Reality (The Girl in the Box Book 52), page 10
“Camels are vicious,” Traverton said with great self-assurance. “You get bitten by a camel, you know it. Besides, I was going to turn into a hippo once I made it into a space with more room.” He looked over the bathroom and his eyes lit up, mouth opening slightly in awe. “Like in here. I could have been a hippo in here. You've even got a tub for me.”
“Yeah, I was planning on bathing a scrub-ass hippo in it when I bought the place,” Scarlet deadpanned. Then, to Scott. “Get out. Both of y'all. I gotta finish getting ready.”
“Come on,” Scott said, ushering Traverton out. “Quick reaction. Points for that.”
“Oh, thanks,” Traverton said, accepting the ushering without complaint. “You think she's mad?”
Scott heard the door slam behind them to the master bathroom. “Probably,” he said, trying to keep his own irritation from shining through. She was a client, after all, someone whose life was at stake, just the same as in any of the other cases he'd worked. “But I get the feeling that might be a regular thing for her, so let's just keep doing our jobs.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Sienna
There was a naked man in my bed when I opened my bedroom door. I could tell he was naked not only by the charming, rugged pecs on shirtless display but because he was turned slightly sideways between the sheets, which covered most of the objectionable parts but allowed me see the upper reaches of his fine, firm buttock on the right side.
“Andrew,” I said, pursing my lips as I tried to rule out the possibility he was wearing a speedo or something, “I don't remember asking for you to do this...and I really don't want to get started on the whole misconception people seem to have about me being a succubus and that somehow being a green light to show me their genitals.”
“I just really felt a connection with you when we met,” he said, fluttering his eyelids innocently.
“That was my succubus powers threatening to rip your soul out,” I said.
“Hey, what's going on in – HEY!” Heidi appeared at the door, her expression going from curious to furious as she rounded it and found Andrew in the bed. “What,” she said, her eyes blazing lightning (not literally), “are you doing in here?”
“I felt...connected,” Andrew said, with much less confidence than he'd offered when he'd given me the same answer.
“To what?” Heidi sputtered. “Surely not her heart, since you have no clothes on. Not her mind, either, since – see above. This is – a piggish display of sheer lust, and I will not have it. Get out.”
“I – I'm sorry, Heidi,” Andrew said, doing a little sputtering of his own. “I just thought–”
“No, I don't think you did,” she said. “Because if you were thinking, you would know that the philosophy here is heart, mind, then body. Not mouth, body – oh, no, what did I just say?” She shook her head at the double entendre, then stamped a foot and pointed at the door. “OUT!”
Andrew hurriedly gathered his clothing, covering his junk with it as he hustled out past us, undisguisedly shamefaced. “Sorry,” he said to me as he went by. I looked away so as not to stare at his perfectly sculpted ass when he passed.
But...I might have lingered a moment too long.
“I am so, so sorry,” Heidi said. “I will deal with this personally, and he will be eliminated from the show.”
“But not from the planet, right?” I asked, mostly joking. “Mostly” because...well, I'd dealt with a murderer or eight hundred in my time.
“Making an unpleasant, unasked-for pass is hardly cause for application of the death penalty,” Heidi said with a knowing smile. “We save that for important things, like when a man leaves the toilet seat up in the middle of the night.”
“As it should be.” I nodded sagely. “In all seriousness...don't be too rough on the guy. He misread a signal.”
“I take this incredibly seriously, Sienna,” Heidi said, all humor gone.
I shrugged. “I don't. Probably because I could peel his skin off with a solid tug if he offended me. But whatever. It's your show.”
She nodded, then hesitated. “Can I ask you...?” Then faltered.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she seemed to decide. “I'm doing a sit-down interview with you first thing tomorrow, on camera. After that, you get a group date with the guys you met tonight, a chance to see them all show their personalities, a chance to impress you. Then, tomorrow night, you can pick one to go on a solo date with you, which we'll film down in Steelwood.”
I felt a creeping vulnerability. “What kind of group date and solo date?”
Heidi smiled. “It'll be something fun. Something sweet.”
“I'm neither fun nor sweet,” I said. “I just...I don't want to have a conniption fit on your TV show.”
“No one wants that,” Heidi said. “Well...maybe the drama llamas want that, but we're not going to give it to them. It'll be fun. Actual fun, not staged fun, not painful. And if it's not? We're doing it wrong and we'll cancel it and find something that will be actual fun for you. Okay?” She smiled reassuringly. “Like going to a gun range or something.”
“That actually does sound like fun,” I muttered as she started out the door.
“Hm?” she asked, turning back around.
“Nothing,” I said. “Thanks. Good night.”
“I'll get someone to change those sheets,” Heidi said, and a flicker of disgust marred her features for a moment. “Immediately.”
“Oh,” I said, and looked back at them. “Thanks for that, too.”
“Not a problem,” she said, and she hustled off.
I didn't bother to mention I'd slept worse places. Ass was not a dealbreaker. Hell, compared to some places I'd slept, and people I'd slept with (especially while drunk), that ass might have even qualified as an incentive.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Scott
Scott had flown on a private jet a few times in his life, so it was no big deal to him. Driving right up to the plane, popping out and boarding right on, and being gone within five minutes, this was normal.
Apparently it was new to Traverton, though, because his mouth stayed wide open and gawking through every step in the process. Drive up – gawk. Step onboard the lushly appointed Gulfstream? Gawk. And so on.
By the time they reached the concert venue – FTX Arena – Scott felt the twitch in his brow from reaching the end of his patience.
Scarlet, surprisingly, seemed amused by the whole experience. “Try to hold your bladder, white boy,” she said, crossing her legs, her expensive jeans squeaking on the limo's seats, “this is Corinthian leather.”
“Huh?” Traverton looked back at her, apparently not having registered what she'd said. “Sorry, what?”
“Nothing,” Scarlet said, going back to her phone. She was still smirking, though.
Scott kept his eyes on the streets around them. The pedestrian traffic was light, but the actual traffic was heavy. To his eye, Miami was becoming a sort of LA light for the southeast, right there with Atlanta in difficulty in navigating. At least they were in a comfortable limo instead of him having to drive them through this while keeping an eye on the drivers around him.
Once they reached the stadium, sound check began. To Scott this seemed a boring process, and one he didn't even need to be present for. The only people here were her band members and some technical staff; he looked them all in the eyes one by one as Scarlet made introductions and there was no malice anywhere. Just a desire to get the job done, and maybe a hint of fandom from a couple of them.
“I'm going to check the stadium out,” Scott said to Traverton as the latter watched sound check unfold. He seemed to be paying rapt attention; apparently not much interesting happened in his life. “You keep an eye on her, and watch carefully if anyone approaches.”
“Got it,” Traverton said. “I'll challenge anyone who approaches.”
“Right,” Scott said, remembering the camel incident in the bathroom. “Try and match your energy to what you get from them, though, okay? Don't knock somebody over just because they're running up here. Maybe they're a messenger, maybe they're part of the crew trying to do something. Be polite. Professional. Don't look insane.”
Traverton seemed taken aback by that. “Wait...how should I act? Have I been looking like I'm insane?”
“No,” Scott said. “Just...be cool is all. Act like you've been here before, like this is something you've done.”
“But...it's not,” Traverton said, voice getting a little high.
“Yeah, well, fake it til you make it,” Scott said, deciding that he needed to be swift in his rounds, and left Traverton standing there wide-eyed and sweating.
It didn't take him long to find his intended destination. He had to stop once to ask a kindly old maintenance man where to find the security monitoring room, and he did find it after wandering a warren of corridors not far backstage.
The door was propped open, monitors manned by a half dozen guys and girls wearing yellow T-shirts with “Security” written on the back in big letters. They were supervised by a shlubby guy wearing a red blazer who looked to be in his mid-thirties with tufts of hair going in all directions, barely organized at all. His skin was a little mottled, and he wiped his watery eyes and clutched a walkie-talkie, nodding at Scott as he entered. “Hey,” he said.
“What's up?” Scott asked, greeting him with a handshake. He found it kind of damp, a little limp, not a great sign. “You're in charge of security?”
“Stadium security, yeah,” the guy said. “I'm Tommy Rolniak. You're the new bodyguard, right?”
“Scott Byerly.” Scott cocked his head. “How'd you hear about that?”
“Email from her management,” Rolniak said, sniffing. He mopped his eyes. “Man, I don't know what it is in the air in this town, but it is killing me. You want to check out the setup?”
“Yeah,” Scott said. “You work for the stadium?”
“Huh? No,” Rolniak said, shaking his head. “I tour with Scarlet, supervise and interface with stadium security for her wherever she goes.” He smiled. “Guess I work for you, technically. Which I'm sure is going to be a pleasant departure from working for Shift Co. Talk about a bunch of morons.”
Scott glanced at the security monitors. It seemed the stadium was well-covered with electronic surveillance, cameras posted in all the major thoroughfares and corridors. “What do you mean?”
“It was like they were living in the pre-meta days, y'know?” Rolniak said. “I'd bring up, 'Hey, a flying meta can get in through the open top stadium,' and they'd just sort of ignore it. Or mention how a water meta like yourself could block the sprinkler system – no reaction if there's a fire. And of course we're constantly vulnerable to those Thor types, they could zap the power to the whole place and do whatever they wanted in the dark, right?”
“That...is alarming,” Scott said, because he'd never considered any of those scenarios.
“Well, the good news is that this is an enclosed stadium, so flyer risk is minimal,” Rolniak said, smiling weakly. He seemed to realize he'd just dropped a bomb on Scott. “You can get the water flowing again if someone knocks it offline. And hey, everyone can light up their cell phones if the power goes out, right?”
“I'm actually surprised nothing like you're talking about has happened anywhere yet,” Scott said.
“Oh, it has,” Rolniak said. “Just no one's organized an active attack like that. It's all the stuff you read in crime blotter stories, the less sexy second-page stuff that your agency deals with.” Rolniak seemed to be vibrating with enthusiasm. “Can I just say? I am such a huge fan of what you guys do. I find the whole meta world fascinating, the security aspect of it. It's just...so groundbreaking.”
“Thanks,” Scott said, not really sure how to take that. “Guess I never thought about it that way before.”
“And what with the increased threat status here,” Rolniak said, “and the meta nature of the attacker, I have a few ideas about how we could tighten security up. For Ms. Sahara, you know?”
“I'd be interested to hear them,” Scott said. “Let me ask you, though – how's the camera coverage here?” He nodded to the monitors and the T-shirt clad employees, who seemed to be casting looks his way. Given little was going on on the monitors, he could hardly blame them; just crew moving around setting stuff up.
“Solid, but, y'know, could be better,” Rolniak said, turning his attention to the monitors. “It's hard to cover every angle, you're always going to have some blind spots, but...I don't know, they did okay when they built the place.” He shrugged. “I've never been to a stadium yet where I didn't have some gripes about it, whether it's placement or visual fidelity or whatever.”
“Interesting,” Scott said, because Rolniak was an interesting cat. “So, if you were going to try and get to Scarlet, how would you plan it?”
Rolniak's eyebrows rose in mild surprise. “Well...if you were to plan it, like really plan it...it's not terribly difficult. I've only been to her house once, but she's got, what, two bodyguards? To cover all that square footage?” He grimaced. “Lotta windows on that place, man. Easy entry points. Here you've got extra bodies – all of us, event staff, crowds that may, maybe, get involved if you tried something. Assuming they saw it, that it was on stage.” He shook his head. “No, I don't envy you your job. If I was going to make a move on her, it wouldn't be here, with all these people around.”
“What about the hotels where she stays?” Scott asked. He was getting a bit of a sinking feeling.
“She almost never stays in hotels,” Rolniak said, a little pained. “She has the jet for a reason. Concert ends, she's on it within the hour and heading back to Nashville. Likes to sleep in her own bed – or at least has until now. Maybe she'll be different after the incident.”
“You're a real wealth of information about security, Tommy,” Scott said. “Hope you don't mind me calling you 'Tommy.'”
“Call me anything except late for dinner,” Rolniak said with a mild chuckle, then turned serious. “Hey, you know how it is. I've spent my life in this field. And I actually enjoy it, unlike some folks who just get into it because it's easy or doesn't require high levels of skill at the entry level.”
This made Scott give Rolniak another look. In spite of his outer appearance, he seemed like he not only knew what he was talking about, he had actual ideas and skills. “Let me ask you this,” Scott said, thinking hard, “because I didn't get a chance to talk to Scarlet's other security guys before they left the job – has she had threats?”
“Heh,” Rolniak said, and kind of shuffled to the side, where a table waited. A backpack was on it, and beside that, a shoebox. With a flourish, he opened the box to reveal a note written in what sure looked like blood.
It read:
YOU BETTER LISTEN
“Has she had threats?” Rolniak asked, rhetorically. “I should say so. This one, in fact, just showed up this morning. Security picked it up walking the perimeter. So...yeah. She's had threats, all right.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Sienna
I didn't really sleep that first night in the Matchmade mansion. Not that I was fantastic at sleeping under the best of circumstances, but even the night before, when I'd been stock still in my own bed staring at the ceiling until the sheriff arrived, it had been more restful than my first night in the Queen Suite. I dimmed the lights, sat in the (newly cleaned) sheets, and stared at the twinkling lights of Steelwood Springs out the beautiful windows until someone knocked lightly on the door just before six in the morning.
“Sienna? It's Heidi.” Her voice sounded muffled, quiet, as though she were trying to be gentle in waking me. “You up?”
“Come in,” I said. I was already dressed, had been for an hour or so, and I was just lying in bed, staring up at the fog-textured, knockdown ceiling. It was really nice compared to that popcorn ceiling at Reed and Perugini's old farmhouse.
Heidi slid in quietly, taking note of the glow of the lamp. “Did you sleep?”
“I don't do much of that anymore,” I said, not bothering to sit up. When I did, it'd probably be a bit of a head rush, anyway.
“You just lying there, then?”
“More or less,” I said, looking sideways out the window. Steelwood Springs wasn't a huge town, but it did look pretty in the shades of dawn.
“You excited about our interview?” she asked, just full of hope.
“Uhhhh,” I said, surprising myself that I actually gave a shit about her feelings.
“Oh, come on,” she said, bouncing over to the bed. “I'm not Gail Roth. I'm not even on camera.” She displayed her ruffled hair, pulled back in a ponytail and tucked through the hole of a navy Matchmade baseball cap. “My job's not to pummel you with questions you can't answer about past incidents, okay? It's to gently engage you in a conversation about your feelings.”
“You sure you don't want to go with the pummeling questions...?”
Heidi laughed, a great, silvery laugh. “You really do not like to talk about your feelings, do you?” She plopped onto the bed next to me and doffed her baseball cap like she was a gentleman trying not to wear it in my presence. “What is it about feelings that scares you so much?”
“I think it's feeling them, followed shortly thereafter by the emotional consequences of them. Yeah. Oh, and also – being vulnerable. I hate that.”
She laughed again. “You can be emotionally vulnerable to certain people without allowing others to hurt you, I'm pretty sure.”
“I'm pretty sure I can't control who hurts me, actually,” I said with a faint smile. “Emotionally or physically. It's just with one of them I can deliver a hellacious revenge that makes everyone else think twice about doing that shit again.”
“First of all, clearly you're not familiar with the works of Carrie Underwood, and second...” she cocked her head, utterly amused, “I don't think that dissuasion thing is working all that well, because I feel like people come after you an awful lot, and we all know what happens to those who do.”
