Monty gestured for Linc to sit. “Thanks for taking the time to come in and talk. You’re the third bodyguard I’ve hired in the last six months and, quite frankly, this is taking up too much of my valuable time.”
Linc gave a terse nod but said nothing. Jackson had warned him not to let Monty Edgeworth’s affable nature sway him. His friend had used the words “snake charmer.” Linc didn’t care if the senator was Satan incarnate as long as his check cleared at the end of this job. “No problem at all. I was already in town visiting Jackson when the job came up for reassignment. He seems to think I’d be a good fit.”
The smile slipped, and Monty nodded. “That’s right. You two served together, right?”
“Yes, sir. Two tours in Afghanistan.”
“Jackson’s good people, even if he spends most of his days babysitting celebrities.”
Jackson Avery did a lot more than guard celebrities, but Linc wasn’t about to waste his breath to say as much. Monty didn’t seem like a guy who wanted people to correct him. Instead, Linc turned his focus to the job. “You need me to protect your son? Has there been some kind of threat against him?”
The senator laughed. “Oh, no. Nothing like that. Honestly, the only threat to my son is himself. He’s… well, he’s spoiled is what he is. My wife and I, we gave him anything he wanted because we lost our first boy when he was real young. Now he doesn’t have the sense God gave a turnip. I need somebody to keep an eye on him over the next six months.”
A million questions popped into Linc’s head. He started with the unusually specific time frame.
“What happens in six months?”
“Election Day. I can’t afford a scandal right now. I’ve held this seat for six years and I’m not about to lose to a thirty-something, guitar-playing vegan who thinks Bernie Sanders is the goddamn messiah.” He snorted. “Topher Arroyo wants to legalize pot and let the gays run amuck and if he was any more pro-choice, he’d let women drown their babies right up until their first birthday. Who the hell names their kid Topher, anyway? Hippies, that’s who,” he finished, his voice hitting an impressive high note.
Linc clenched his jaw, but his face remained impassive as he stared at the spot dead center of the man’s forehead. Jack was right. This guy was a fucking douchebag. “So you want me to—what?—babysit your son? I’m not great with kids.”
Once again that laugh. “My son’s twenty-two years old. He might act like a toddler, but I promise there are no diaper changes. I need you to keep his name out of the papers.”
Linc frowned. “No offense, but you realize you’re paying six figures to babysit a grown man, right?”
“Ten minutes with my son and you’ll feel like I’ve robbed you blind.” Monty reached into his desk and grabbed something from the top drawer. He tossed a stack of pictures toward Linc. He caught them as they scattered across the glossy surface.
Linc picked them up. At first, he wasn’t sure what he looked at, but then he realized it was a car accident. The remains of a white Maserati sat crumpled on what looked to be a highway. It was nighttime, despite the artificial light flooding the pictures. As he flipped through the stack, he noted most of the photos were pictures of the car taken from different angles.
“This was his first accident two years ago. He walked away from that wreck unscathed.”
“His first accident?”
Monty’s face collapsed into a frown, making him look much older than his age. “Hmm. He’s been in three others since then.”
“Was he under the influence?”
“Not the first time. Just stupid and reckless. We convinced the judge he’d had a seizure, and they let him go.”
Of course they did, Linc thought, allowing himself a mental eye roll.
Linc continued to thumb through the photos. Halfway through the stack, the images changed. First, the remnants of a black BMW 2-series wrapped around a light pole, and then a Lincoln Navigator sitting half in and out of what looked to be a community swimming pool. The final images showed what had once been a small white SUV. The car’s front end now sat in the front seat and the vehicle itself was folded in on all sides like a giant had crushed it in his fist.
“This was his most recent accident. He had a fractured orbital bone, a broken femur, six shattered teeth, and a lacerated spleen. My wife had to be medicated for weeks from the stress.”
Stress, not fear, Linc couldn’t help but note. He was sure it wasn’t an accidental choice of words.
The last photo showed a boy on a stretcher with an oxygen mask hiding the lower half of his face. Blood and sweat plastered matted blond hair against the boy’s forehead, his left eye swollen shut. The right eye was open and looking at the camera. There was a bleakness in the look that felt like a kick to the stomach. Linc shook his head, pushing all the pictures back across the desk but one.
“The other accidents were minor enough I just paid for the property damage.”
Jesus. The douche apple obviously didn’t fall far from the douche tree.
“But this last accident from eight months ago, my son totaled his Porsche going a hundred miles an hour down I-95. He lost control of the car, spun out and, once again, collided with the concrete barrier. They say the only reason he lived is that he was so goddamn intoxicated he was ejected from the car. It's a miracle he’s alive,” he muttered, sounding like it was inconvenient, not miraculous.
“He seems to have suffered some serious injuries,” Linc noted, unable to tear his gaze from the picture of the boy.
“Not serious enough,” Monty muttered. That did get Linc’s attention. At his raised brow, the older man’s shoulders slumped. “I didn’t mean that. I’m just frustrated. He’s a good kid. He’s just… confused. He lacks discipline. Rules. Order. That’s why Jackson thinks you’ll be a good fit. He won’t charm you like he did the others.”
