Feeling clueless, and not liking it, Conn sat back down, but this time next to Hawthorn rather than across the table from him. The choice of seat presented a unified LPD and gave him the opportunity to get a good look at this new iteration of Queen Maud.
“Thank you for meeting with us so quickly,” Chris said. “I’m on a flight back to New York in a couple of hours and want this squared away before I leave.”
“You feel you need police protection, Ms. Ward?” Hawthorn asked.
“Not really,” Maud said with a stubborn lift of her chin. “But Chris does. And what Chris wants, Chris gets.”
Chris smiled blandly, apparently unfazed by being thrown under the bus. “The incident at the concert last night only confirms—”
“That once in a blue moon a crazy guy will get through security. It hasn’t happened before. Not on this tour. Not on the last two,” Maud said.
“But it could happen again,” Chris said.
Maud sipped from her tumbler, then slid a glare at Chris.
“You want peace and quiet,” Chris said. The words held a significance Conn didn’t understand. “You’ve got a few weeks. You’ll work better if everything’s taken care of, and you don’t have to worry.”
“I don’t worry,” Maud said. “You do that for me.”
“I do, and that’s why we’re here, having this lovely conversation with these gentlemen who carry guns for a living. If I’m not worried about your safety and security, I can worry about other things, like the conversation I need to have with Eric.”
Maud leaned over to say something to Chris. Conn seized the moment. “What the hell is going on, LT?”
“Ms. Ward’s representatives have asked us to provide twenty-four hour protection for the duration of her stay in Lancaster,” Hawthorn explained in an undertone. “You’re it.”
Conn’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“He asked for you specifically.” Hawthorn flicked a glance at Chris, unruffled despite Maud’s furious glare. Her next words got Conn’s full attention.
“You’re blackmailing me!”
Conn and Hawthorn both looked up.
“Not that kind of blackmail, gentlemen,” Chris said, looking entirely at ease with being accused of committing a Class A felony. “Decide which option you prefer.”
“Fine,” Maud said. She sat back in her chair and folded her arms in a way that indicated she was anything but fine.
Conn had no doubt in his mind that the not-quite-blackmail involved accepting police protection. The only thing worse than doing close protection work was doing close protection work for someone who didn’t want it. “Why me?” he said to Chris.
“Based on your performance last night, you’re eminently suited to the job,” Chris said.
Conn bit back his automatic hell, no. He flicked a quick glance at Hawthorn. Was this an order? Defying a direct order would get him in immediate trouble. Insubordination. Hawthorn’s face wasn’t giving anything away.
“I’m not trained as a body man,” Conn said.
Chris waved away the objection. “Our devoted fan last night got past two others cops, but not you. Why?”
“He tripped my crazy wire,” Conn said dismissively.
Chris nodded encouragingly, like Conn was a slightly slow child reciting his letters. “Can you be more specific?”
That’s where the preternatural alertness came in handy. Like most kids with a temperamental father and who’d bounced in and out of homes and schools, Conn was an expert in reading people. It wasn’t until he joined the force that he realized that between his childhood and his time in the army, he had an advantage over clean-cut suburban kids. Conn knew from liars, from cheats, from crazy. He sat back, folded his arms over his chest, and let him have it.
“He looked like the rest of the band. Flannel over jeans, Converse, beard. No big deal. But he was casing the place like it was new to him. Like he didn’t know what all the equipment was. And he wasn’t doing anything useful. Everyone else was breaking stuff down at Mach 2, all systems go, like they just wanted to get out of there. He seemed aimless, out of place, intoxicated, and a little wild around the eyes. Like I said. He tripped my crazy wire.”
Silence around the table. Chris’s eyes had gone from amused kindergarten teacher to assessing. Conn doubted the change meant anything good for him. Hawthorn was still blank. Maud was focused on the table, but she slid him a sidelong glance that sent his heart rate up again when he met her gaze.
Hawthorn opened a file folder. “Is there a specific threat we need to be aware of?”
Chris said nothing, just pulled a manila folder of his own from his briefcase. But rather than handing it to Hawthorn, he pushed it down the table to Conn. After a long moment, Conn leaned forward and opened it. Inside were dozens of pages printed from websites, some emails, a few actual letters typed on typewriters. He read the first two, both containing lurid descriptions of how the anonymous writer wanted to torture Maud before raping her.