Working Stiff

and shut the passenger door once she was out of it. McCallister, without another word, took his foot off the brake and continued along the rest of the circular drive leading back to the main entrance.

Bryn watched him go. When she turned, Liam was watching her with far too perceptive a gaze, but he merely said, “It’s getting chilly, Miss Davis. Shall we go in?”

She let Mr. French follow up the steps; he needed the exercise anyway. He let out a whuff of recognition once they were in the door, and immediately went in search of his dog bed, which Liam had set against the wall. “I can see you’ve had quite a day,” the butler—estate administrator—said. “I’ve kept some dinner warm for you. Mr. Fideli is waiting in the Small Room. If you’d prefer to change first, there are clothes in your closet upstairs. I took the liberty of buying a few things for you.”

Implying, of course, that what she’d brought wasn‘t suitable. She didn’t feel at all offended, because, well, he was right. She’d never bitch about someone with exquisite taste—and he almost certainly had that—buying her something new to wear that was out of her budget range. Liam wasn’t out for anything but upholding the good name of the McCallister trust. If Patrick had bought her clothes, that would have seemed … awkward.

“Sure,” she said. “Thank you, Liam. I’ll go change first.”

Mr. French, the traitor, stayed in his bed and watched her go upstairs alone. Funny how quickly he was adapting to the good life. Her dog, she decided, was quite the social climber. She wasn’t sure she was any different, and that made her feel a little dirty, somehow.

The things hanging in her closet were, predictably, amazing. She picked out a pale pink silk blouse and a pair of designer jeans and dressed quickly. When she walked into the Small Room, Joe Fideli—digging into an overflowing salad bowl—looked up and said, “I feel like I should get up or something. You look good, Bryn. Ladylike.”

“Don’t get up. You’ll make me feel worse than I already do about all this.” She got herself a plate and inspected the silver warming trays. Chicken, fish, salad, vegetables, dessert. It all looked amazing. She chose the salad and sat down with him, feeling hungrier than she expected. “What did McCallister tell you?”

“That the protocol inhibitor from Glickman is working,” he said. When she frowned at him, he waved his fork vaguely at the room around them. “Room’s shielded. You can say what you want in here. So, you met the crazy man. What’d you think?”

“He’s the most paranoid man I’ve ever seen not locked up.”

“Yeah, that was my feeling, too. He knows what he’s doing, though.”

“Yes, he does. Did my mystery guest call today?”

“No. He said he’ll take a week to look you over, so I didn’t expect it anyway. As soon as I get your apartment buttoned up, you’re out of here, and you don’t come back. In fact, you break ties with McCallister, at least in public. I’m going to be your shadow.”

“You don’t think our friendly supplier’s going to notice you and trace you back?”

“I’m not on record at Pharmadene, as I told you. I’m a ghost who gets paid in cash. Besides, I think he’ll think we’re really, really close.” He held up two fingers together, then crossed them. “You know.”

“You can’t do that. You’ve got a family.”

“Yeah, and Kylie won’t be too damn happy about my shacking up with a good-looking woman like you, but I’ll martyr myself for the cause.” He was, she realized, kidding her. “Seriously, Kylie’s good with it. She knows the drill. This isn’t our first rodeo, and she’s met you. It’s all good.”

“So our cover story is what, you’re sleeping with me on the side? God.” Bryn dropped her head into her hands. “If only my personal life were really this exciting.”

“Sorry?”

“That was also McCallister’s alibi for slipping off the chain today. I’m getting twice the reputation and none of the fun. I’m assuming that Pharmadene would also notice the sleepover.”

“Oh. Right. Well, Pharmadene doesn’t officially know me; I’m not on any corporate records. Pat pays his contractors off book. Shouldn’t present a paper trail for our mystery guest to follow.”

“My apartment …” Bryn bit her lip. “McCallister said you’d be making it safe.”

“Well, safer, anyway; it’s a cinder block box, only so good I can make the place. Tonight, you sleep here; this place is as solid as you can get. I’ll go do some midnight renovations: sensors, motion detectors, upgraded doors and windows. Your neighbors might be a little pissed off about the noise, but I can do it in a couple of hours. Pat’ll sign off on the expense, no problem.”

“Maybe I should go with you.”

“Trust me, you shouldn’t. I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder wondering whether somebody’s creeping up behind you while I’m installing windows. Because it’s all about me, obviously.” Fideli fell silent for a moment, then said, with studied casualness, “What happened to you today?”

“Me? Nothing. Why?”

“Tremors.” He pointed at her hand as she picked up her water glass. Sure enough, it was shaking. She could see the ripples spreading across the surface of the liquid, and quickly put the glass down. “I know Pat can be tough to take, but people don’t usually get PTSD from a day with him.”

McCallister was going to tell him anyway. She picked up her fork and ate a couple of leaves of lettuce drenched in heavenly balsamic dressing before she replied. “I got mugged. He beat me pretty bad. Broken nose, broken cheekbone, probably some broken ribs. It wasn’t McCallister’s fault. He was checking in for the room. I was walking the dog.”

Fideli absorbed that in silence. “Just a random mugging.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure about that.”

It was a new thought, and a nasty one, and she took another bite and considered it carefully, before she said, “You think someone might have set it up? How? We weren’t followed. Even I didn’t know where I was going.”

“Pat did.”

She almost choked on her salad, and took a quick gulp of water to wash it down. “You think he—”

“No, no, but if he scouted this location before, or used it before, they might have made an educated guess and planted somebody on coverage at every possible stop. That would mean a big operation, big enough to scare me, and I don’t scare easy. Of course, I could just be paranoid, but that’s what they pay me to be.” He shrugged and drank about half a glass of water. “Maybe it was random. Maybe you’re just damned unlucky, Bryn.”

She felt that way. “Why would they do that? Send someone to beat me up?”

“I can only think of one reason,” Joe said. “Because they wanted to see if you’d heal.”

“Oh, God. They just proved I was revived?”

“Look, our Mystery Guest must have already guessed at it; he sent that guy to protocol you at the bar. We got to the son of a bitch before he could report in; that meant he had to try something else. This could be it. And this could still be pure speculation.” Joe finished up the last bite of his salad and pushed back from the table. “I’m going to need the keys to your apartment. Whether I’m being crazy or not, you need better security on that place. It’s a kill box.”

“Eat first. It’s not going to get any worse before you get there.”

“Yes, ma‘am, boss. By the way, I up-sold two premium packages today, with full floral. Should net us about ten thousand in clear profit.” He got up and speared a piece of chicken from the warming trays, then added rice and asparagus. “Of course, the bad news is I had to kill one of them myself. Anything to get business, I always say.”

It was morbid, but he made her laugh, and as they sat together and ate, and Liam came in and out, and Mr. French wandered in with a pug she hadn’t seen before, life seemed … temporarily normal. Death-and-taxes normal, anyway.

It was a good way to end the day.

“So,” Joe said, “this is a panic button. There’s one in every room, recessed, so you can’t hit it by accident. If the electricity goes out, they light up on their own battery power so you can see them easily.” He pointed to