Desh’s brow furrowed as he searched his memory. “I don’t think so,” he said. He shrugged. “Of course it’s always possible that I met her but just forgot.”
“Then you haven’t met her. Believe me, you’d remember,” he said with absolute conviction “She’s a total knockout. I mean like centerfold material,” he added for emphasis.
“Okay,” replied Desh. “I’ll take your word for it. So what about her?”
“She visited the office about an hour ago. Asked for you by name.”
“Did she claim she knows me?”
“No. She says she’s vacationing at a few choice resort locations around the country for the next month, thinks she might have a stalker, and wants protection. Said she saw your picture and bio on our website and wants you assigned to her. I told her you had a busy month lined up, and offered up Dean Padgett.” A note of disapproval entered Fleming’s voice. “She wouldn’t have it. She wanted you, and she was prepared to pay extra to make sure she got you.” He paused. “Frankly, David, I think you might be the one who has a stalker, not her. She's probably a bored, spoiled rich girl out for a thrill. What greater thrill than seducing your bodyguard? Must watch too many movies. Bottom line is that I got the feeling she sees you as more of a hired boy-toy than a bodyguard.” He paused. “I was tempted to tell her you were gay and offer to take the job myself,” he said wryly.
Desh shook his head and a small smile crept across his face. Jim Connelly had promised to clear his calendar, and he must have had quite a laugh when he had hatched this scheme. He sure hadn't wasted any time setting it in motion.
“So when do I start?”
“Tomorrow morning, if you take the job.”
“If I take the job.”
“I told her I needed your okay.”
“Really? That's a first.”
“Look, David, as hot as she is, I’m not running an escort service here. I want to make sure you know what you’re getting into. I’ve seen her, and it’s hard to imagine how any man could resist her for long if that’s her game plan.” He paused. “On the other hand, she is paying top dollar, and this could be legitimate. It may be that your Delta Force credentials are what impressed her and not your friendly smile. But given my doubts, I won’t insist you take this.”
“Thanks, Wade. But if I have to risk the attention of a beautiful woman,” he said with mock bravado, “that’s just what I’ll have to do. For the agency’s sake, of course.”
“Of course,” repeated Fleming wryly. “Your loyalty to the agency is legendary, David. I’ll e-mail you the assignment details and where to find her so you can get started.” There was a long pause on the line. “And I want you to know, while the rest of us are dodging bullets and laser-guided missiles protecting hairy fat guys, we’ll be thinking of you lying on the beach with a centerfold model—dodging those dangerous UV rays.”
“Don’t mention it, Wade. That’s just the kind of team player I am.”
“Well, I don’t want to have to worry about you, David,” said Fleming sardonically, “so be sure to use a good sunblock. SPF 30 at least.”
“Good tip,” said Desh in amusement.
“You know what’s really annoying about this one?”
“That she didn’t ask for you?”
There was a chuckle at the other end of the line. “Aside from that,” said Fleming good-naturedly. “What’s really annoying is that you’ll probably be bringing in more money to the agency than anyone else this month. Maybe I should open up an escort service.” Fleming paused. “Take care, David,” he said signing off, but couldn’t help adding, “you lucky bastard,” before hanging up the phone.
6
Desh rapped on the stained wooden door, just below its peephole and above the cheap brass “14D” affixed to it. He had removed his laptop that morning from its docking station in his apartment and it was carefully tucked under his left arm. He was wearing Dockers, a blue polo shirt, and a tan windbreaker that concealed his H&K .45 semiautomatic. A much smaller SIG-Sauer 9-millimeter was shoved in his pants at the small of his back, and identical, sheathed combat knives were strapped to each of his lower legs.
Kira Miller was working with terrorist groups who would stop at nothing to protect her. Groups who celebrated death rather than life, and who would welcome the chance to remove Desh’s head with a hacksaw—while he was still using it—if it would further their cause. The closer he got to her, the more dangerous it would be for him. Perhaps these precautions were premature, but why take chances?
Desh heard movement from inside the apartment.
“David Desh?” called a voice questioningly from behind the particleboard door, loudly enough for Desh to hear.
“That’s right,” confirmed Desh.
“Adam Campbell's friend?”
“In the flesh.”
Desh's friend Adam, an ex-soldier who was now a private investigator, had set up this meeting for him the night before, right after he had returned home from his meeting with Connelly.