Tad struts in slowly, his abstight, his muscles glistening with sweat. His smile is conceited for a guywhose Dad just surprise-attacked him with this meeting because he didn’t trusthim to meet us at the hotel.
A hottie in a pair of shades,wearing a sunflower-yellow button-up and navy blue tie, walks alongside him.He’s taller than Tad and has an exasperated expression on his face. It must beexhausting to be the sidekick of such a dickhead.
Tad’s bodyguard Carson, whom Ihaven’t officially met yet, walks in right behind Tad, his face stoic. Asidefrom being slightly shorter than me, he’s the archetype of a bodyguard withbroad shoulders and a square jaw. His dark hair is buzzed close to his scalp.
“Sorry ’bout the delay, Kiernan,”Tad says as he approaches the sofas and offers a polite smile and nod. “How iseveryone doing today?”
Agent Roeder stands before thelockers. He appears the most unamused of anyone. His blond hair spikes acrosshis scalp. His face is locked in its usual scowl, the only one I’ve seen sinceI met him three weeks earlier when he recruited me for the position. I wasn’tthe most qualified for the job, but I was one of the few guys who was lookingfor a gig outside undercover work, meaning it wouldn’t be a liability to throwme on a project that required a certain amount of public exposure—one thatwould more than likely bar me from being able to work undercover again. Aftermy last major gig blowing an undercover cocaine operation in North Carolina,I’m not eager to work undercover ever again.
From our brief conversations overthe past few weeks, Roeder isn’t particularly thrilled about being responsiblefor the safety of a first-rate dick, but hell, at least he won’t have to be byhis side twenty-four seven.
Tad’s blond locks drape over hisforehead. From the evenly trimmed scruff that covers his sharp jawline to nailsthat appear to have been filed to just the right length, he’s obviouslywell-groomed, but he doesn’t seem prissy. Just clean. With his chiseled bodyand bulging muscles displayed before me, I can’t help but imagine that his holeis as clean as the rest of him.
I’m ashamed of the thought, but mycelibate streak has been a pain. Still, I don’t need to be thinking like thatabout the guy I’ll be working with for the next five months…at least. But I’mnot terribly concerned. This asshole isn’t my type at all. The twenty-five-year-oldparty boy grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth from his father Kiernan’sfortune, which he amassed in his early twenties during the dot com boom. Fromwhat I’ve heard in the news, Kiernan developed some programming software thattook off and left him with enough money to facilitate his quest to get his son intothe NFL—beginning with Tad’s four-year stint playing tight end for Notre Dameuntil he was drafted by the Dallas Cowboys three years ago. He’s part of whatled them to the Super Bowl last year, but considering Tad’s scandals, I imaginethe team would rather have a piss-poor player than one who scares off sponsorsand advertising money the way he does. Or at least, from what I’ve heard.
“So sorry, you guys,” Tad says,his expression innocent. Charming, even. He seems like the type of guy who’sgotten away with a lot of shit using his smile and the slight southern drawl inhis voice. “I was finishing up here. I was just on my way over.”
“Goddammit, Tad,” Kiernan says.“What do I have to do to get you to take this seriously?”
“I am taking it seriously. Buthonestly, I can’t imagine anyone’s all that eager to have some guy in a suitfollowing him around all the time.”
Kiernan waves to Tad’s bodyguard. “It’sjust like Carson,” he says. Kiernan is a few inches shorter than his son and witha stockier build, but his full head of gray hairs suggests more years than hisface lets on. I imagine they’re a product of the stress of the game. I’ve onlyknown Kiernan since we shook hands before the game, but I’ve already seen howpassionate he can get during a game—leaping up and down, red-faced and filled withheated passion as he curses at the top of his lungs. After what little I’veseen, I would never question this man’s love of football or his son’s success.I also wouldn’t question his ability to kick the fucking shit out of anyone whotried to take him on.
“No, it’s not,” Tad says. “Carsoncomes with me for big events. I can use him when I want to. I don’t have tohave him ’round the fucking clock.”
“Kid, no one wants bodyguards,” Roedersays, tilting his head as though he’s trying to soothe a crick in his neck, ashe sometimes does. “You get bodyguards because you have to have them. LanyonRains and Pierce Kingsley had bodyguards and that still didn’t do them anygood.”
Lanyon Rains and Pierce Kingsley,two openly gay celebrities, were shot to death by what the media andauthorities suspect is an anti-gay killer who’s on the hunt for high-profilegay men. Some sort of religious fanatic trying to send a big “fuck you” messageto the world about the progress of civil rights the past few years. So for me,it’s incredibly personal.
“If some psycho is going to try totake me out,” Tad says, “he’s going to do it whether I’m prepared or not.”
“If we can keep you secure,” Roedersays, “then we can make sure that you’re not in a high-risk environment.”
“You get my industry, dude? Youthink I can hide during a game?”
“No one’s asking you to stopplaying. It’s not likely whoever this is will hit the stadiums anyway. Lanyondidn’t get hit at a concert. He got hit at the grocery store. Kingsley wasstrangled in his house. Not at some big premiere. The killer we’re talkingabout here isn’t stupid. He doesn’t want to get caught. Look, considering yougot the same note as the other two guys, I’d think that this would be a majorpriority for you.”
Tad’s expression relaxes as he seemsto digest Roeder’s words. He eyes me. “So this is the guy?”
“This is Bryce Finnegan. He’s beenan agent for six years. He’ll be working undercover for the next few months tokeep whoever this is from being able to plan around our security. We’re goingto play like he’s a hired hand for Kiernan. He’ll be going under the name BryceO’Riley. We’ve already created his backstory and reviewed it with him. As foreveryone in this room, you’re here because you’re an integral part in Tad’slife and can play a pivotal role in maintaining Bryce’s cover. Also, I wouldlike to point out, since you’ve signed a confidentiality agreement, I will sayvery clearly that if you violate it, you will face consequences.”
Tad eyes Kiernan with contempt.I’m curious about the nature of their relationship, as they’ve been workingside-by-side on his career since he was a kid. Now, to see him filled with allthis apparent anger toward him, I suspect there’s far more to theirrelationship.
“I don’t want to hear anymore crapabout this,” Kiernan says. “He’s here to help you out, and you’re going to actfucking cool about it. You got that?”
“Whatever. Can you get me alatte?” he asks me.
Heat fills my cheeks, and I wish Ididn’t have such a severe reaction to his words, but it’s a response I can’tcontrol.
This guy is going to be a realpain in my ass.
I knew this gig was too good to betrue. Agent Farley, to whom I reported before this job, told me to take themoney. It’d be five months that I wouldn’t have to deal with the insanity ofanother undercover gig with some drug cartel. And when I finished, I’d have thedesk job I’ve been hoping for.
“He’s not here for your fucking lattes,”Kiernan says on my behalf.
Tad’s publicist, Debra, seemsequally unamused as she crosses her arms and legs on the edge of the couchbeside Kiernan.
Tad sizes me up like he’s tryingto figure out if he could take me. I’m 6’ 6’’. He’s just barely 6’ 4’’,according to his stats. I’m sure he gets a lot of shit for being on the shorterside for a tight end. And while he’s athletic, I’ve got a bigger build, so I’dbe a challenge at least. Although I’m hardly coming out of an intense trainingcamp like he is.
