Bodyguard Reunion. Beverly Long

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      Royce had been very specific—she was not to leave the hotel. And she’d promised him. “I don’t know,” she hedged. “It’s complicated.”

      “Isn’t everything?” Charity said, sounding resigned. “Never mind. I’ll figure something out. I’ll call you—”

      “Where are you?” JC interrupted. She just knew that if she failed Charity this one time, the woman might never call her again. She could not risk that.

      Charity rattled off an address. JC scribbled it down, then read it back.

      Since the day she’d discovered her dead mother’s diary and realized that everything she’d believed to be true might not be, she’d had so many questions.

      And Charity might be the only one with the answers. “I’m on my way,” JC said. “We’ll talk when I get there.”

      * * *

      Royce called Trey from the car and got him started on the contract. Then he swung by his apartment and packed enough dress shirts and slacks to get him through a couple days. He added a few more casual things and his toiletries. Before zipping up the bag, he added boxes of ammunition for the Glock he carried. He hoped like hell he wouldn’t need it, but he believed in being prepared.

      Then he was out the door a second time. When he got to Wingman Security, the paperwork was ready.

      “Rico is going to be impressed,” Trey said. “You wrapped this one up fast.”

      Royce debated telling Trey that he had known the client years before. The partners didn’t keep secrets from one another.

      But he just wasn’t ready to talk about it. Wasn’t ready to admit that seeing Jules had been a blow, almost taking his breath away. He folded the papers and stuffed them in his jacket pocket. “I’ll be at the Periwinkle for the next few days. Suite 1402.”

      “Nice digs,” Trey said. “Have you had a chance to check out the hotel?”

      “Some.” He’d looked on his way out. “Main entrance is on ground level. Both an elevator and an escalator gets you to the lobby, which is on the third floor. Elevator from there goes to floors four through forty. No key-card access required for any floor.” That meant that anybody could access any floor, which was not good. “On the fourteenth floor, there are six suites—three on each side of the elevator bay, which is in the middle of the hotel. Stairs at both ends of the hotel. Those do require a key card to open the door on any floor, including the first.” That was better news. That meant that people couldn’t simply wander in off the street, find the stairs and get anywhere in the hotel. “Hotel connects via overhead walkway to a separate three-story conference center.”

      “Sounds good,” Trey said. “Stay in touch.”

      “I will,” Royce said, and walked out the door.

      When he got back to the Periwinkle, he pointed at the spot where he wanted his car parked and gave the valet an extra hundred bucks to convince him. Nothing impeded a quick getaway like having to wait for a car to be brought around. That was a beginner mistake.

      He hadn’t even been a beginner when he’d started the agency four years ago. Not with his military experience.

      He liked to think that he always had a plan, a backup plan and an it’s-going-to-hell-fast plan.

      Twenty feet inside, remembering Jules’s love for dark chocolate, he extended his arm toward the sterling silver tray, only to draw it back fast. His job wasn’t to bring her candy. His job was to ensure that the CEO of Miatroth stayed safe while in Las Vegas.

      He got to the fourteenth floor, walked down the hallway and rapped on the door. And waited. Just like before. This was getting old.

      He knocked sharply, loud enough to make most everybody on the floor take a look out their peephole to see if it was their door getting assaulted.

      When that didn’t get a response, he yanked his phone out of his pocket, jabbed his index finger on Barry Wood’s telephone number and took a deep breath.

      “Hello, Royce,” Barry said.

      “Are you going to open the damn door?”

      “What?”

      “I’m standing in the hallway. I’ve been standing in the hallway for five minutes.”

      “Royce, I’m back in my room on the twelfth floor. JC had some work to do. I made sure she locked the door behind me when I left.”

      A chill spread across the back of his neck, as if someone had slapped an ice bag on it. “Call the front desk. Get somebody up here with a key. But text me her cell number first.”

      Royce hung up and waited for the text. It came and he dialed. He heard it ring, then switch to voice mail. He swallowed. “This is Royce,” he said fast. “Call me. Please, just call me.”

      He called twice more before Barry and somebody in a navy blue suit wearing an assistant manager name tag showed up. He waited impatiently while the man used his key to open the door. Then he was into the suite, moving swiftly through the rooms.

      She wasn’t there.

      Her clothes were still in the closet. Her sundry items still on the bathroom counter. Her stupid phone on the bedside table.

      No signs of struggle.

      He turned to the manager. “I need to know if Ms. Cambridge left this hotel and I need to know it five minutes ago.”

      “Can you describe her?”

      Right down to the heart-shaped tattoo on her left inside thigh. “Five-six. A hundred and twenty pounds. Dark hair, above the collar. Fair complexion. Very dark blue eyes. She’s...beautiful.”

      The man relayed the information to whoever he’d dialed on his cell phone. From what Royce could tell, the call got transferred a couple times. Finally, the man nodded. “She got into a cab about twenty minutes ago. By herself. Seemed fine. Gave the valet a five-dollar tip.”

      At these kind of places, the valet gave the cab driver the instructions. “Does he remember the address?”

      Royce waited impatiently while the question was asked again and answered. The manager nodded. “Bell Street and Howard Avenue.”

      Royce knew Vegas like the back of his hand. There could be absolutely no good reason for Jules to be in that part of town. Drugs were sold there. But not the kind you bought with your prescription card.

      Add in the guns and the human trafficking and you had all the things that tarnished Sin City’s sparkle.

      He was running for the elevator when he heard Barry call from behind.

      “What are you going to do?”

      “Whatever it takes,” he said.

       Chapter 4

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