With Wheels parked outside our door, and my hubby speaking with security, I compose an email to my former employer and ask them to forward it to the CIA.
Selena Bright is staying at the Four Seasons and is being guarded by Suds and Sam Private Detective Agency. Any attempt to coerce or contact her will cause information to be sent to social media and all national news outlets. Believe me, you don’t want what she knows to go public.
After a bit of wordsmithing, I hit send and motion Selena to sit with me.
“I need a list of your clients or the rest of us will be leaving in the morning.” I slide a pen and a pad of paper across the table.
The safe house was the last straw. Either she works with us, or we are done. She taps her glossy red nails on the table, eyes me, then starts writing.
I’m still reviewing names when Suds enters, sits, and whistles through his teeth. “Damn. She slept with all of them?”
“Apparently. Hey, no imagining sex with Selena.”
“I wasn’t darlin’. I was just wonderin’ what kind of power she holds over them.”
Our client overhears, walks behind him, and squeezes his shoulder. “No secret, lover boy. I simply give them what they want and make them feel young again.”
“I need to learn how to do that.” Chrissy opens a miniature fridge, finds a food platter, removes the plastic wrap, and places it on the table.
“Baby, no. You have a lot of other options. You’re smart. Finish high school and if you still think it’s the career you want, we’ll talk.” Selena sits next to her daughter and stabs a toothpick into a cube of cheese.
“I’m not going back to Gram’s, mom. She needs help. More than I can give.” The girl’s voice cracks. “I know she was mean to you but she’s all alone.”
Selena sighs. “I will figure something out, but she is your guardian. You need to go back.”
“Not anymore. I’m emancipated. I can live with you.”
“What about school?”
“I already spoke to my advisor. I can finish online.”
While they reconnect, I wonder how the hell we untangle the mess we got ourselves into, then a most brilliant notion comes to mind. “Sam, sugar. You need to accept that job with the FBI.”
