Bodyguard Reunion. Beverly Long

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       Chapter 2

      “That’s...not necessary,” she said.

      Her delivery was clipped. He’d hit a nerve.

      It should have felt better. “Tell me about the death threat,” he said.

      She tucked a wayward piece of hair behind her delicate ear, a gesture so familiar that it was as if he’d seen it yesterday rather than eight years ago. She looked tired. And when she’d rounded the corner of the couch, he’d seen the slightest hint of a limp, as if her scraped leg might be sore.

      All of that pulled at his gut and he reminded himself of all the reasons that he had to be mad at her.

      “There have been three letters,” she said.

      “Three,” he repeated. “I thought you said threat. Singular.”

      She waved a hand dismissively and he noticed that she wasn’t wearing any rings. Eight years ago, she’d told him she was marrying another. And like some idiot, he’d set up an alert on his computer, so that when it happened, he could rub his own damn nose in the happy news. And sure enough, four months after he’d stormed out of her father’s house, his computer had practically blown up with news media reporting on the marriage of Juliana Cambridge to Bryson Wagoner.

      After that night, he’d stopped looking, stopped hoping that she was going to magically wake up one day and decide that she’d been a fool.

      He’d been the fool.

      “Three letters,” she said, bringing him back. “I think they’re all from the same person.”

      “Is that what the police say?” he asked, looking over at Barry, who was back to wringing his hands together.

      “They can’t say conclusively,” Barry said. “But there is a similarity in tone between the documents. But they were postmarked in different cities.”

      “What cities?”

      “Boston, New York and Vegas,” Barry said. “In that order. All arriving within the last month.”

      “Yet you still decided that attending a conference in Vegas was a good idea?” he asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. This was probably why contracting new business was generally up to Rico. Diplomacy came naturally to him. Royce had to work very hard at it.

      Jules—he could not think of her as JC—sat up straighter on the couch. She was wearing a light blue sweater and a matching blue-and-black-checked skirt with black tights. She looked very much like the pretty young girl he’d taken to dinner that first night, except then she’d been animated and now she was controlled, her somewhat pointed chin almost rigid.

      “The last one arrived in our New York office just yesterday, after we’d already arrived here.”

      “Yet you stayed.”

      “We’re a major sponsor of the conference. I’m part of a panel presentation tomorrow and then speaking at the awards dinner two days from now.”

      That would be Thursday. “How big of an event?”

      “Couple hundred.”

      Lots of people to watch. Lots of potential threats. “Do you have any of the letters with you?” he asked.

      She shook her head. Barry stood up. “I have copies,” he said. The man picked up a briefcase that had been on the floor, leaning against a wall. He opened it and pulled out papers.

      “This is the first one. Like I said, from Boston.”

      Royce took it. One sheet. It appeared the sender had cut letters or portions of words out of a magazine and strung them together in a simple poem.

      Pills and potions

      A witch’s brew.

      Danger comes to those

      Who lay claim to the stew.

      He took the second sheet. Same look, a different four-line verse.

      Those who cause death

      Must be made to pay.

      I will have justice

      And ensure He has his say.

      Was H capped in the fourth line for a reason? Or had the sender simply not been able to locate a lowercase H?

      A cap suggested importance. Or respect. Ensure He has his say. Ensure who had their say? A tightness settled СКАЧАТЬ