Her Private Security Detail
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Patricia Sargeant
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Chapter 1
“I can’t.” Jeremiah Touré jogged with his two older brothers, Hezekiah and Malachi, early Thursday morning. They’d started the last of their five laps around Antrim Park in the northwest part of Columbus, Ohio’s capital city.
It had been dark when the trio had started their six-mile/five-lap workout. Moisture from the air joined with the sweat forming on Jeremiah’s brow, cheekbones and upper lip. The weather was comfortable—for now—but July in Columbus could be brutal.
On his left, past the bushes and down a grassy slope, lay a pond in an imperfect oval. Its serene surface mirrored the sky, shifting from black to gray and more slowly to blue. The birdsong grew louder and more energetic as the sun rose.
In front of him, the narrow dirt trail led to a broader blacktop. A row of trees and bushes lined the asphalt on both sides. Those on the right shielded the woods beyond the park. Leafy branches formed a canopy over the path, sheltering the handful of other joggers and walkers who were getting in their early morning exercise. Several had dogs or strollers. Some had both. A few were on their own.
Starting the day jogging with his brothers was the best. What wasn’t to love? He was with his brothers, his friends. They were outdoors, getting exercise. They pushed each other to keep up a good pace—no slacking!
Jeremiah and his brothers had been doing these runs since they were teenagers. Jogging was one of his favorite hobbies, which was fortunate since physical fitness was a job requirement. But opportunities for him to workout with his brothers were becoming more infrequent. Business was booming for Touré Security Group, his family-owned company. He and his siblings had inherited the agency from their deceased parents. It figured Hezekiah, the human manifestation of a killjoy, would bring up work during one of their increasingly rare opportunities to enjoy each other’s company.
“You can’t do it? Or you don’t want to?” His eldest brother’s response came from behind him. This part of the path was too narrow to jog side by side.
They all wore black running shorts with dark jogging shoes, but their moisture-wicking pullovers were different colors. Hezekiah’s crimson red jersey commanded attention—sort of like the man.
Hezekiah had gotten his wish to expand their company to attract bigger clients, in large part thanks to publicity from a case they’d closed two months ago. They’d protected a scientist from a serial killer who’d been after her formulation. Their success had attracted a lot of new clients, from small companies to midsized businesses and larger corporations. They’d even secured a contract with Midwest Area Research Systems, the scientist’s employer.
“Can’t.” The answer was at the same time easy and hard. “I can’t take on new cases. I’m leaving the company at the end of the month, remember? I’ve got my hands full, wrapping up the cases I’m overseeing now. But I’ll gather a few of our personal security consultants and bring them up to speed.”
With their increasing client list, maybe his timing could’ve been better, but Jeremiah was ready to pursue his own plans. Hezekiah, however, wanted him to take on a new case protecting a high-level executive with The Bishop Foundation, but he couldn’t do this anymore. He needed to walk away from the company. Staying was putting everyone and everything at risk. Leaving was the right thing to do. But, crap, did it have to be so hard?
Jeremiah took a deeper breath, meant to soothe him as he led his brothers past the first curve on their fifth lap around the pond. The air was heavy with the musty, damp scent of the earth beneath his running shoes and the sharp, dew-laden grass that rimmed the pond.
“The client asked for you personally.” Malachi sounded so reasonable. The medical research scientist they’d protected, Dr. Grace Blackwell, had been his ex-girlfriend. The case had helped rekindle their romance. “They want the best.”
His second-eldest brother’s leaf green jersey helped him blend into the foliage. Malachi was playing to his ego. He’d give his sibling credit for that. The tactic would’ve worked on the old Jerry. He missed that guy. Without realizing it, his steps had sped up. It was like his subconscious knew he was running away. He made an effort to slow down. “Why does The Bishop Foundation sound familiar?”
“It came up during our case with Grace.” Malachi’s voice came from Jeremiah’s right. This wider section of the path allowed his brothers to jog beside him. “The foundation chair contacted her for the recommendation.”
Jeremiah’s body filled with pride for his family and their company. Their parents had founded Touré Security Group on qualities that were important to them: integrity, excellence, professionalism. His brothers followed the example they’d set—another reason he was quitting. He couldn’t live up to those standards any longer.
A rustling from the undergrowth on his right drew his eyes to the woods beyond the park. A pair of chipmunks disappeared beneath the shelter of the nearby bushes.
“You did a great job protecting Melba.” Hezekiah kept pace on Jeremiah’s left.
Having his eldest brother on his left and middle brother on his right made Jeremiah feel like they were ganging up on him.
Still, thinking of Grace’s grandmother, Melba Stall, made him smile. “We’ve kept in touch.” He wiped the sweat collecting on his upper lip with the back of his right wrist and pulled together the tattered remnants of his confidence. “I know I did a great job protecting her. I also did an excellent job training our personal protection consultants. I know each one’s strengths and weaknesses. We don’t have any bad apples. I’ll identify six of the best of our best, two agents per shift for twenty-four-hour security. I’ll get the estimate to you by end of day.”
“That should work.” Hezekiah’s sigh was louder than necessary. Typical. He was lathering on the guilt. “The client meeting’s tomorrow morning. Early. We didn’t expect you to guard the executive on your own, but we’d feel better knowing you were at least overseeing the job.”
“The guards are well trained, thanks to you.” Malachi used the back of his hand to remove the sweat from his chin. “But this is a high-profile case.”
Another wave of restlessness washed over him. Jeremiah struggled to keep his steps even and his tone casual. “All of our cases are important, Mal. Don’t worry. I won’t leave you hanging.” This time.
Their silence suffocated him. He knew they didn’t mean for it to. It wasn’t their fault. Jeremiah blamed his guilt. He didn’t want to leave the company. He had to. His brothers didn’t make any secret about their concern over his decision to walk away. He didn’t want them to worry about him. He wanted them to be proud of him. He wanted them to be confident in his abilities, as confident in him as he’d always been in them. He wanted things to go back to the way they’d been before he’d made a mistake that could’ve cost a teenage boy his life.
Digging deep, Jeremiah faked a grin. He tossed it at his brothers. “Let’s sprint to the end.”
Malachi groaned. “I’m too old.”
Hezekiah frowned. “I’m almost two years older than you.”
Malachi arched an eyebrow. His look spoke for him. Then we’re both too old.
Jeremiah gave the first real laugh he’d felt in weeks. “Come on, old-timers.”
He sped up, setting a challenging pace, even for himself. He took long slow breaths, straining to control his breathing. He raised his arms, pumping them as he pushed himself to take faster, longer strides. His heart galloped in his chest. Still his two older brothers kept pace with him.
“Jerry, what are you about now?” He heard his mother’s voice as though she was running alongside him. He brought her image to mind. She’d stayed slim and fit his whole life. Both of his parents had. Her face had remained smooth and her hair dark well into her sixties. “Zeke and Mal aren’t your competition. They’re your brothers. The only person you should compete against is yourself.”
They rounded the fourth corner of the pond and flew the final leg of their last lap. Jeremiah’s feet barely touched the dirt path. Slow breath in. Hold. Slow breath out. He forgot about Hezekiah and Malachi. Now he fought to push himself as hard as he could.
I competed against myself and failed, Mom. And my failure hurt Dad’s and your legacy. I can’t put the company in that position. Never again.
In his mind, she frowned. It was the loving, chiding expression she’d given him when she thought he was being a fool. But is leaving Touré Security a bigger risk to you than your staying with the company would be to your brothers?
“You’d remove me from the foundation my family built?” Seated at the head of the long oval dark wood table Thursday morning, Symone Bishop met the eyes of each of the nine other people—all with voting power—in the small conference room, seven board members and two administrators. Most didn’t—or couldn’t—return her regard.
“We wouldn’t remove you entirely.” Tina Grand, president of The Bishop Foundation Board, sat at the foot of the table. The sixty-something woman was businesslike in her dark blue pantsuit and white shell blouse. Her cap of salt-and-pepper hair framed her round, pale cheeks. “We’d find another, more suitable position for you.”
Seriously?
Symone braced the tips of her fingers on the thin black frames of her glasses. She swept her eyes over the four women and three men of the board in addition to her stepfather and vice chair, Paul Kayple, and her administrative assistant, Eleanor Press. To her left, Paul looked as shocked and outraged as she felt. Okay, so it wasn’t just her. This really was a waking nightmare. On her right, Eleanor looked like she was going to sob. She could go ahead. Symone would remain dry-eyed. Tears were a luxury she didn’t have time for.
Masking her anger, she held the board president’s cool gray eyes. “Please explain to me again exactly why the board believes a confidence vote is necessary.”
Aaron Menéndez sat at Tina’s right. Of average height and build, he was in his early sixties, Symone thought. “As we explained, we’ve been unhappy with the way you and your mother, God rest her soul, have been running the foundation since your father’s passing. God rest his soul. You’ve become predictable.”
Symone swallowed to clear the lump of grief—and anger?—from her throat. Her father, Langston Bishop, had inherited The Bishop Foundation from his father, Frederick. Langston had died almost six years earlier after a long battle with pancreatic cancer. She’d just buried her mother less than three months ago. Odette Bishop’s death after a heart attack had surprised Symone and her stepfather, Paul.
None of the current board members had served with her father, but the foundation’s records showed its growth under his skillful leadership. He’d been larger than life, not just to his doting daughter and adoring wife, but to everyone who came into contact with him. His board would never have even thought about removing him.
But her board seems to have been making plans to replace her.
Symone drew a breath to calm her voice. The large, shadowy boardroom smelled like a coffee shop. She could use another cup herself. “Under my family’s leadership—my grandfather’s, my father’s, my mother’s and now mine—the foundation has been steady and successful. Is that the predictability you find so concerning?”
Julie Yeoh was midway through the second year of her first three-year term with the board. Her cool pastel business suit emphasized her large dark eyes and chin-length ebony hair. She’d taken the chair to the right of Eleanor. “The foundation’s funds would benefit from taking more risks with its investments and the projects that are approved.”
Symone worked to mask her surprise. “The foundation’s accounts are secure while they’re making a strong return on investment. Do you want me to take risks for risk’s sake?”
Did the board think the foundation’s investments were a game? Not on her watch.
Tina raised her right hand, palm out in a Stop motion. “No one’s denying that the foundation’s finances are solid, but for some time now, we have thought they could be better.”
“How much time?” Symone asked.
Tina shrugged. “What does it matter? A few years?”
Keisha Lord, the third-longest-serving board member, leaned into the table. Her shoulder-length micro braids swung forward, half obscuring her elegant profile. Her ruby red A-lined dress complimented her slender figure. “‘They could be better’ is subjective. What level of return on investment are you aiming for? Remember, this is a nonprofit foundation.”
It was as though Keisha had read her mind. What was the board’s goal?
Kitty Lymon shrugged almost flirtatiously from her seat beside Paul. Her cotton candy pink figure-hugging dress clashed with her deep red mane. “The more money the foundation has, the more money it could award in grants.”
Symone couldn’t argue with that logic, but there was always a flip side. “Conversely, if our investments lose money, we’d have less money to award.” She addressed Tina. “I respect your business background. You and Aaron both have MBAs, but my background is in financial investments. Before returning to the foundation, I worked for one of the most prestigious investment firms in the country. The foundation has a strong balance of growth and middle investments.”
The newest board members, Xander Fence and Wesley Bragg, hadn’t contributed to the discussion. Both men had been appointed to the board a little more than six months ago. Paul had recommended Wesley. He and the lawyer had been friends for years. Like her stepfather, Wesley was in his sixties, and of average height and build.
A former board member had recommended Xander as her replacement. The banking executive was in his fifties and was also of average height and build. But whereas Xander was like a daytime drama star with his salon-styled, wavy golden blond hair and striking green eyes, Wesley’s salt-and-pepper hair and dark blue eyes seemed as somber as the evening news.
Tina sniffed. “Yes, we’re aware of your background in investments, but we’re still concerned with the foundation’s management style. The foundation has been stagnating for the past six years. The records support our assessment.”
Symone once again searched the faces around the table. Xander and Wesley avoided eye contact, as did Kitty and Aaron. Tina, Julie and Keisha looked at her expectantly. “You’ve stated the board has had these concerns for years. Why didn’t you speak up sooner?”
Tina looked like the question caught her off guard. What had she expected Symone to do, accept their decision without debate? Not a chance.
Tina stared at the pen she was rotating between her hands. “Frankly, Symone, Aaron and I had hoped, over time, you and your mother would update your investment strategy.”
Symone didn’t believe Tina’s answer. For now, she’d put a pin in it. She directed her next question to Aaron, who was still avoiding her eyes. “Are you unsatisfied with the investment company? We’ve had them for decades. Do you think it’s time for a change?”
Aaron looked up, waving his hands. “We’ll leave that decision to you. You’re the one who has experience with investment companies.”
They were frustrated with her investment decisions but entrusted her to choose an investment partner. Were they gaslighting her? “You’ve said you have concerns not only about the investment strategy but also our application screening. What types of projects do you believe we should be pursuing?”
Tina repeated her deer-in-the-headlights impersonation. “Our feedback isn’t meant to be taken literally. We don’t have specific projects in mind, but we feel the ones you’ve approved have been predictable. I hate to keep using that word. It’s our strong belief that the foundation should be leading the way in health care innovations. We shouldn’t be following the industry. The projects we support should be more imaginative.”
Symone’s cheeks filled with angry heat. “This is my family’s foundation. My grandfather established it before I was born.”
Tina inclined her head. “And, as you know, he structured the foundation in a way that allows the board to have a guardianship role over the administration. We have the authority to replace the chair if we believe management is destructive to the foundation.”
Symone unclenched her teeth. “Are you accusing my leadership of being destructive to my family’s legacy?”
Tina angled her chin upward. “Yes, I’m afraid we are.”
Eleanor seemed stricken. Paul appeared concerned. Aaron, Wesley and Xander continued to stare at the conference table. Keisha and Julie looked troubled. Kitty returned her regard as though trying to read her mind. Symone hoped she couldn’t. This wasn’t a good time for others to have access to her thoughts. People’s feelings would be hurt.
She met each board member’s eyes. “Are you all in agreement?”
“I’m not.” Keisha waved her hand. “Like Tina, I’ve served on the board for less than five years. We’ve never worked with Langston Bishop, but I’ve heard he was a dynamic force.” She smiled at Symone. “He must’ve been to rebuild the foundation’s investments after several of the funds collapsed. But we’re not in a rebuilding state anymore. We don’t have to take risks to save the foundation. Under Symone’s leadership, the funds are secure. That’s what matters.”
Julie tucked a swatch of her ebony hair behind her ear. “You make a good point, Keisha, but do we want to be stagnant? I mean, I wouldn’t mind seeing a proposal that showed us other options. I’m not in favor of a confidence vote, but maybe it’s time for a shakeup.”
Keisha and Kitty nodded, murmuring their agreement.
Symone shook off her irritation. “Xander? Wesley? I haven’t heard from either of you. I realize you’re the newest board members, but you have a right to be heard. What do you think?”
Xander adjusted the dark blue shirt he wore beneath his smoke gray jacket. As usual, he’d forgone a tie. “The foundation is solid, but perhaps Julie makes a good point. We all might benefit from seeing a projection of what the account would look like with more aggressive funds.”
Wesley shrugged. “I don’t need to see that, but if the others want it, I won’t stand in their way.”
Symone swept her arm around the table. “If you wanted to see funding options, you could’ve requested that during any of our previous monthly board meetings. There’s no need to bring up a confidence vote.”
Tina gave a tight smile. “Let’s see your proposal first.”
Symone considered the board president. What was this really about? She stood. “I’ll submit the proposal prior to the next board meeting.”
That gave her three weeks to learn the real reason behind the confidence vote. In the interim, there was one thing she knew for certain. The board would have to wrestle the foundation’s leadership from her cold, dead hands.
Jeremiah reread the printout of The Bishop Foundation chair’s bio at his desk late Thursday morning. He didn’t know why he was reading it a third time. Or why he’d printed it, much less as a color copy. Yes, preliminary client information helped assess possible threats to her security. But he’d already made notes for that. Besides, she wasn’t the target. Her stepfather was.
Still... Symone Bishop. He’d committed her cool, tan features to memory. There was something in her chocolate brown eyes behind those black-rimmed glasses that made him want to take a second, third and possibly fourth look at her.
“What’s really keeping you from taking this assignment?” Malachi appeared in his doorway.
After their run, the brothers had gone to their respective homes to prepare for work. Malachi preferred business casual clothes. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt and left his dark brown jacket—a match to his slacks—in his office. The sage green tie was a nice splash of color. Was that Grace’s influence?
Like his brothers, Jerry favored darker colors for his wardrobe, but he refused to wear a tie.
Jeremiah looked away from Symone’s image to consider his middle brother’s question. “I’m not taking the case because I’m leaving. Really.” He hated himself for lying to his brother, but he was too ashamed to tell the truth. He couldn’t bring himself to tell them—to tell anyone—that he was walking away because he didn’t trust his abilities to keep people safe anymore; not after what happened with the teenage rising pop star.
Malachi took a drink from his black coffee mug. The cursive white text on the side of the mug that faced Jeremiah read, “I’m not anti-social. I’m just not user friendly.” It had been a joint birthday gift from him and Hezekiah and was one of the few times he and his eldest brother had agreed on anything.
“Tell me about your plans for your consulting business.” Malachi gestured toward him with his mug.
There were obstacles between him and his brother, literally. A couple of chairs had been pulled out from under the conversation table. Boxes of personnel and case files and personal protection supplies were stacked halfway to his desk. To the layperson, his office appeared to be a disaster. His brothers didn’t nag him as long as he agreed to keep his door closed during client visits.
Jeremiah leaned back against his black cloth executive chair. Thinking about walking away from his family and going out on his own made his heart dive into his stomach. It was the kind of feeling you got when you think you’re making a mistake. He shrugged it off and dug up a cocky grin. “Like I said, a friend of mine is a manager at a fitness club.”
“Adam, right?” Malachi took another sip of coffee.
“That’s right.” Jeremiah had known Adam since high school. “He sold the club’s owner on having me teach self-defense courses a couple of times a week to start. We’ll see how it goes from there. But I’m also going to offer one-on-one fitness training.”
“Sounds exciting.” Malachi watched Jeremiah closely. “I’m sure you’re going to be successful. You’re really good at marketing. You’ve done ours for years, and the results have always been great. But I still don’t understand why you’re leaving.”
Jeremiah forced himself not to squirm on his chair. “I thought you’d be happier about my leaving. You’re always complaining about how much Zeke and I argue. Now you’ll have the peace you’re always asking for.”
Malachi gave a dry laugh. “Why do you always go on the offensive when Zeke and I ask you anything personal? Or ask you anything, full stop? We’re just trying to understand why you’re leaving, and don’t say it’s because you’re tired of arguing. No one buys that.”
Hezekiah’s laughter sounded before he appeared in the doorway beside Malachi. “That’s the truth.”
The eldest Touré brother slipped past Malachi and strode toward Jeremiah’s desk. Along the way, he nudged the chairs back beneath the conversation table and pushed the boxes of files aside with his black oxfords.
Jeremiah swallowed a sigh. “Am I the only one with work to do?” His tone was sour. He winced, realizing he sounded like Hezekiah.
“No.” Hezekiah collected the stack of files from one of the visitor’s chairs, turning to place them on the table behind him. He glanced at Malachi. “Don’t let the chaos and disaster scare you. It’s Jer.”
Despite his visible doubts, Malachi stepped forward. He cleared the chair beside Hezekiah’s. “If all your files are on your floor and furniture, are your cabinets and drawers empty?”
Jeremiah had heard that question before. He closed the folder, covering the printout of Symone’s bio. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”
Hezekiah set his left ankle on his right knee. He’d also left his suit jacket in his office. Still, in his sapphire shirt and matching iron gray pants and tie, he looked like a model for a business magazine cover. “I’m not going to speak for Mal, but I want to know what’s chasing you out of the company. And as Mal said, don’t try to feed us the line about not wanting to argue with me anymore.”
Malachi placed his right ankle on his left knee. His eyes, so like their mother’s, bore into Jeremiah’s. “You know that old saying, be careful what you wish for. I left the company—left Columbus—almost six years ago in part because you guys were arguing all the time. But I came back because I missed you pains in the neck. In the end, it’s about family, the good, the annoying and the ugly.”
Jeremiah rested his hands on the arms of his chair. “Look, I’m sorry you guys expected a different answer from the one I’m giving you, but it’s the truth.” Lying wasn’t getting any easier. His stomach muscles were tied in knots.
Hezekiah narrowed his eyes. “Is this because of that pop star assignment?”
Malachi frowned. “Zeke—”
Hezekiah glanced at Malachi on his left. “We need to stop tiptoeing around this.” He returned his attention to Jeremiah. “Is that the reason you think you need to leave?”
Jeremiah felt his fists tighten around his chair’s arms. He forced his grip to loosen. “I just guarded Melba Stall, remember? I know I’m good at what I do. There’s no problem there.”
Guarding Melba had been a piece of cake. First, Melba hadn’t been a rebellious teen. She’d been cooperative and taken the situation seriously. Second, she’d lived in a secure senior residence where there were security procedures and guards in place. All he’d needed to do was staff up with a few Touré Security Group consultants, including himself. He’d gone undercover as Melba’s godson, visiting from out of town.
Hezekiah’s coal black eyes were still clouded with doubt. “Jer, The Bishop Foundation’s a very important new client. They asked for you based on Grace’s recommendation. We need you on this.”
Jeremiah dragged his left hand over his tight dark curls. “All of our consultants are our best. I’ve trained them myself and oversee their annual recertification.”
Touré Security Group’s annual personal consultant recertification was intense. He’d created the original course with input from his parents and brothers. Each year, they reevaluated it for improvement. It was designed to cull people who didn’t take the responsibility of their clients’ safety with the gravity it deserved. Testing categories included physical and mental fitness, medical care and weapons training.
Malachi raised a hand, palm out. “We know, Jer. We’re not questioning your commitment to the program. And we know we’re going to need more than one consultant to guard this client, but you’re our best. Our client expects you.”
Jeremiah shook his head. “That won’t be possible. We agreed my last day would be July eighteenth, next Friday.” And he really needed this fresh start. He needed time to clear his head before he began his business. “Have you guys started interviewing the consultants I suggested to replace me as director of personal security?” He thought it would get easier to say that over time. It hadn’t.
Malachi ignored his question. Not a good sign. “You haven’t committed to a start date at the gym.”
Hezekiah caught and held Jeremiah’s eyes. “Come to the meeting in the morning—”
Jeremiah interrupted him. “Of course I’ll be at the meeting. I need that information to brief the teams.”
Hezekiah shook his head. “No. Come to the meeting with an open mind. Hear directly from our client before making your final decision. You might agree you’re perfect to lead this detail.”
Jeremiah looked from Hezekiah’s intent scrutiny to Malachi’s watchful regard. “Fine.” Anything to get them to drop the subject. “I’ll keep an open mind at the meeting. But afterward, if I believe our consultants can handle this without me, I’m leaving on schedule.”
“Fair enough.” Hezekiah sprang to his feet as though afraid Jeremiah would reconsider his decision.
Malachi seemed to be searching for something else to say. Jeremiah returned his regard with as much self-assurance as he could collect.
Finally, Malachi stood, stepping back toward the door. “Thanks, Jer.”
Jeremiah managed a half smile. “You got it.”
As soon as his brothers disappeared beyond his doorway, his smile faded. He opened the folder. Symone’s image stared up at him. His consultants could handle this case without him. Besides, she wasn’t the target. “You’re better off without me.”
