“I’m okay. Enough already.” Bishop jerked away from the well-meaning EMTs crouching beside him on the curb. “Thank you,” he managed. “But go take care of someone who needs you, all right?”
They exchanged exasperated glances, but retreated toward the roadblock the Secret Service had set up. Twenty feet away, lying across the same curb where Bishop was sitting, was the gunman. He was covered with a sheet, his lifeblood staining the asphalt.
Not far from him, Dalton was talking to a couple of agents, no doubt giving his version of events. He’d arrived just in time to see Bishop and Hawaiian Shirt Guy take a swan dive from the second floor. Luckily for Bishop, he’d landed on top of the suspect. Not so lucky for the suspect.
From behind Bishop, a shadow lengthened across the grass onto the street.
“I was wondering when you’d arrive for your sit rep, Mason.”
“How do you always know who’s behind you? I swear you really do have eyes in the back of your head.”
Bishop didn’t bother explaining what to him was obvious. He’d worked with Mason Ford long enough to recognize his footfalls, even the smell of the cologne he sometimes wore. Paying attention to details like that could mean the difference between life and death, both in his former occupation as an agent and his present one working for Mason as a Justice Seeker.
“I see you refused to go to the hospital,” Mason said. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Thanks to the shooter being my pillow, just a few minor cuts and bruises. I’m fine.”
Mason settled onto the grass and stretched his long legs out in front.
Bishop glanced at him before returning his attention to the chaos around them. “I heard Manning survived the close encounter with a couple of town drunks.”
“To be fair, I heard one of them had a pocketknife. A patriotic little red, white and blue one made just for the occasion.”
Bishop made a derisive sound.
“Situation report,” Mason said. “Word is you saved Manning’s life.”
“A definite downside to this particular assignment but it couldn’t be helped.”
Mason chuckled. “Old grudges run deep, don’t they?”
“You would know.”
“On that we agree, my friend. He had a rifle with a scope set up ready to go?”
“He did. Secret Service discovered the dead shopkeeper in a back room. Their theory is the shooter killed him early this morning then locked the place to keep it clear of customers. If he couldn’t get Manning on the street, this was his fallback location. Once he realized how heavily the former president was guarded, he retreated here for a Hail Mary. He may have been partnering with Aquarium Guy. That’s not clear yet.
“He must have heard me coming after him,” Bishop added, “because he didn’t waste time raising the window. He broke the glass, hoping to get a quick shot off before I could reach him. Those drunks in the crowd had everyone in motion, making it tough to get a bead on the target. That likely gave me the extra seconds I needed to take out the shooter before he fired. Otherwise...” He shrugged. “Who knows.”
“I’ll be sure to mention that to the judge when he sentences them for disorderly conduct,” he said dryly. “You spoke to the Feds already, gave a statement?”
“As much of one as I’m going to give.”
“Understood. I’ll run interference on that. But there is one other thing. I know you don’t want to speak to Manning but—”
“Don’t, Mason.”
“Ten minutes. That’s all he’s asking. It’ll be a photo opportunity for him, the magnanimous former president shakes the hand of the former Secret Service agent who once protected his oldest daughter and just saved his life. It will do wonders for his speaker fees.”
“Not interested. And I’m not about to shake his hand, in public or anywhere else.”
“I warned him you might say that. He wasn’t pleased.”
Bishop shrugged. “He’s not used to being told no.”
“Again, can’t argue with that assessment. But that’s not the end of it. He insists he still needs to speak to you, that he knew you were hired to augment security today. Seems he planned to ask for an audience even before the attempt on his life.”
Bishop shook his head. “The last time he and I were in a room together, I told him exactly what I thought of him and the bogus lies that got me fired. Does he think I’ve mellowed over the years? That I won’t tell him exactly what I think of him again?”
“He’s being secretive, hasn’t given me anything beyond the barest details about why he wants to speak with you.”
“Corrupt Manning being secretive. Imagine that.”
“Work with me, Bishop. I’m just the messenger. And while the Justice Seekers won’t lack work even without the occasional government contract, our reputation could suffer if Manning bad-mouths our company. You of all people know what happens when you get on his bad side.”
Bishop fisted his hands. Agents were still swarming the area, interviewing so-called witnesses and searching for evidence. He didn’t envy whoever was supposed to be guarding zone five. Or who’d been on the advance prep team for this visit. Secret Service had insisted they be the ones to secure buildings nearby. They’d screwed up, big-time, to have missed securing a second-floor window with a direct line of sight if Manning went to any of the tourist traps along River Road.
“Bishop?”
He sighed heavily. “You’re a bajillionaire, Mason. I don’t believe for one second that you’d lose sleep over the possibility of Manning lying about your company. There’s something else going on.” When Mason didn’t respond, Bishop studied him from over the top of his shades. “That bad, huh?”
Mason’s jaw tightened. “It seems the former president wants to hire the Justice Seekers for a side job. More specifically, he wants to hire you to protect someone. Swears you’re the only one he trusts.”
“Trusts? He actually said that with a straight face?”
“I know, I know. Given your past, what he did, what he thinks you did, I don’t understand it, either. But he wouldn’t back down. Says it’s urgent. All I’m asking is that you listen to what he has to say before you tell him no.”
“Is this an order or a request? Sir?”
“Don’t call me sir. And you of all people know I’d never order you to do anything.”
“Then I respectfully decline. And my shift is over.” He pushed to his feet, careful to resist the urge to rub the sore ribs that had taken the brunt of his fall. If Mason even suspected he might have a more serious injury, he’d force him to get medical treatment even if he had to point a gun at him to do it.
“Wait.” Mason motioned him to the other side of the street, away from the milling agents.
Bishop reluctantly followed then leaned against the cater-cornered building where he’d seen the child in the window nearly an hour earlier. He crossed his arms, longing for the hot shower waiting for him at home. It would do wonders for his sore muscles and aching ribs. Hopefully it would also wash the stench of Earl Manning from his mind.
Mason crossed his arms, too, his suit jacket pulling tight across his broad shoulders. “You did me a huge favor helping manage security for this event. Your prior experience with the Secret Service was invaluable. All our guys performed admirably, mostly because you planned out every detail—at least, what those agents would allow.”
“Stop blowing smoke. Just say it.”
Mason turned to face him. “Even though I don’t know the details about why Manning wants to hire you for bodyguard duty, I do know the identity of the person who needs protection. Bishop, it’s Harper.”