“You’re the dead man now, Foster,” Blaine hisses through a mouthful of blood. His eyes are unfocused. He’s not looking up. If he looks at Lindsay, so much as glances her way, I’ll crush his head with one targeted kick.
“Drew! Stop! You’re going to be arrested. He’s not worth it.”
That makes Blaine look up.
“You sick piece of shit,” she says. Her calf pulls back like she’s about to kick him.
A swarm of people come running down the hallway to my back. I hear the footsteps. Lindsay jumps out of the way, runs to the loading dock door behind Blaine, and opens it. I have no idea what she’s doing, and reach for her, wanting her behind me so I can protect her from Blaine, and then someone’s got my arms snapped behind me in a locked grip.
“Representative! What happened?”
“Someone assaulted the representative!” Lindsay gasps, pointing to the now-open door. “He went that way!”
My arms drop instantly, but I feel the heat of the security guy behind me, waiting for orders from Blaine.
“She’s ly -- ” Blaine gives me a shrewd look, then glances at the ceiling. His eyes float behind my shoulder. “Review the video.”
“There isn’t any here, sir. We lost visual on you, then heard shouts.”
Blaine looks at me in disgust, eyes narrowed.
“You’re wasting time!” Lindsay shrieks, pointing. “I witnessed the whole thing! Drew was protecting Representative Maisri and tried to punch the attacker, but he fled. All three men were just a pile of people. I was on my way to the restroom and found them and started calling for help!” Her eyes float to the women’s restroom two doors down.
Every second she calculates, every comment she makes, gives the story credence. Nice touch using his title.
My own guys appear, five of them, Gentian among them.
“Sir?” he asks, eyes cold, assessing the situation, knowing damn well what I just did.
“We need medical attention for Representative Maisri.” I look at him. “I’m sorry for the accident. I was trying to hit the target.”
Trying my damnedest.
Blaine gives me a rueful look as one of the members of his security detail hands him a handkerchief for the blood. Two medics appear, carrying a large first aid kit. “My team will investigate this.”
“Of course,” I say, nodding. Lindsay’s behind me, gushing out lie after lie to a group of security guys who listen intently. She’s got them wrapped around her little finger, spinning a story about events that never, ever happened.
Three of Blaine’s security team are already out the door, chasing an assailant who doesn’t exist.
“Oh, oh!” Lindsay says, grabbing Gentian’s arm. He braces her. “I’m – it’s so warm in here. I’m feeling faint,” she says, her voice tinny and thin. She used to faint sometimes...before.
Four years ago. When I knew who she was.
I have never met this version of Lindsay before.
She’s exciting as fuck and frighteningly calculating.
Gentian brings her to a seat. All the attention’s on her now, as handlers bring water bottles, one of the paramedics checking her pulse. Our eyes meet and she says in a weak voice, “Just get the man Drew tried to take care of!” with an impassioned plea worthy of an Oscar. “We just want to see Representative Maisri get the justice he deserves.” She lowers her head between her knees and sniffs.
“We’re taking care of that threat, sir,” I say nice and loud, so everyone can hear me.
Blaine just looks at me with eyes as hard as the barrel of my gun.
Chapter 7
Hitting someone always involves paperwork.
Gentian takes Lindsay back to The Grove with extra security and instructions that only he, or Paulson, is her core person. I have to stay at the event to wrap up the police report on the “attack” and to manage all the final issues that arise from running a company and being in charge of protection for Monica and Lindsay.
By midnight, I’m at my apartment’s security kiosk, the RFID chip on my car triggering the safety gate for the parking lot. Five minutes later, I’m nursing a swollen hand, a beer, and a renewed taste for blood.
I can’t stop reviewing those few minutes, over and over. Blaine always struck me as the weakest of the three, the follower, the guy who went along to be part of the crowd. It’s sickening, really.
Once I became an officer in charge of men like him, I realized they make great soldiers, but terrible strategists. Tell them what to do, stoke them up and make them think they’re part of something great, that their identity as part of the group is more important than any moral code outside the group, and you’re golden.
They’re yours to do whatever you command.
And while that’s great when your mission is good, when people like Blaine are controlled by someone whose sights are set on evil, these followers are the worst form of humanity. They’re the foot soldiers in concentration camps, the ones “just following orders.” They’re the people who support the bullies at the bus stop when kids get beaten. They’re the crowd of teasers on social media who encourage a kid to kill himself.
They are the tools of evil.