Eight Long Years (Heart of Hope 5)

“We’re consultants. And the reason the police might think you’re stealing is for insurance or to sell to the black market or…I don’t know but it happens. We’re not saying that’s what you’re doing. We’re just tossing out ideas on why you’re not getting information from the police,” I explained.

“It’s possible the thief or thieves have an in with the police. Whatever it is, we’re here to help you, Mr. Lassen. Could we have copies of the surveillance tapes to review?” Cyrus asked.

“It would help to talk to store managers and staff as well,” I added.

“We’ve done all that already.”

“And clearly it didn’t work, which is why you’re here. Maybe we’ll be able to see something or get information that the others didn’t,” I said.

Mr. Lassen nodded. “Yes, alright. I’ll make sure you get all the video and a list of all employees.” He stood. “What is your background, boys?”

I bristled a bit at being called a boy, but Mr. Lassen had quite a few years on us, so I suppose to him we seemed young.

“We’re former SEALs,” Cyrus said, standing and escorting Mr. Lassen out. I followed behind them.

“SEALs, eh. Don’t you extract terrorists or blow up things underwater.”

I laughed. “Among other things. We also do surveillance, reconnaissance missions, and intel gathering.”

“Huh. They say you’re the best of the best,” Mr. Lassen said.

“We think so, but there are other special forces that might disagree,” Cyrus said.

“You’re still young, why’d you get out?” Mr. Lassen asked as we reached the door.

“We both are looking for a quieter life these days,” Cyrus said.

“Bismarck is a nice city for that. You boys from here?”

“I am,” I said. “Born and raised.”

“Hometown boy is a Navy SEAL. Your mama must be proud.”

I smiled and nodded, but since I hadn’t talked to my mother in years, or my father for that matter, I wouldn’t know if she was proud. I did know she left North Dakota, running off with some man to Florida. My father ran off to California, no doubt to put as much distance from her as he could.

“By the way, it seems to me that if a terrorist wants to take a Navy SEAL down, he can make him wear a suit. You especially look like you’re being strangled,” Mr. Lassen said with a nod to me. “You should wear what makes you feel comfortable and strong. Oh, and maybe get someone out here in front to welcome your clients.”

“Thank you for your advice, Mr. Lassen,” Cyrus said, shaking the man’s hand.

I shook Mr. Lassen’s hand and watched him leave. Then I took my tie off and tossed it at Cyrus.

He laughed and loosened his own tie. “Hey, I thought it would make us look professional.”

“We’re in the security business, we should look lethal,” I said.

“Well, we don’t want to scare people. How about we compromise. We could get polo shirts with our name and

logo or something. Wear it with khakis—”

“How about jeans.”

He arched a brow. “We need to be taken seriously.”

“As long as I don’t have to wear a tie, I’m good.” I walked back to the little kitchenette with him. “So, what do you think about Mr. Lassen’s problem?”

“I think it involves more than just an employee taking from the till or stealing merchandise.”

I nodded. “I agree. More than one person too, don’t you think?”