Page 4

Archer

“I said, state your name and your purpose.” It’s clear that the woman in front of me, barely six inches out of the elevator is ready to piss herself. She’s frozen in place. Her eyes stare at me while she crosses one leg in front of the other. Beside her is a multipurpose bag on wheels that is overflowing with what appears to be groceries. A bushel of celery sticks out the top along with other produce and a fresh bouquet of flowers.

I lower my Glock slightly. But not my guard.

“Esther. Es-Esther Greenstein,” she stammers. Her hands have long since abandoned the cart handle and are raised in front of her in surrender. “I’m the housekeeper.”

“Who lives here?” I ask, curious to see if she’ll recite a random name.

“Mr. Perry. I’ve worked for Mr. Perry for over ten years. I-I have my supplies for the week.” She uses her head to motion behind her to the groceries, afraid to move from her stance.

“Essie?” I don’t need to turn to know that Mia is coming to smooth things over. Out of my peripheral, she comes to my side and places her hand on my forearm. “Dillon, please.” With my sleeves rolled up, her palm lies against the tense muscle in my arm. My tendon releases almost automatically, like I have no control over it. She lets go and leaves behind a searing patch on my skin.

I holster my piece and watch as Mia hugs the middle-aged woman. “Essie, I’m so sorry for this. This is Dillon. Dillon is my new bodyguard…recently I’ve been a little paranoid about a coworker, so I hired him to keep me safe.” She ends her lie with a genuine smile and Esther’s harsh breathing diminishes a notch. But it doesn’t stop the woman from looking me up and down, a curiosity about her.

“My apologies, ma’am,” I say. I have the smallest regret about the situation; Esther, though visibly shaken, has held eye contact with me, provided correct information under duress, and has had a willingness to cooperate. I tamp down the feeling of remorse for scaring the shit out of this poor woman; I have to anticipate any and all threats before it ever comes to fruition. Otherwise, I haven’t done my job.

“Dad’s birthday is coming up and I wanted to throw him a surprise party here, but I needed to get some measurements and layout ideas.” Mia is swift with her explanation.

“Mr. Perry isn’t home?” Esther looks down the hall as if he will appear.

“No,” Mia says, “that’s why we came…before work. He’s taken a last-minute trip to his Breckenridge home. Perfect time to do some scouting, don’t you think?” She winks at Esther, like the two women are sharing a secret.

Esther nods. Then looks back at her bag.

“I’m so sorry he didn’t tell you, but I’m so glad we ran into you.” Mia puts a hand on Esther’s shoulder and gives it a quick squeeze. “Please, take the food home for you and Maurice. And Dad will be gone at least until the end of next week, so take the time off.”

Esther’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline. If I had to guess, this woman has never missed a day of work in her life. “I-I…I can’t do that.”

“I’ll call Dad and let him know, so you have nothing to worry about, alright?” Mia hugs her and simultaneously turns Esther towards the elevator. The move is quick and subtle, and in the span of sixty seconds, we’re alone again.

“You didn’t have to hold her at gunpoint,” Mia says weakly. “She’s a lovely woman and loyal to Dad.”

I bite my tongue, because, like always in these situations, the client has never been in our shoes. Mia’s not trained in close combat fighting, counterterrorism, evasive driving, minor medical procedures or CQ gunfighting. And that’s fine, because that’s why we’re hired.

Plus, as our client, I am responsible for her safety, regardless of how I keep it.

But it kills me a little inside knowing that I’ve upset her. At the sound of the elevator, every instinct I had is on high alert. For the job. For the client. For her.

Mia stands in front of me, waiting for an explanation, her shoulders slumped forward.

“Is there anyone else with an elevator key?” I ask, my tone even. She shakes her head, realization dawning on her. Ordinarily, the team and I would have had time to do a visit to Mia’s house and her father’s, but this assignment is evolving with each passing minute.

Mia’s hand is clenched at her side and I ask, “Do you have the seal?”

“Right here.”

I nod, offering her the faintest of smiles. “Let’s go.”

On the way back, we catch a cab. Mia pulls her phone from her purse, which is tucked tightly against her person, and begins texting.

There’s a vibration against my leg and I reach for the sat phone. It’s a text to Ashlee asking if she can get crafting clay out of a bin. It’s good to know that my phone cloning skills are still top notch. Before I can put the device back in my pocket, Ashlee responds. I have no intention of lurking, but here I am.

Would you be mad if I said I used it?

You used it? All of it?

Yeah. I needed a shit ton.

I hear Mia sigh.

I’m afraid to ask why you needed an entire 10lb. block of clay…

Would you believe me if I said I was practicing my Ghost skills?

Instantly, I picture Ashlee behind a potter’s wheel. I don’t know how I feel about it.

No. You don’t have a ghost boyfriend…

Maybe I do.

Will you just moosh everything back together? I need the clay.

Mia’s typing is growing more aggressive.

And destroy the bust of Billy Joel I’ve been working on for two weeks?!

I chuckle, unable to hold it in.

Yes, Ash!

Take it back, that’s blasphemous.

I don’t have time for this, Ash…

Right. Sorry. How much clay do you need? I’m willing to sacrifice part of his velvet collar from his shark skin jacket…that’s my final offer.

Velvet collar? Shark skin jacket…what the fuck was she going on about?

Mia skips the sigh this time and goes straight for an exacerbated exhale.

You’re lucky I don’t scoop out his nose or ruin his pompadour.

Kudos, friend. I’m impressed you pinpointed his hair.

More like a fro, but semantics…

I tuck the phone back in my pocket, deciding the conversation is veering out of my wheelhouse. Within a few minutes, we’re back at Mia’s house.

The scent of cinnamon hits me the second I walk through the door. And my stomach turns in on itself, reminding me that coffee will not hold me over.

At the table, the guys are scraping plates clean. Forks clang against the dishes and Blaze catches my eye. “Ashlee was nice enough to make us cinnamon rolls, but I just ate the last one. Sorry, bro.”

Ashlee, who has just come out of the kitchen smacks him in the shoulder. “I tripled the batch and there are still four left. Honestly, didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

Legion grins. “She did, but out of the two of us, I was the only one who retained any. Thank you for being such a gracious host. And for the food.”

Kiss ass. But it works. Ashlee beams like a school girl who has just been picked to be on the dominate side of Red Rover.

Mia ignores the razzing and pins her friend with a knowing look.

Ashlee raises her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. The clay is right here. Geeze.”

“What did you find?” Midas asks, swallowing his last bite.

“This,” Mia says, holding up the little cylinder.

Phantom scratches his head absentmindedly, Blaze’s face contorts, Midas looks to me with a WTF look, and Legion leans closer to get a better look.

“What is that? A socket for a ratchet?” Midas has moved in to get a closer look as well.

Ashlee snorts. “Yeah, ‘cause an ancient civilization went to Lowe’s and left a clue on a modern tool.”

We each hide a smirk. Midas glares.

Mia explains what the seal is and how it was used. It’s not inherent to know the ins and outs of the piece, but Mia is accommodating once again, explaining it in a way that we’ll understand. “Think of it is a tiny embossed rolling pin…you know the kind that leave a pattern after it’s been rolled?”

Each of the guys nod in understanding while Mia begins rolling the clay out. Ashlee hovers. Over her shoulder, I spot the bust she must have been working on. She must have “sacrificed” more than she wanted to, because both lapels are visibly missing.

As the two women work on a better rendition of the seal, I begin to debrief the guys.

“So, do we know where in Colombia exactly?” Midas asks.

If Mia knew, she hadn’t told me, nor had I really had the time to ask.

“Northern coast,” she supplies, eyes still on the clay. “Outside Santa Marta.”

Blaze whistles. “Phew. I thought you were going to say we’d be trekking into something horrid like the jungles and mountains. Because let me tell you…that would suck. The humidity for one… It’s like Satan’s sauna.”

Midas scowls at him, silently telling him to shut the fuck up.

Without skipping a beat, Mia responds with, “The clues on this seal are from the Guztá tribe. They resided in the mountains, and quite effectively, I might add. They fought the conquistadors for seventy-five years.”

“But Zorro eventually overtook them?” Legion is nothing but serious, but the telltale twitching in his finger tells me his sarcasm is at the forefront of his question.

“No. Disease and contagions brought from Spain, mostly.” Mia is finished with the seal and asks Ashlee for a spatula.

Midas places his hands on his hips. Time to get back to business . “I’m going to make a few phone calls, but I want everyone ready to leave within the hour.”

Each guy stands and Legion discreetly punches Blaze in the shoulder. “Hope you brought your shorts. Wouldn’t want you melting away in the humidity…”

“Fu—” Mia eyes the brothers as she’s placing the clay piece on a cookie sheet, suppressing a laugh. “—udge you.” Blaze looks as pitiful as his attempt to cover his curse.

Midas scrubs a hand down his face. “If you two are done, perhaps you can pack up. Oh, and Blaze, maybe offer to help Ashlee with the dishes.”

A retort is on the tip of Blaze’s tongue. He doesn’t voice it.