” What had she heard? Felt? She laid her phone on the table.
Might be the conversation with Drake had her on edge, but she could swear someone’s footsteps seemed to be headed in her direction. Not the normal sound, more like a whisper of sound against the floor. The footsteps stopped.
She glanced over her shoulder, and there stood the man who’d hit on her. For all that’s holy, couldn’t the guy take no for an answer? “Back off, Dance Man. I told you before, I don’t care what song you play. And I don’t want to dance.”
“That’s good. Real good.” The corners of his mouth quirked upward, along with the tilt of his head and lift of his eyebrows. He chuckled as he slipped into the seat across from her. “Never been called that before.”
“You must really be desperate to keep hitting on someone like me.” Pointing her finger for emphasis, she gritted her teeth and spoke loud and clear in his direction. “Now, leave my table or I’m calling the police.”
The stubble on his jawline caught the light, emphasizing the dark, weathered tan of his now serious expression. His blue eyes focused on her with the intensity of someone looking for clarity before bidding on a rare diamond. She was drawn to the muscles in his forearms as he flexed his fingers back and forth, back and forth.
Caught in his stare, she shivered, then noticed the barely visible earbud. She’d seen those on Secret Service agents when she’d visited the White House for an environmental briefing. She’d also seen the earbuds on people not so glad to see her as she dug for dirt on a corruption story. People who didn’t exactly play nice when she got too close to what they were hiding.
Without looking, she reached her hand into her purse leaning against her side, hoping to grab her keychain mace without him noticing. The purse tilted, and the vial slipped from her hand, landing on the floor with a slight thud.
He didn’t flinch. “You need to practice that move.”
What if he were the danger? She was alone. In the corner of an almost empty restaurant. No one was at the house to expect her home. No one even knew—
Drake. Drake knew. He was right there on the phone. He had to be hearing what was being said.
She wrapped her hand around her phone, ready to use it as a weapon. “If you don’t go away, I’m going to scream.”
The man sighed loud and heavy as he leaned against the high back of the wooden booth, then tapped his earbud and motioned to her phone. “Drake, you should tell this lady who I am before she rips my head off.”
Glancing at the phone, still on FaceTime, there was Drake holding a photo of the man sitting across from her. She lifted her gaze to the actual man and met his blue-eyed stare with one of her own. Evidently, her life had notched up in things that were out of her control. “You’re who’s supposed to protect me?”
“You got a problem with that?” He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the table in front of him.
“No. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“Because you were too busy calling me Dance Man.”
She leaned forward in rebuttal. “Listen. I’ve had a very, very bad week. So, if I’ve upset you, that’s too damn bad.”
He popped the side of his fingers on the table. “Well, you’re not the only one who’s had a shitty week, lady.”
“Hey, you two want to put a lid on the sarcasm?” Drake sounded like he meant business.
They both took a breath.
“That’s better,” Drake said. “This is your protector agent, Mitch Granger. And, this is Elizabeth—”
“Liz,” Mitch stated.
“My name is Elizabeth Walkert.”
“Liz. As long as I’m your protector, your name is Liz.”
She might need his protection, but he didn’t get to tell her everything to do. Didn’t get to change her name on some whim of his, either. “Whether you like it or not, my name is Elizabeth.”
As she said Elizabeth, he rattled off the names “Liz, Josh, Reese, Drake.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
Mitch narrowed his eyes. “Hypothetically, let’s say I found out ten gunmen are closing in on our location. I need to warn the team. I shouted. I saved four people. How many did you save, E-liz-a-beth?”
She felt herself swallow as she slowly closed her eyes. “One.”
“So, your name is Liz. Agreed?”
Her protector was going to be a hard taskmaster. But how could she argue with his logic? His hypothetical had been a valuable lesson. One that enforced this whole cloak-and-dagger affair that had started with her dad’s first text. She had a lot of questions, but for now, she’d focus on not getting in the way.
“Agreed.” She held out her hand. “Hello, I’m Liz.”
He engulfed her hand with his and grinned. “Nice to meet you. I’m Mitch. You might want to pick up that mace off the floor before we leave.”
The warmth of his touch mingled with hers as they shared the handshake. She had to admit, his smile was nice. His eyes were nice. The way he said his name, with a hint of gravel in his voice, was…nice. He might be her protector, but he was also out of her league. Personally and professionally.
She released her hold on his hand. “What’s the plan for finding my father?”
“Our first step is to get the hell out of here. You can hang up, Drake, I’ve got this now.” The call ended. “By the way, get your keys out. We’ll be taking your car.”
Guiding her to the Mariner’s front door, he kept his hand on her arm or at the small of her back at all times. And when they stepped outside, he did the same as they walked out into the halogen-lit parking lot. She clicked the snazzy key fob that came with the car that had been waiting for her when she arrived back at the house on Captiva.
The car’s lights flashed a second before two men stepped out from the side of the building. The men moved closer. One brandished a gun. One a knife.
She tensed. “Do you see—”
“You see this, Keith?” Mitch kept guiding her forward.
“See what? Local police made me move across the street,” Keith said. “Got a big panel truck stopped at the traffic light. Damn thing’s blocking my view of the parking lot at the moment. You need help?”
The two men kept coming. No words. Just a steady pace that said they weren’t there to leave empty-handed.
Mitch blew out a sigh. “No. I got it. Call the police and tell them they’ve got two men in the Mariner’s parking lot that need to be processed and booked. May need an ambulance.”
Her gut clenched, and she felt like she might be sick. “Who?”
Mitch wheeled around. Charged the guy with the gun. Gave him a one-two-three punch that landed the man on the ground. The man groaned and didn’t open his eyes. Mitch kicked the knife guy in his balls, slammed his head against the hood of the closest car. The guy crumpled to the ground and didn’t move.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Mitch pointed to the passenger door on the car. “Get in, Liz. I’m driving.”
“Are…are you just going to leave them there?” She slid into the seat, closed the door, and pushed the lock.
“That’s the plan.”
“Are…are they dead?”
“Nope.” He revved the engine. “Buckle up.”
“Are…are you sure?” She slipped the seat belt in place.
“Yeah. They lucked out tonight.” He shifted into drive. “Time to go.”
She vise-gripped the passenger door’s armrest. Felt her breaths flowing in fast and faster. Heard herself grunt to force them out. Scared? Was this what being scared felt like? No, she’d been scared before, even panicked. This was different. As a writer, she used lots of synonyms.
Terrified—now she knew how terrified felt.
Her hand trembled as she pressed her fingers against his arm. “Were…were they here to grab me?”