In the elite Houston circles, Ramsey Security is the go-to agency for wealthy people with tough problems. Despite his dark skin and large size, Rafael Ramsey is the name and face people trust. He's the one who set up this meet and greet at Brad Sloane's house.
Far from downtown Houston, the ten-acre ranch is obscured from the road by high fences and thick brush. Through a security gate, we drive down a quiet tree lined path until reaching the large Craftsman-style house.
Exiting my compact SUV, I walk to where Rafael waits. He sizes up the location, checks his phone, and finally we walk to the front porch. A dark haired woman answers the door and identifies herself as Nell Bano. I know she lives in the house along with Brad, his mother Ruth, and their two German Shepherds.
Nell leads us inside the home, down a cozy hallway to a warmly decorated great room. I try not to flinch when one of the dogs rushes at me. Knowing I don't like animals, Rafael steps casually between the dog and me.
Entering the room, Ruth Sloane has a weathered face, and the excitement in her gray eyes surprises me. Running her hands through the brown and gray hair hanging loosely around her face, she sits in a chair and gestures for us to do the same. Rafael pets one of the dogs and does the small talk.
Catching sight of Brad lingering at the doorway, I realize he's bigger than in the Google pictures. I guess a decade can broaden a man's shoulders and chest.
"If you hire us," Rafael says after the small talk is over, "we think Saskia would be the best day-to-day security option for you. If a male operator like myself trails you, these targets would immediately assume we're security. Unlike a normal security team, we don't want to scare them away. Our goal is to make them feel safe enough to come out of hiding so we can hand them over to the authorities."
"Hey," Ruth announces, waving her hand around, "I say if you get a shot, take it and save the taxpayers' money. I know I will."
Ruth pats at her hip, and I hear one of her rings tapping against the gun hidden under her shirt. Nell stands nearby, showing me nothing. I suspect these women spent many years on guard for the day when Brad's stalkers returned.
"She's small," Ruth says, focusing on me. "I don't mean to be a gruff bitch, but your friend looks like she only weighs eighty pounds soaking wet."
"I'm one ten dry," I reply calmly. "I've been an operator for over a decade and dealt with targets far more deadly than those now stalking your family."
"That's all good and well, but you're still small."
"Yes, but I carry a very large arsenal, ma'am."
Ruth smiles at me. "Alright, but call me Ruth."
Glancing over her shoulder at the shadowed Brad at the doorway, she gets the nod of approval from her son.
"You're hired. What do you need from us?"
"A room for Saskia. We’ll also need a schedule of your upcoming appearances along with a list of approved people allowed on the property. For public appearances, we'll bring in more security operators. For the day-to-day, Saskia will suffice. Other members of our team will also monitor the area."
"The community already has security that drives by every hour."
"And the targets likely know the drive-by schedule by heart at this point."
I appreciate Rafael's ability to do the business chat. If I were in charge, I'd tell them to back off and let me do my job. I'd also promise to kill whoever needed killing. Rafael's smarter at living around these normal people, though, which is why he's the head of the company while I'm the muscle.
3
Brad
Stuck in my Head
Saskia isn't what I expect when picturing specialized security. Rafael is more my idea of a bodyguard, but he leaves the petite redhead behind. I feel foolish hiding in the hallway, but I hate new people and being on display. I've gone years without feeling so childish. Therapy convinced me that I'd conquered the past. Unfortunately, ignoring the past isn't an option anymore.
Mom and Nell stand in the kitchen, whispering heatedly. When I enter the room, they never pause with their disagreement.
"These people have no references," Nell whispers. "What is their training? Do they have any credentials? At least with the other agency, we knew they were retired police."
"Ramsey handled the Darla Birmingham problem. They got rid of Elsa Taylor's violent ex-husband. You know the rumors about them being retired mercenaries. I'd say assassins trump retired cops."
"Having killers in our home is your solution?"
"Better than your solution to run away and hide."
Knowing Mom and Nell won't stop until someone stops them, I ask, "Does my opinion matter?"
"Of course," Mom says, but she's only focused on Nell.
"I don't like men," I mutter, hitting a nerve I know they'll both respond to immediately. "I'd rather have a tiny woman in my house than a burly man."