Second-Chance Bodyguard
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Patricia Sargeant
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Chapter 1
“Ms. Archer, I’m Hezekiah Touré of Touré Security Group.” Hezekiah spoke gently, leaning toward the grieving widow. “My brothers and I are so very sorry for your loss.”
Jayne Archer huddled on a scarlet-cushioned dark wood chair in the front row of the large Elizabethan-style salon at Eternal Wings Funeral Home Friday evening. The carpet was an abstract navy-and-scarlet pattern. The cloud-white walls were framed in dark wood trim. Family and friends who cared about the middle-aged woman surrounded her in the stuffy room, holding her hand, rubbing her back, patting her arm. A hymn, “Blessed Assurance,” played softly on the funeral home’s sound system. The comforting scent of lavender floated around him.
The wake for Jayne’s deceased husband, Dean Archer, had just ended. Hezekiah had found it emotional but inspiring and at times joyful. Random descriptives from family members’ and friends’ remembrances echoed in his mind: honorable, caring, professional and corny. The few times Hezekiah had met with the older man, Dean had struck him as being all those things, as well as having a quick, if corny, wit.
“Thank you.” Jayne raised her head. Her voice was raw from crying. Her large brown eyes were pink. Fat teardrops rained down her round chestnut cheeks. “Touré Security.” She frowned as though searching for a memory. “Dean mentioned he’d hired your agency to provide security for the company. He’d been looking forward to working with you.”
He smiled at her kind words. “My brothers and I had been looking forward to working with him, too.”
Hezekiah’s two younger brothers—Malachi and Jeremiah—were his equal partners in the family-owned security company their deceased parents had founded more than thirty years ago in Ohio’s capital city of Columbus. They’d been shocked and saddened to learn of their newest client’s sudden death a week earlier. Hezekiah had offered to attend the wake to represent their company and family.
None of them had attended a funeral since their mother had died two years earlier, three months after their father. He’d appreciated the expressions of sympathy from vendors and industry colleagues, as well as from friends, neighbors and their security contractors. He hoped to provide the same comfort to Dean Archer’s widow.
Hezekiah pulled a business card from his black faux-leather wallet. “Ms. Archer, please call us if there’s anything we can do to help you.”
She accepted his card. Her smile trembled at the edges. “Thank you.”
Hezekiah returned his wallet to the front pocket of his black suit pants. With a final goodbye and condolences, he turned to leave the stuffy salon. It was crowded with other mourners waiting patiently to express their sympathy. Many were drying tears, giving comfort, receiving comfort or all three. The scene brought back painful memories of his parents’ funerals. Straightening his shoulders, he maneuvered his way out of the room and toward the business’s exit.
“It was decent of you to come.” The voice originated from somewhere behind him in the funeral parlor’s lobby. Detective Eriq Duster, a forty-plus-year veteran of the Columbus Division of Police, approached him. Like Hezekiah, the homicide detective wore a tailored black suit with a bright white shirt. But instead of a broad black tie like Hezekiah’s, Eriq wore a simple black bolo. The bronze slide clip was shaped like a trout.
Hezekiah retraced his steps to meet the older man halfway. “I’d hoped to get a chance to speak with you privately. I’m so sorry for your loss, Eriq. Dean told us you’d been friends for decades.”
“Since high school.” The wrinkles creasing the sixty-something’s dark features seemed a little deeper. “He was like a brother. We were both only children. My late wife introduced him to Jayne. I wouldn’t have made it through losing my Addie without them.”
Hezekiah felt Eriq’s sorrow like an expanding balloon, pressing against his chest. He searched his mind for words of comfort. “He spoke highly of you. I could tell he valued your friendship. Thank you again for recommending my brothers and me to his company. We appreciate your referral.”
Having a veteran homicide detective recommend their security consulting company was a tremendous honor.
Eriq’s smile didn’t quite lift the clouds of sorrow from his jaded brown eyes. “You guys have earned it. Your parents would be proud of the way you’ve built on their legacy.”
“Thank you.” Hezekiah felt like a fraud accepting the compliment. How could his parents be proud of him when he’d dragged the business they’d created to the brink of financial ruin?
Eriq reached out to pat Hezekiah’s shoulder. The detective’s throat muscles worked as he swallowed. “You’re welcome.” His voice was husky. He dropped his arm. “I’m going to check on Jayne. Thanks again for coming.” He turned toward the large salon.
Hezekiah stopped him. “Eriq, let us know if there’s anything we can do to help. If you want to talk or anything, please call us.”
Eriq’s smile was a little more natural. “Will do.”
Hezekiah watched him disappear into the salon before he turned toward the funeral home’s exit. He’d left his black SUV in the adjacent parking lot. Pushing his way through the glass-and-metal door, he paused at the top of the five-step entrance. He closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath, catching the scents of lilacs, fresh-cut grass and automotive fuel. He needed to break the bonds of grief that had shackled him since he’d walked into Dean Archer’s wake. It had brought back the pain of his parents’ deaths, which he’d shared only with his brothers.
His eyes snapped open. A prickly sensation crawled down his spine. Someone was watching him. He was sure of it. It was an unsettling feeling. From his vantage point at the top of the steps, he scanned both sides of the street. He stared at the dozen or so pedestrians on the sidewalk below. No one looked back. Most strode past at a brisk pace. A few meandered in groups, deep in conversation. He tracked the cars rolling down the avenue. Maybe the feeling was from an incidental encounter, a casual glance from a passerby. But it had felt like more than that. Hezekiah took another deep breath. The tightness in his back and shoulders had burrowed in. His black cap-toe oxfords tapped gently on the concrete as he jogged down the steps.
He strode the short distance over the sidewalk before turning left into the funeral home’s black asphalt parking lot. The disturbing sensation of being watched continued. He glanced over his shoulder and around the nearby perimeter. Nothing. Hezekiah frowned. His father had often quoted to him a line from Joseph Heller’s Catch-22: “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not after you.” So true.
Hezekiah pulled his keyless car entry device from his right pants pocket and pointed it toward his SUV. Nothing happened. Curious. He continued forward and pressed the button again. No reaction. He knew he’d activated his car alarm before leaving the parking lot. Even if he hadn’t, his alarm was set to automatically activate. Had his keyless-entry battery died?
He stopped beside his car and tested the driver-side door handle. It was unlocked.
What the...
His body chilled. He circled his vehicle, scanning every inch of it—body, windows, tires, muffler. Everything. He stopped beside the passenger door. A large manila envelope sat on the front passenger seat. He grabbed it, looking around the lot again. A few people were trickling out of the funeral parlor, but no one paid attention to him.
He opened the envelope and saw two eight-and-a-half-by-eleven sheets of paper. He pulled them out. The first was a plain white sheet. Two words were written in black marker. “You’re next.” The second sheet was a printout of a black-and-white image of him getting into his car that morning. His blood went cold. His father had been right: he may be paranoid, and someone was out to get him.
“Earth to Celeste. Come in, Celeste.”
Celeste Jarrett dragged her eyes from her laptop Friday evening. Anything to encourage her business partner to get to the point. Her attention settled on the other woman seated at her office’s conversation table across the midsize square room. “What?”
Nanette Nichols, part owner of Jarrett & Nichols Investigations, rolled her big brown eyes. Beneath her shimmery silver shell blouse, her chest rose and fell in a sigh of disappointment. “I’ve been calling you for five minutes.”
“No, you haven’t.” Celeste’s tone was as dry as dust.
Nanette continued as though Celeste hadn’t spoken. “If I’m the one planning my wedding, why are you the one having bride brain?”
Celeste sent a pointed look to the stacks of champagne-colored envelopes spread across her conversation table’s blond-wood surface. “Why are you filling out your wedding invitations in my office?”
Nanette shrugged. “So we can keep each other company.”
“Hmm.” Celeste didn’t recall saying she needed company. She returned her attention to her computer screen. “My brain hasn’t checked out. I’m doing research for my case.”
Nanette continued shuffling through the invitations. The event was less than three months away. Nanette’s boyfriend of two years, Warren Collingsworth, worked in the marketing department of one of the top health insurance companies in the country. With Nanette’s blessing, he’d applied for a promotion, which would mean relocating from Columbus, Ohio, to San Diego. As soon as he’d been offered the position, he’d proposed, and Nanette had been in her element, planning their San Diego destination wedding.
Celeste was happy for Nanette. Warren was perfect for her. But she was going to miss the other woman. They’d been patrol officers and then homicide detectives together with the Columbus Division of Police for a little more than a year. They’d taken a year to plan their investigations agency, which had opened almost three years ago. Nanette insisted Celeste could visit the couple in San Diego whenever she wanted, but it wouldn’t be the same.
“Is this the case with the widow of the security-company owner who doesn’t believe her husband committed suicide?” Nanette tapped her professionally manicured ebony-tipped nails on the table. It was a tell that she was biding her time before changing the subject. Nanette could only go so long without being the center of attention. That was probably one of the reasons they got along. Celeste preferred being in the background.
“Uh-huh.” Celeste only half listened as she scrolled through her internet search result links. “Meryl Bailey, Arthur Bailey’s widow. He’d founded Buckeye Bailey Security.” She’d agreed to take the case after meeting the grieving widow yesterday morning.
“So? What do you think? Did he kill himself—or did someone do him in?” Nanette had wrapped up her final case two weeks ago yesterday. She continued to come into the office, allegedly so they could keep each other company while Warren was at work. But after nine years of friendship, Celeste knew the truth. Nanette needed attention. Celeste liked Nanette, but her business partner was high maintenance.
Celeste lifted her eyes from her screen again. She folded her arms under her chest and contemplated Nanette. The other woman looked photo-session ready. Her perfect makeup emphasized her wide, light brown eyes in her warm brown face. A wealth of long, shiny raven tresses framed her oblong face and pooled on her shoulders. Celeste was doing well when she remembered her lipstick.
“I don’t know. He was under a lot of stress.” Celeste counted some of the reasons for his tension on her fingers. “His business wasn’t doing well. He’d lost another big account. And he was behind on his loan payments.”
Nanette affixed a clear mailing label to another envelope. “Despite all those strikes against him, his widow doesn’t think he committed suicide because he’s Catholic?”
Celeste shrugged. Her job was to gather the facts, not debate her clients. “She said her husband had been afraid of losing his immortal soul. She claims he would’ve declared bankruptcy before he’d commit suicide. And she’s adamant he wouldn’t have wanted her to find his dead body. He wouldn’t have wanted to upset her.”
Meryl had indeed been very agitated when she’d found her husband in his car, locked in the garage, with the engine still running.
“Then who does she think killed him?” Nanette held an envelope in one hand and a stamp in the other.
Celeste reached for a sheet from her writing tablet. She flipped it so Nanette could see both sides. “It’s a long list...mostly competitor companies, employees, clients, vendors and a few relatives.”
Nanette gaped. “It’s sad that she thinks so many people would want her husband dead. Just sad.”
“I know.” Celeste set the list aside. Her internet searches focused on queries for connections that might reveal a common link. She was starting with Buckeye Bailey Security’s competitor companies.
“So, have you decided who you’re bringing as your plus-one to my wedding yet?” Nanette made it sound like an idle question.
Celeste knew that with Nanette, there were no idle questions. “For the half a billionth time, I’m not bringing anyone to your wedding. I’m traveling on my own. I will entertain myself on my own. Then I will leave on my own. I’m a capable, responsible person who can fend for herself, as you well know from our long and illustrious association. Don’t worry about me.”
Nanette gave another long-suffering sigh. “What about that hot security consultant you’ve been dating?”
Celeste gave her a second look. “How do you know he’s hot?”
Nanette rolled her eyes. “I was curious about the man who finally convinced you to break your vow of celibacy, so I looked him up. His photo on his company website is H-O-T hot.”
Celeste returned to her research. “We’re not dating.” And she was still celibate. “We had coffee and lunch.”
She’d invited him to coffee on a Sunday, after which he’d asked her to lunch later that week. Both times, she’d remembered her lipstick. And she’d enjoyed his company. He’d been interesting, intelligent, charming and surprisingly funny. Apparently, she hadn’t impressed him the same way.
He’d called her after their lunch date. It was as though he’d known the exact moment she’d return to her office and settle behind her desk. Her heart had skipped a beat when she’d recognized his number. And then he’d explained why he was calling.
“Celeste, I don’t think we’re compatible. I enjoyed working with you during The Bishop Foundation case, but I don’t think our personalities are the right fit for anything more. I wish you all the best.”
She’d been too stunned to ask him what was wrong with her. That had been seven weeks ago today. It was still a sore spot.
Nanette tsked. “Why are the good-looking ones so hard to nail down?”
Celeste blinked. “What are you talking about? Warren’s very handsome and he’s been yours since the day you met two years ago. You’re both lucky.”
“Yes, we are.” Nanette sighed. Celeste could almost see the stars in her eyes. “I’m excited about our future together, even though I know it’ll be hard work starting an investigative agency on my own.”
There she goes again. The lingering sentence. The side-eye. It was emotional extortion.
“You’ll get plenty of references from past clients—and me. And you won’t have to worry about money. You’ve got savings, and I’ll be sending you regular payments for your share of Jarrett and Nichols.”
Nanette set aside another completed invitation. “Or we could relocate Jarrett and Nichols to San Diego. Have you given that any more thought?”
Celeste sighed. “I’ve already said I don’t want to move to San Diego. I’ve lived in Columbus for more than thirteen years. I don’t want to uproot and start over in a new city where I won’t know anyone.”
“You’ll know me and Warren.”
“And I’m sure Warren would love to have me over every night for dinner and just to hang out.”
Nanette shook her head as she sealed another envelope with tape. “All I’m saying is that you don’t have anything to keep you here. What do you have to lose if you come with us?”
“That’s not the compelling argument you think—” Celeste’s hand froze on her touch pad. Her lips parted in surprise.
The headline for one of her search results triggered alarm bells in her head. “Owner of Archer Family Realty Remembered.” Quickly scanning the article, Celeste learned Dean Archer had died unexpectedly of a heart attack in his office two weeks after Meryl Bailey’s husband allegedly committed suicide.
And that had been less than two months after losing Dean Archer’s contract—to Touré Security Group. She caught her breath.
Could that be their missing link?
“Earth to Celeste. Come in, Celeste,” Nanette’s voice sang out.
Celeste slowly rose from her seat. She held tenuously to the dots she was just starting to link. “I may have found our connection.”
Nanette’s brown eyes widened. “Did you find a motive for Arthur Bailey’s murder?”
“Possibly.” She looked down at her computer. “But I’ll have to speak with Zeke Touré.”
Her heart flipped with nerves—or perhaps nervous excitement?
“How was the wake?” Kevin Apple greeted Hezekiah from his seat behind his U-shaped gray-laminate reception desk Friday evening.
In the three months the twentysomething had been the Touré Security Group’s administrative assistant, he’d proven himself to be an asset to the agency. He was professional, intelligent, motivated and personable. Kevin had been up front about his goal of becoming a personal security consultant. Jerry had put him on a training schedule. They’d have to find a new admin soon. In the meantime, Hezekiah was enjoying the organization and efficiencies Kevin brought to the agency.
Kevin also had a bit of hero worship for Jerry. He’d recently gotten a similar haircut, and Hezekiah could swear his youngest brother also had the same bronze pullover and charcoal slacks that clothed the admin’s gangly frame. He and Malachi had bets on when the two men would come to work wearing the same outfit.
“It was nice. Thanks.” Hezekiah’s fingers flexed on the manila envelope. He loosened his tie.
A movement in his peripheral vision brought his attention to the hallway that led to the agency’s offices and conference rooms.
“Zeke.” Malachi came to an abrupt stop beside Jeremiah in the reception area. He’d loosened his tie and rolled the sleeves of his ice-blue shirt midway up his forearms. “We thought you were going home after the service.”
Hezekiah glanced at Kevin before responding. “I want to check on a couple of things before the weekend.”
Malachi and Jeremiah exchanged a look. Hezekiah’s tension eased. The gesture showed his brothers understood his subtle message. They sank into two of the four overstuffed slate gray armchairs that followed the reception area’s perimeter. Malachi set his black briefcase on the floor beside his armchair and laid his steel gray jacket, a match to his pants, over its arm. Jeremiah dropped his tan satchel between his feet.
Kevin’s dark brown eyes twinkled with humor. A wry smile creased his thin brown face. “That’s my cue to leave.” He tugged his own tan satchel—a match to Jeremiah’s—onto his shoulder. “I’m meeting my girlfriend for dinner. Have a good weekend.” He waved over his left shoulder as he pushed through the Plexiglas doors with his right hand.
“You, too.” Hezekiah echoed his brothers’ farewell as he watched the younger man disappear down the staircase.
“What’s up, Number One?” Jeremiah set his right ankle on his left knee. He was slim and fit, in a cobalt blue polo shirt and smoke gray slacks. “You’ve got that Houston-We-Have-a-Problem look.”
Hezekiah offered the envelope to Malachi, who was closest to him, as he lowered himself onto the third armchair. “I found this on the front passenger seat of my car after Dean’s wake.”
Malachi pulled the two sheets of paper from the envelope, holding them so Jeremiah could also see them. They skimmed the first page, then the second. Their heads snapped up. Their nearly identical dark eyes widened with shock, then narrowed with fury.
Jeremiah exploded out of his chair. “You found this in your car? How is that possible?”
“The perp must have used a key jammer.” Malachi’s voice was low and controlled. His eyes scanned the printout of the image of Hezekiah climbing into his car that morning. “It blocks the signal from your key fob, preventing your door from locking and your alarm from activating.”
Hezekiah gestured toward the papers in Malachi’s hands. “How close does someone have to be for the device to work?”
“A few feet.” Malachi moved his shoulders beneath his shirt. It was more of a flex to ease tension than a shrug.
Hezekiah looked between Malachi and Jeremiah. “Have either of you received any threats or suspicious packages or phone calls? Anything?”
“No.” They shook their heads, echoing each other.
“We would’ve told you.” Malachi lowered the printouts.
Hezekiah’s tension eased a bit more. The furrows across his brow disappeared. His brothers hadn’t been threatened. At least, not yet.
Jeremiah dragged both hands over his tight dark brown curls. He marched across the plush dark gray carpet to Kevin’s desk, then back to his armchair. His movements were stiff. “How could they have known you were going to Dean’s wake?”
“They couldn’t have.” Malachi sat back against the armchair. “They must’ve followed you from your house to our office and then to the wake. But how did they know where you lived? And what time you left for work?”
Jeremiah bit off a curse as he crossed back to Kevin’s desk. “They’ve been following you for a while.” He turned, pinning Hezekiah with an intense look. “Have you noticed a car or any vehicle hanging around?”
Hezekiah unfolded from his armchair. He shoved his hands into his front pants pockets and considered the carpet as he paced to the wall on the other side of Kevin’s desk. “No, I haven’t noticed any tails.”
“They must be good.” Jeremiah completed another round trip to his vacated armchair. “You would’ve noticed if someone had been following you.”
Pausing with his back to his brothers, Hezekiah pinched the bridge of his nose with the thumb, and index and second fingers of his right hand. The office suite had seemed comfortably cool when he’d first entered. It had quickly become stuffy and oppressive. The tension blanketing the room added to his anxiety. There were too many unanswered questions. His mind had tried to fill in the blanks during the half hour commute back to the office from the funeral parlor. Who was targeting him? Since when? Why? What was their next move?
Are my brothers in danger?
Hezekiah lowered his arm. “I haven’t noticed any tails, but I did sense someone watching me as I left the funeral parlor.” He turned to face his siblings. “I didn’t see anyone looking back at me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being surveilled.”
Jeremiah folded his arms across his chest. “That’s it. You’re staying with me until we figure this out.”
Malachi narrowed his eyes at his younger brother. “He should stay with me. My house has the most secure system.”
Jeremiah leaned toward Malachi. “I’m the one who’s a trained personal security guard. I can better protect him if he’s in physical danger.”
Hezekiah reared back at the idea of his younger brothers coming to his rescue. He was the eldest. He was supposed to protect them.
Are they in danger?
“Hold on.” He raised his arms. “First, Mal, your security system may be more advanced than ours because you’re into the techy gadgets, but we all have high-quality systems. Second, we’re all well trained in self-defense, thanks to Mom and Dad. I’ll be fine on my own.”
“That’s crap, Zeke.” Malachi’s measured tone was misleading. Hezekiah could feel Malachi’s temper emanating from him like a force field. “If this had happened to me or Jer, you’d relocate us to another country for our safety. Why are you any different?”
Because I’m the oldest.
Hezekiah dragged his hand over his clean-shaven head. “If I were to stay with you, I’d be putting you in danger. I’m not doing that.”
Jeremiah set his hands on his lean hips. “So you think you can handle this on your own? I’m sick of your lone-wolf act, Zeke. There are three of us. Let us help you.”
Malachi swept his arm out. “We don’t even know where the threat’s coming from.”
“I may be able to help with that.” Celeste Jarrett’s voice came out of his dreams and into his agency.
The ground shifted beneath Hezekiah’s feet. He turned toward the suite’s entrance. His eyes swept her lithe figure. She stood in the threshold, wearing her usual black slacks and T-shirt. Her wide hazel eyes pinned him in place. A cool smile curved her full, heart-shaped lips. “Hi, Zeke. Long time, no speak.”
He swallowed, easing his dry throat. Ouch.
