Chapter Three
Alex’s feet hit the pavement hard. His momentum made him stumble forward, right into a brick wall. He cursed when his shoulder made contact with the impenetrable obstacle, but he recovered quickly and continued running down 12th Street after the jump from a low wall outside the Staples Center parking garage. It didn’t help he was wearing a thousand-dollar tailored suit and it was August.
What am I doing?
He zeroed in the punk who was the target of the chase. Only minutes earlier, the kid had snuck past the protective barriers at pop star Legacy Brooks’s concert, pushed her down, stolen her high heels, and taken off. The alarms were sounded, and much to Alex’s distain, he was ordered to chase the kid down.
“My shoes!” Legacy had shouted, flailing dramatically. “Get them back!”
Alex’s first impulse had been to laugh. He was paid to protect Legacy, not her shoes. As far as he was concerned, clothing was collateral damage. It wasn’t even his fault someone got to her in the first place. The venue was supposed to supply maximum security during the performance while he remained backstage.
A second glance at the glamorous singer’s face had let Alex know it was his job to get the shoes back—and he better succeed, or else. In terms of agreeable, Legacy Brooks sat somewhere between an uptown house cat and a hungry toddler.
With a lengthy sigh, he gave chase, knowing full well it would end in regret.
Alex loathed dealing with over-privileged celebrities, yet couldn’t be mad at anyone but himself since he was the one who agreed to the job. Legacy was high-maintenance, and he was a micro-manager who didn’t trust anyone else at the company to do it. He’d kick himself later. For the moment, he had to catch the stiletto-obsessed thief.
Alex was losing what little patience he had left, and was allergic to bullshit.
Who steals shoes? he thought, advancing on the culprit. The kid was fast, but clumsy as he kept running into sporadic pedestrians in his path. Alex realized he wasn’t trying that hard to catch up. He had dealt with tougher bad guys in the past, in worse conditions, weighed down with twenty pounds of gear.
Those were the days… He focus faltered as the kid cut a hard right and jumped a chain link fence.
Alex came to a halt, watching the kid’s shadow retreat into the night. Not worth it. Whatever reason the kid had for stealing Legacy’s shoes, Alex assumed it was a good one. He’d just explain to her that sometimes, shit happened.
Alex created the specifics of his job title, the client contracts, and the entire mission statement for his security business. Nowhere did it say anything about having to save a client’s shoes from renegade thieves.
Strong Protection was the business Alex formed after leaving the life of military private contracting. It was a network of personal bodyguards. Alex was proud of his company and his clients, which were usually celebrities and wealthy businessman. While he disliked some of the attitudes he encountered, it was easy for him to put clients’ minds at ease.
Then again, he hadn’t dealt with an angry Legacy Brooks.
When he returned to her dressing room, all of her colorful costumes were strewn about and she was throwing a fit, yelling into her phone. Legacy was barely over five feet tall with long blue, pink, and purple hair, so to Alex, she looked like a child trying too hard.
Legacy threw her phone down, turning her attention to Alex. “Where were you when that idiot attacked me?” she barked.
“Backstage.” Alex kept his voice even. “As you instructed. Staples security handles the stage, and I was waiting for your set to be done.”
Alex didn’t bother to inform the woman he had managed to fall asleep on her couch—she was already worked up enough.
He’d bet money the woman already tipped off TMZ with an overly embellished truth. She was what he considered a “Cat 5”—code for “category five hurricane of attention.” Not surprising in the industry, but annoying nonetheless.
Legacy balled her fists, inhaling deeply through her nose. “And … did you get my shoes back?”
“No.” Alex crossed his arms in front of him, peering down at the woman. “The kid had a good head start. Couldn’t keep up.”
“They were Gucci,” Legacy huffed.
“Well, now they’re gone.” Alex pinched the bridge of his nose.
The singer’s face wrinkled into a nasty glare. “You’re fired.”
She spun on her bare feet, flipping her multi-colored hair around dramatically. If Alex hadn’t been a foot taller than the petite woman, the gesture would have been more effective.
She glanced back over her shoulder; coyly letting Alex know she expected him to beg and plead to keep his job.
Not a chance in hell, lady.
“That’s fine,” Alex said curtly. “I’ll see myself out.”
Legacy’s sour face relaxed as she turned back around. “Wait…”
Alex didn’t bother to stay and listen. He walked to the door as Legacy started to whimper and cry.
“You’re just going to leave me here unprotected?”
Alex’s entire body tensed up as her words echoed in his ears. His head suddenly throbbed with a dull pain and for a moment, he saw red. He blinked a few times to calm down. The urge to snap at the girl had built up over the weeks, and now came to a surging point. He didn’t dare engage. She was a nuisance he never should have taken on as a client.
The childish diva really had no idea who he was, and Alex knew she didn’t care. That was the way it went. Bodyguards were the walls the well-to-do set up for their comfort and ego.
Don’t talk. Don’t have opinions. Just do your job.
Alex was paid to ignore the quirks and insecurities, but throwing a tantrum over a pair of shoes got to him. Her words got to him.
“Call your assistant,” he managed to say. “She can arrange for someone to come get you.”
Alex let the door close behind him.
He didn’t appreciate being treated like a trained dog. He didn’t care who the client was—they should respect him.
Back outside, Alex relaxed his shoulders, running a hand through his wavy hair. He was due for a haircut, and maybe a vacation. At least he could get back home to Oakland. He could use a night in his own bed.
He glanced at his watch. Nine thirty. If I head to the airport now, I can be home by midnight.
Alex wanted to check what flights were available in the next couple of hours, but first, he had to call Lance to tell him he’d just lost an account. He knew Lance would understand once he stopped laughing. Lance was the chief technical officer at Strong Security and also managed the finances. Having known Alex for as long as he had, Lance was familiar his quirks, and was patient with him.
It had been a tough road for them both.
“Hello,” Lance said.
Alex got right to the point. “I’ll be back in Oakland tonight.”
“Fired or quit?” Lance asked.
He chuckled. “Both, I think.” He walked down the street to get some distance between him and the busy center.
“Well, you lasted longer than I thought you would,” Lance responded. “We had a pool going at the office. I think Steele had the most faith.”
“Very funny.” Alex let out a long breath. He looked up at the lighted buildings that surrounded him. He never much cared for L.A. It was dirty, and seemed to hold way too many secrets for his taste. “I need to get out of this city.”
“Everything okay?” Lance always asked him the question, like clockwork. It bothered Alex that it always had to be asked, but at the same time, he appreciated that his friend gave a shit.
“I’m good,” he said. “Just haven’t been sleeping well.”
It wasn’t far from the truth. He wanted to tell Lance that the nightmares were resurfacing, but he doubted it would help. He just had to get back home, back to his PTSD support group, and he’d take on a local client to appease Lance. He’d let one of the newer men handle the L.A. territory.
Lance snorted. “You never sleep well. Just get to the airport, get on a flight, and I’ll pick you up when you get in.”
Alex ended the call and quickly called for an Uber. Despite the open air of downtown Los Angeles, he felt trapped. The old vivid dream he’d had on Legacy’s dressing room couch slowly faded, but chances were it would be back the next time he closed his eyes.
He’d deal with that later. For the moment, he’d look forward to being home.
It was almost midnight by the time Lance dropped Alex off in front of his house. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked when Alex made no move to open the car door. “You haven’t said two words since you got in the car.”
Alex’s jaw clenched as he inhaled sharply. Lance was one of the very few people in his life he trusted. “Nightmares are back,” he said. “You know.”
Lance was quiet for a moment, only tapping a finger on the steering wheel. “It’s been awhile, eh?” he finally asked. “You’re still not getting enough rest.”
“Insomnia comes and goes,” Alex admitted. “My brain hasn’t had time to dream, but I fell asleep hard earlier. The shit shocked me awake.”
Lance let out a sigh. “You still seeing that therapist?”
Alex shook his head. “No, but I go to the support group.”
Lance’s face crinkled into his trademark concern. Alex knew the look. Lance was the only guy who called him out on his bullshit.
“Maybe you should see someone about the nightmares.” He poked Alex in the shoulder. “You need rest. You aren’t any good to me in a constant state of exhaustion.”
“I thought I was the boss.” Alex threw him some side-eye.
Lance chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what I want you to think.”
Alex shook his head as he reached for the door. “Night. Thanks for the ride.”
“Anytime,” Lance responded. “See you tomorrow.”
Alex’s craftsman-style bungalow sat on a corner lot in the Rockridge neighborhood of Oakland, near Berkley. His neighbors consisted of a quiet ethics professor who kept to himself, and a retired teacher who baked too much and tried to set Alex up with her daughter. It was close enough to his business headquarters, and far enough away from San Francisco to allow him to relax when needed. Sometimes it felt good to get away from the routine of paperwork and checking on his mother.
Alex unlocked the front door, letting himself inside.
He walked a few steps into the front hall and dropped his duffel bag at his feet. There was a substantial pile of mail resting on the console table. Alex looked at it, knowing he’d have to rifle through it later. It could wait.
Tomorrow would be busy, and he wanted to relax. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to sleep.
His cell phone rang, shaking him from his thoughts. He exhaled sharply as he read the name.
“Edward,” he answered.
“Alex,” the man responded. “How are you?”
Alex walked into his study, switching on the light. “I’m okay,” he said. “You?”
“I’ve been better. How’s your mom?”
The exchange was rather wooden. Alex was just going through the motions like he knew he should. The truth was, he didn’t really want to talk to Edward. He just wanted to go to bed.
He slowly sank down in his office chair. “She’s fine,” he said quickly. “What can I do for you, Ed?”
He wanted to push the conversation on. Edward never called to just talk. It wasn’t his style.
“I won’t waste much of your time,” Edward started. “I know I’m horrible at keeping in touch.”
Yeah, you’re horrible at a lot of things. Alex’s irritation rose. “You’re busy,” he replied. “I’m busy. It’s fine.”
He leaned back in his chair, wondering what warranted a midnight phone call. He’d grown up admiring his stepfather. In a way, he still did, but their worlds were as different as night and day. It still stung a little when he asked about his mother. They married when Alex was five years old. He didn’t remember much before that, so Edward was just his dad. He was a retired Navy vet who ran a Fortune 500 company. Alex never understood that Edward was gay, hiding behind politics and social norms.
Once Alex was well into his own military career, Edward took a completely different life route. He fell in love with a male dancer from Italy, married him, and started a ballet company. Alex wanted Edward to be happy, but not at the expense of his mother. Her heart broke, and Alex wasn’t sure she’d ever fully recovered. The result was an estranged relationship filled with awkward phone calls and Christmas cards.
“I need your help,” Edward said. “Can you meet me downtown tonight? Something’s happened.”
The tone in Edward’s voice made panic rise in his chest. Urgency was never good news.
“Now?” He glanced at his watch. “What’s going on?”
Edward didn’t respond right away. Alex heard muffled sounds like he was restless.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I think one of my dancers was kidnapped. I just got a call from the SFPD. A couple of men witnessed her being thrown into a van. They left her bag with her ID behind. I’m… I don’t…”
“Ed.” Alex’s voice softened. I can’t, Alex wanted to say. What could Alex possibly do to help the situation?
“I just need you here,” Edward said adamantly. “You can help solve this.”
“I’m not a detective,” Alex responded. “The police will take care of it.”
Edward was quiet again and this time, Alex could hear his elevated breathing. “I think it’s more than that,” he said. “Even if—when … when we get her back, I think I need full twenty-four hour security. I want you to take care of it.”
“You want me to guard your ballet company?” Alex didn’t mean to sound as condescending as he did, but the idea shocked him. Edward never asked anything of him.
There was more shuffling, and Edward let out a sigh. “There’s the police calling back,” he said. “I’ll explain when you get down here. Please hurry.”