Leader Lion (Protection, Inc 5)

Rafa

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Rafa walked into the Protection, Inc. lobby. It was almost as much of a mob scene as it had been when Hal had called everyone in to tell them Ellie was pregnant. The entire team was there, apparently doing nothing but hanging out.

He turned to Hal first. “Got a new job for me?”

“No, Rafa,” Hal said, sounding weary. “Not for you, not for anyone. Sorry.”

Rafa glanced at the rest of the crowd. “What are you all doing here?”

Catalina laughed. “Same as you, Rafa. We had jobs we just finished. Now we’re waiting for the phone to ring.”

“It’s like an all-predator unemployment line,” Fiona remarked from the sofa.

Hal spread out his hands. “I don’t know what to say. Normally I’m turning down jobs because I don’t have enough agents to fill them. Just a slow day, I guess. But you don’t all have to stay here. I’ll call you if anything comes in.”

Everyone avoided his eyes, then went back to staring at the phone.

“Guys,” Hal protested. “A watched pot never—”

The intercom buzzed.

Destiny, who was closest, yelled, “Dibs!” She slammed her hand down on the button. In her sweetest voice, she said, “Protection, Inc., private security. May I help you?”

“Yes, you may,” a woman replied. “Is Rafael Flores there?”

Rafa instantly recognized Paris’s voice. Why in the world would she show up at Protection, Inc.? They were friends; she had his phone number. If she wanted to talk, all she had to do was call.

“I’ll take—” Rafa began.

Destiny leaned close to the intercom to drown him out. “How do you know him?”

Rafa lunged for the intercom, but he was too late.

Paris’s theatre-trained voice rose up loud and clear. “I’m his ex-wife.”

Destiny slammed down the mute button a split second before the room erupted into exclamations and howls of laughter.

“Is this the famous twenty-four hour Vegas marriage wife?” Catalina inquired.

“Hard to say,” Fiona replied with fake earnestness. “Rafa, how many ex-wives do you have, again? Five? Six? Has there been a new one since the last time I asked?”

“Fucking finally!” Nick exclaimed. “Can’t wait to meet Mrs. Twenty-Four Hours In Vegas!”

Rafa glared at them all. “I was married once, it was a mistake—a very brief mistake—she’s just a friend—Destiny, give me the intercom!”

Destiny promptly body-blocked it. Rafa stifled a groan. He should have known his teammates wouldn’t give up the chance to meet the person who could give them the dirt on his infamously short marriage, which he now regretted ever having mentioned. He toyed with the idea of prying Destiny off the intercom, but she wouldn’t give it up without a fight. He’d have to wrestle her for it, and that would be undignified.

With her full lips practically touching the receiver, Destiny asked, “What do you want him for?”

“Alimony,” Shane said instantly.

“I want to hire him,” Paris replied.

Rafa leaned over and hit the buzzer to unlock the front door, already turning over ideas about why she might want protection. She was an actress, so the most likely issue was an obsessed fan turned stalker. His annoyance at his teammates’ teasing was lost in concern over her safety. That sort of stalker could be very dangerous. If she had one, he was glad she’d come to him.

Or it could be something as simple as having been cast in a movie with big stars, where everyone had personal security on the set as a matter of course, and wanting a bodyguard she knew rather than a stranger. Rafa shrugged. He’d find out what it was all about soon enough.

“Take off, guys,” Rafa said. “She’s just here for me.”

Nobody moved. Destiny clearly spoke for everyone when she said, “Nope. We all want to meet her.”

Gritting his teeth, Rafa went for the lobby door. He’d meet Paris at the elevator. Alone.

Nick and Fiona promptly grabbed him, one hanging on to each elbow. Shane stepped out smoothly to block the door. Irritated, Rafa tried to shake them off, but they only clung tighter. An instant later, Destiny joined them, locking her forearm across his throat as if she meant to choke him out. Catalina dove forward in an impossibly agile movement and landed lightly on her belly with her arms wrapped around his ankles. Lucas, too dignified to join in, sat back and watched, looking amused, while Hal looked on and laughed.

“Come on, guys, this is ridiculous,” Rafa protested. “She’ll be up here in a second. This is so unprofessional.”

Nobody budged.

Desperately, Rafa appealed to his best friend, who also happened to be their boss and so had the authority to give commands. “Hal!”

Hal let out a rumbling laugh, then said, “Hands off Rafa. He’s right, she’s a prospective client, so we should behave professionally.”

To Rafa’s relief, his teammates released him. But before he could lunge through the door and slam it behind him, it opened. Paris walked in.

Everyone gawked at her. Their reactions made Rafa briefly see her through their eyes: a woman as stunning as his imaginary twin models, tall and slim and blonde and gorgeous, dressed in a fashionable yet classy style. Paris Hale, the perfect woman.

Then their eyes met, and he saw her as her real self: Paris, his old pal, whom he’d known since high school and was still buddies with, despite the very different roads they’d walked in life. Their friendship had even survived their idiotic twenty-four hour marriage. They smiled at each other.

Paris glanced around the room. She was too polite to comment on the crowd, but her carefully plucked eyebrows rose. “This must be your famous team.”

Rafa forced himself to remain cool. He introduced her, giving his team his best alpha lion stare to stop them from saying anything tactless.

It worked until he got to Nick, who blurted out, “So, you and Rafa used to be married? Why’d you split up?”

“We were never really together in the first place,” Paris said. “We were friends and we took a trip to Vegas, and that place can do funny things to you. Especially when there’s a chapel right next to the bar.”

Relieved that she hadn’t revealed the awful truth, Rafa added, “By cocktail number seven, getting married by an Elvis impersonator seems like a great idea.”

Everyone laughed. Seizing the opportunity, Rafa took charge of the situation. “Paris, you said you wanted to hire me. Let’s go to an office and talk about it.”

He took her elbow as if he was escorting her to a dance, swept her into Hal’s office, and closed the door firmly behind him. It was soundproofed; everyone’s voices and laughter cut off immediately.

“Sorry about the mob scene,” Rafa said.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Paris said. “It’s my fault for saying I was your ex-wife. After what happened yesterday, I was nervous about standing alone on the sidewalk, and I blurted it out because was afraid they wouldn’t let me in.”

Rafa frowned, his protective lion instincts rising. “What’s going on?”

“It all started when I got hired on a new show, Mars: The Musical. It’s about two astronauts who get stranded on Mars. While they’re trying to figure out how to get home, they discover alien artifacts and realize that Mars was once inhabited by intelligent life. They end up using what they learn from the artifacts to help them fix their spaceship to get back to Earth. And while they’re trapped on Mars, they fall in love. So the worst thing that ever happened to them turns out to be the best—they not only survive, they find true love and make the greatest scientific discovery of the century. It’s a really inspirational story.”

Rafa smiled at her enthusiasm. “But what’s the problem?”

“I think I have a stalker,” Paris said.

He listened in growing concern as she recounted the series of accidents on the set, culminating an extremely dangerous-sounding mishap involving a flying sequence.

“Has anything like that happened when you weren’t in the theatre?” Rafa asked. “People or cars following you? Strange notes left at your door?”

She shook her head. “No, nothing like that.”

That was odd. Stalkers usually couldn’t resist sending messages to the object of their twisted desires, declaring their love or making threats.

“Any idea who it might be?” Rafa asked. “Got any exes who didn’t want to break up?”

“No. Truth is, I haven’t dated anyone in a long time.”

Delicately, Rafa inquired, “Trouble with the family?”

“No. They’re over that by now. Last time I talked to my mother, she even nagged me about bringing someone home for Christmas.” With her pitch-perfect actor’s inflections, Paris imitated her mother’s voice: “‘Paris, aren’t you ever going to settle down? Get married! You can do it now, so what’s stopping you?’”

“Sounds just like my mother,” Rafa said glumly. “Minus the ‘you can do it now.’”

He’d never brought a date home for Christmas. Meeting the pride was something you did with your true love, not your one-night stand. He’d thought showing up alone would get easier with time, but instead, it had gotten harder. He was starting to dread Christmas, which had once been his favorite time of the year. The thought of opening that door all by himself, again, tied a knot of unhappiness in the pit of his stomach.

Paris gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “It’s not easy, finding someone who’s right for you.”

“No. It’s not.”

He pushed aside those depressing thoughts and returned his attention to the problem at hand. Something had nagged at the back of his mind the entire time Paris had been describing the ‘accidents’ on the set. In the years he’d been with Protection, Inc., he’d protected a lot of people from stalkers. This didn’t sound like a stalker case. It wasn’t personal enough. Maybe someone was after her, but he doubted that it was a stalker. The motive wouldn’t be an obsessive love turned to hate, but something else. Financial, maybe.

“Who inherits your money if you die?” Rafa asked.

“I’m not rich, you know. There’s not much to inherit.”

“You’d be surprised how many crimes people commit for hardly any money. Who gets yours?”

Paris looked guilty. “I’m not sure. I’ve never gotten around to making a will. I know I should...”

There went that idea. Paris was an only child. If she died without a will, her closest living relatives—her parents—would inherit. Her “get married in time for Christmas” mom and loving dad were hardly going to put a hit on their own daughter.

Rafa ran his hands through his mane, thinking hard. Not a stalker. Not someone hoping to inherit Paris’s money, which, as she’d pointed out, she didn’t have much of anyway. Then he got another idea.

“Who would take over your role if you were killed or injured?” Rafa asked.

“Melissa, the actress playing one of the moons of Mars.” Paris gasped in slightly over-dramatic horror. “Do you think it’s her?”

“Maybe.” It seemed a bit unlikely, but you never knew. “Are you getting paid a lot for the role?”

“No. I’ll get a raise if the show’s a success. But I’m not in it for the money—I’m hoping it’ll be my big break. So maybe she’s hoping it’ll be her big break instead, if she gets me out of the way.”

“But only if the show’s a success,” Rafa said thoughtfully. “If the leading actress gets killed or has to drop out because of injuries before it even opens, that seems like it’d be likely to ruin the show’s chances of ever becoming a success. You’d think she’d wait till the show’s a hit, then try to take you out.”

“Who knows what crazy things crazy people might do?” Paris said with a shrug.

“None of this seems crazy,” Rafa said thoughtfully. “It seems very carefully planned, by someone who thinks they have a lot to gain.”

Gain isn’t just money, he thought. What if it’s not Paris’s money they’re after?

What if it’s not Paris they’re after?

“Have there been any suspicious accidents when you weren’t there?” Rafa asked.

She shrugged. “Got me.”

“Who would know?”

“Grace,” Paris said promptly. “She’s there for every rehearsal, she comes in before anyone else, and she stays after everyone else leaves.”

“The stage manager,” Rafa said, remembering the story. “The one who saved you from getting slammed into the rafters at fifty miles per hour.”

Paris nodded. “If anything weird has been going on, she’d know.”

“Let’s go meet her.”