Mastiff Security Satellite Office

Los Angeles, California

 

Durango watched her walk into the room, something familiar about the movements of her body, the dark but determined look on her face. It took him until they’d gotten past the preliminaries, the small talk these interviews always began with, before he realized what it was that seemed so familiar about her: she reminded him of himself.

“Like we talked about on the phone, I’m looking for someone who is familiar with both management and security work. I want someone who doesn’t need a lot of hand-holding in the first few months we’re operational.”

“I understand,” she said, bowing her head slightly.

She was a woman of few words. A beautiful woman. When she first walked into the office, Durango almost made the sexist assumption that she was here to interview for the receptionist job that he was also trying to fill. When she introduced herself as Wren Ryland, he had to catch himself before he asked her to prove her identity. This beautiful, statuesque woman—blond hair perfectly styled around her heart-shaped face, her blue eyes wide and subtly enhanced with just the right amount of eyeliner, her thin lips softened by just a touch of lip gloss—was not the image that came to mind when he read about her five years as a detective for the Los Angeles Police Department. What he saw in his mind was more a homely woman in her forties with no social life. Someone more like Donna Hyde. Hyde had her own sort of beauty, but she wasn’t the type who might grace the cover of a glamour magazine. Ms. Ryland, however, would sell millions if she ever considered a change in careers.

“You became a cop at nineteen?”

She inclined her head. “I was part of a program at one of our local junior colleges that trained officers. I became a beat cop at nineteen, advanced to sergeant at twenty-one, and passed my detective’s exam at twenty-four.”

“That’s impressive.”

She shrugged. “Being a cop was all I’d ever wanted.”

“Then, do you mind if I ask why you’re leaving it now?”

She pressed her palms against the soft linen of her trousers, her eyes dropping to the carpet for a brief moment. When she looked up again, her eyes were steady on Durango’s, a confidence that most men could not fake, let alone truly embrace, radiating from her entire body.

“Like most cops, I’ve become jaded by the system, by the rules that keep us from taking down the bad guys as quickly and efficiently as we should. I’ve had friends come to the private sector and talk about how much more satisfying it can be.”

“You have a specific case in mind? One that you’d like to work on the side?”

She tilted her head just slightly, her tiny smile softening the determination in her eyes. “I have worked a lot of cases that never came to a satisfying end. But we all have to learn to live with that, don’t we?”

It crossed Durango’s mind that she was commenting on his inglorious end with the Chicago Police Department some years earlier. It wasn’t like his past was a secret, not with the way things exploded a year ago when his brother, Billy Chamberlain, died on the street here in Los Angeles like a dog. It also didn’t help that Billy had been a much beloved actor, or that he had also been a serial killer whose crimes were exposed in the months-long investigation after his death. Or that Durango’s father, the famous Hollywood producer Jackson Chamberlain, had been seriously injured in the whole ordeal and still found himself followed by crazy, death-fascinated characters who wanted answers to Billy’s actions that even the FBI had yet to figure out.

But then Wren continued. “I would not put myself or the firm in legal jeopardy by investigating cases that belong to the Los Angeles Police Department.”

Durango nodded slowly, his thoughts moving in a dozen different directions as he studied her. “You’re leaving a good position with the police. I understand that you were due to be promoted in just a few months.”

“My enthusiasm for the job has changed. I think private security would be a better fit.”

“You do realize that the majority of the cases we take on are basic bodyguard-type stuff, right?”

“I do.”

“And that your role as Director of Operations would mostly be about paperwork? You’ll be responsible for getting reports to the clients, for obtaining security permits, for making sure everything is legal and appropriate.”

“I understand.”

“It’s not the most glorious job in the world. The operatives themselves get most of the attention.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of the position, Mr. Masters?”

She seemed amused at the thought. That amused Durango, too.

“I just want to make sure you understand what you’ll be giving up to take this job.”

“I understand that this job pays ten times what I was making as a detective. And I know that it won’t require me to go to crime scenes where I’m carefully picking my way around the blood and gore left from a domestic incident gone too far.”

“That’s true.”

“I understand your concern, but this is what I want to do. If you’re not interested”—she picked up her large bag and began to stand—“I don’t want to waste any more of your time.”

“Ms. Ryland, you’re not wasting my time.” Durango stood and moved around his desk, approaching her with a hand outstretched. “You’re the best candidate I’ve seen in two weeks of doing these interviews. I think I was prepared to offer you the job before you even walked through the door.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Just like that?”

“You caught the North Side rapist two weeks after catching the case even though four other detectives had been working on it for nearly a year. You stopped that spree killer last summer by predicting who his last victim would be. Not only that, but you’ve run three task forces in the past two years.” Durango shook his head. “I can’t imagine anyone else who’d be more qualified to run this office for me. Hell, you’re overqualified if you ask me.”

“Are you offering me the job?”

“I am.”

Her smile was genuine when she offered it this time. Big and bright and underscoring Durango’s thought that she could grace the covers of all the fashion and glamour magazines that were still published in this digital world. When she first walked into the room, it’d crossed his mind that she might have some difficulty getting a room full of operatives—men who’d served in the military and worked some of the toughest streets in this country—to respect her, to respond to her as the boss.

Ten minutes into his conversation with her, his fear was dissolving.

“There’s a staff meeting first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll expect you to be there.”

“To be there, or to run it?”

Durango laughed. He liked this woman.