“Joel Henniton is the COO here at Touring Industries.” Timmerson gestured to the room—and the building—at large. They were sitting in one of the tastefully appointed offices that Touring had set aside for Security Division’s temporary use—large windows, expensive mahogany furniture, fresh-cut roses in a glass vase resting on top of the low bookcase that housed thick tomes of classic literature that no one would ever read. Beyond the closed door, Brogan could hear the bustle of his colleagues in the big conference room they used as a base of operations.
Timmerson continued, “Henniton’s responsible for the day to day operation of the entire company, which manufactures armament. Mostly light arms for the military, until recently. Touring’s trying to grow their customer base, but they’re competing with defense contractors that’ve been around for decades and have way more money.”
“So they’re playing rough to catch up,” Brogan inferred, and Timmerson nodded.
“Henniton’s made some enemies in the process, and a few months ago, he received some death threats. That’s when Oriole Touring—the CEO—contacted me. Technically, the company is the client, but the threats target Henniton alone, so he’s the only one getting protection for now.”
“Sounds straightforward,” Brogan said, frowning. “On the surface, anyway.”
“The problem is that Henniton’s made very few concessions with his schedule and he refuses to call the cops.”
Brogan’s eyebrows flew up. “No cops? Oh, that’s not suspicious at all.”
“I’ve been told that they’re working on a project that’s vulnerable to industrial espionage and they’re unwilling to take the risk of leaks. We’re a precautionary measure only, and Touring Industries expects this situation to resolve itself as the project progresses.”
“I can’t decide if that’s naive or shady.”
Timmerson’s exhale seemed equally unsure. “Henniton’s given me next to no information, so I can’t even have my own investigators look into who’s behind the threats. Henniton hit the roof when he realized I was having the standard background research done into the employees here to find likely suspects, so that got nipped in the bud. He wants to be safe and he wants his secrecy, which is making my life hell, as you can probably imagine.”
“What about the CEO—Touring? He’s going along with this?” Brogan asked, shifting to sit up straight without thinking about it.
“So far. There’s been no violence and no signs that Henniton’s being followed, which leaves me without a leg to stand on. So right now we’re remaining vigilant while respecting his wishes. But that could change at any time, and I don’t expect that Henniton will handle the shift with any aplomb.”
“Ah. That’s where I come in,” Brogan said. “Okay.”
“I trust your judgment, Brogan.” Timmerson leaned forward, adding some heavy eye contact to his weighty tone of voice. Touring was a big client for Timmerson’s company—there was a lot of money at stake, in addition to the lives of the men and women on the detail. “I know you won’t let Henniton bully you into taking unnecessary risks. The fact that you won’t punch him in the face for trying is also a plus.”
Which explained why Brogan had been transferred from his post in Portland down to Salem.
The shift in location wasn’t an inconvenience—since Security Division had offices in both cities, Brogan had bought a house in Woodburn, roughly halfway in between. He liked Salem more, anyway.
That didn’t mean he was looking forward to the assignment. While the confidence his boss had in him was nice, Brogan couldn’t help thinking it might be time to start throwing some tantrums just to get an easy case for once.
Without any intention of doing so, Brogan had gotten a reputation for being drama-free and hard to rattle. A deserved reputation, if he was honest—after the way he’d been raised and six years of military service, petty concerns about clients rolling their eyes at him or who drank the last of the coffee seemed awfully...well, petty. However, that usually stuck Brogan with the nightmarish clients. His boss really needed a better reward system.
“If they want everything done their way,” Brogan asked, “why don’t they have us train their current security staff in personal protection techniques? I mean, I saw plenty of armed guys on the drive in, and they aren’t amateurs.”
“I suggested that. Mr. Touring repeated that this situation is temporary. He doesn’t feel it’s necessary for the company to develop a permanent protection department.”
“So...money.”
“Money,” Timmerson agreed.
“Makes sense, assuming he’s right about that whole ‘temporary’ thing.” Brogan lifted his eyebrows. “Is he right?”
“God, I hope so,” Timmerson said heavily. “Henniton’s only part of my headache. Ford’s...well, he’s his own brand of challenging.”
“Who?”
“Henniton’s executive assistant. I kind of like the guy, actually—he’s exacting, and he’s extremely good at his job. But Ford’s also very sharp-tongued and he doesn’t suffer fools. There have already been several altercations with Ark.”
Brogan made a face. George Ark was not his favorite coworker—the guy was eighty percent ego, and a raving homophobe to boot. “What happened?”
Timmerson smirked—it wasn’t an expression Brogan had ever seen him make before. “Let’s just say Ford has a deft hand when it comes to criticism.”
“Made Ark see stars, did he?” Brogan asked, trying not to sound like he wished he could’ve been there to see it.
Timmerson would never talk shit about employees, but he couldn’t hide the twinkle in his eye as he said, “Ark will be taking over your old post in Portland.”
Timmerson rummaged through a drawer. “Look, Henniton’s going to treat you like furniture unless you annoy him. Ford, on the other hand, will notice every single thing you do. Neither one of them is easily appeased. Watch your step and don’t take anything personally.”
“Sure,” Brogan said, resigned. Laid-back or not, he suspected he’d be spending the next few months trying not to punch people. Hell of a way to kick off the
