With his hand wrapped around the guy’s throat, Josh shook him like the rat he was. “Who the hell are you? I want your name and I want it now.”
“Hey, buddy, take it easy, okay?” The guy tried to pry Josh’s fingers away but there was no chance of that.
“No, it’s not okay. You’ve been watching us all day. Who are you?”
When he didn’t answer, Josh shook him again. “This is going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better.”
“All right, okay. My name is Floyd Wickham. I’m a private investigator.” From the looks of the faded old Buick, Wickham’s wrinkled khakis, and sweat-stained yellow polo shirt, not the high-dollar variety. “I was hired to keep an eye on a woman named Victoria Bradford. I take it she’s your girlfriend.”
Josh didn’t answer. His relationship with Tory was none of the guy’s business. Besides, he wasn’t sure about it himself.
He let Wickham go but stayed right in his face. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tory running toward them. She stopped a few feet away.
“Who hired you?” Josh asked.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Josh grabbed a fistful of Wickham’s shirt and hauled him up on his toes. The detective was at least three inches shorter and twenty pounds lighter, not much of a challenge. “I asked you a question.”
“He’ll fire me. I need the work. This was supposed to be an easy job.”
Josh let him go, grabbed his wrist, and bent it backward until Wickham crouched to avoid the pain. “How bad do you need the use of your right arm?”
The detective made a hissing sound between his teeth. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you. His name’s Damon Bridger. Got the hots for your girlfriend, I guess.”
Josh eased his hold. “How’d he know we were here?”
“Some nurse at the hospital gave him your names, said you were visiting one of the patients. Bridger hired me to follow you, take pictures, figure out where you were staying. He asked me to find out as much about you as I could.”
“Did you?”
“I dug around. You’re kind of a celebrity in Texas, so yeah, it was easy to find out what I needed to know. I talked to Bridger this morning, emailed him the photos I took. I told him you were a special ops soldier. Marine sniper. A war hero.”
Josh swore foully.
Behind his horn-rimmed glasses, Wickham’s eyes darted around as if he were hoping someone might come to his rescue. No one did.
“Keep talking,” Josh said, bending the wrist a little for emphasis.
Wickham moistened his dry lips. “Not much else to say. Bridger wanted more photos.” He glanced down at the camera. “Looks like that isn’t going to happen now.”
“You tell him where we were staying?”
“I just found out when you pulled in.”
“So not yet.”
“No.”
Josh let him go. He glanced at Tory. Wickham might not have told Bridger the name of their hotel, but he’d told the guy enough to find her in Texas. When she looked up at him, he read the resignation in her face.
“You aren’t going to run,” he said. “This is ending. Now.”
“Josh . . .”
He turned back to the PI. “Get out of here, Wickham. Keep your mouth shut or I’ll shut it for you. Got it?”
The detective blanched. “Yeah, I got it. What about my camera?”
Josh leaned down and picked it up. He pulled out the memory card and handed the camera to Wickham. “I don’t want to see you back here again.”
The investigator rubbed his wrist. “Don’t worry, I won’t be back.”
*
Josh walked Tory up to the room. As soon as the door closed, he pulled out his cell phone and brought up his contacts list.
“Who are you calling?”
“A friend. Guy named Hamilton Brown. I’ve got something I need to do, and I don’t want to leave you here alone. Not with Bridger trying to track you.”
“Josh, we need to talk about this. Now that Damon knows about us, he knows where to find me. I need to get back to Texas, get Ivy, and leave.”
On the other end of the line, the phone was ringing. “You aren’t running this time, Tory. You’re staying in Texas. We’re going to end this.”
Ham picked up the phone. “Hey, Superman, that you?”
“It’s me, Ham.” He was glad she hadn’t heard the name he’d been tagged with in the military. No way was he letting her know. “Listen, I’m in Phoenix and I need a favor.”
“Name it, man. I owe you my life. Ain’t nothin’ you can ask I won’t do.”
“I was just doing my job, same as you.”
“My wife thanks you anyway. Tell me what you need.”
Josh glanced over at Tory, turned his attention to the man on the other end of the phone. “I need you to look out for a friend of mine while I run an errand. She’s got a stalker, guy named Damon Bridger. Bridger’s bad news, Ham.”
“Guys like that are my meat and potatoes. What can I do?”
“I don’t think Bridger knows where Tory is at the moment, but he hired a PI, guy named Floyd Wickham, to follow us. He tracked us to our hotel. If Wickham’s stupid enough to call him, Bridger might come after Tory. I don’t want to leave her alone.”
“Where are you?”
“Marriott Courtyard in Scottsdale near the hospital. Room 221.”
“If the traffic gods are with me, I’m twenty minutes away.”
“I’ll see you soon.” Josh ended the call and went into the other room.
He pulled his duffel out of the closet and collected the gear he would need. Opening the room safe, he took out the Beretta nine mil he had brought with him from Texas, not a problem since they were flying private and his concealed carry permit was reciprocal in Arizona.
As he clipped the holster onto his belt and pulled his T-shirt over it, Tory walked into the room.
“What’s going on, Josh? I’ve got a right to know.”
“I told you. I’ve got an errand to run. The friend I called is Hamilton Jackson Brown. We served together in Afghanistan a couple of years back. He was wounded in action, left the marines. We stayed in touch through that wounded vets group I support. Ham works for a company called Maximum Security. They’ve got a branch in Dallas. I trust Ham to keep you safe.”
“He’s a bodyguard?”
“That’s right. I’ll just be gone for a couple of hours. With Ham here, I know you’ll be okay.”
“Where are you going, Josh?”
“Probably better if you don’t know in case something goes wrong.”
“Tell me you aren’t going after Damon. Please tell me that.”
“All right, I’m not going after Damon.”
She propped a hand on her hip. “Why don’t I believe you?”
He leaned down and kissed her. “Because you’re a very smart lady.”
“Josh, you can’t—”
A sharp knock at the door interrupted them. Josh walked over and pulled open the door and a big, beefy African-American walked into the hotel room, making it suddenly seem too small.
Dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt with an old-fashioned iron manacle on the front, the Maximum Security logo, Ham was about the same height as Josh, around six-three, but heavier, with a barrel chest and bulging biceps. He was handsome until he turned sideways, revealing the terrible burn scars that covered half his face.
Josh clasped his hand, leaned in, and gripped his shoulder, bumping the holster Ham was wearing. “Ham, meet Victoria Bradford. Tory, my good friend, Hamilton Brown.”
Tory stuck out her hand and Ham’s big palm engulfed it. If she noticed the scars on his face, she didn’t react. “Nice to meet you, Ham.”
“You, too, Tory.”
Josh walked over and pulled open the door to the adjoining room. “This’ll give you a little more space. There’s snacks and water in the fridge in there. You can watch TV or something. I shouldn’t be gone too long.”
“Not a problem. Take all the time you need.”
Josh walked back to Tory. “Don’t worry, okay?”
“Are you kidding?”
He bent his head and kissed her, turned around, and strode out of the hotel room.
Resigned to the situation, Tory went over to her suitcase and unzipped the outside pocket, reached in, and pulled out a deck of cards. She turned to the big man standing in the doorway between the two rooms and held up the deck.
“Sports on TV in there or a game of poker in here?”
One of Ham’s thick black eyebrows went up. “Poker? You play poker?”