Ham picked up the phone. “Hey, Superman, that you?”
“It’s me, Ham.” He was glad she hadn’t heard the name he’d been tagged with in the military. No way was he letting her know. “Listen, I’m in Phoenix and I need a favor.”
“Name it, man. I owe you my life. Ain’t nothin’ you can ask I won’t do.”
“I was just doing my job, same as you.”
“My wife thanks you anyway. Tell me what you need.”
Josh glanced over at Tory, turned his attention to the man on the other end of the phone. “I need you to look out for a friend of mine while I run an errand. She’s got a stalker, guy named Damon Bridger. Bridger’s bad news, Ham.”
“Guys like that are my meat and potatoes. What can I do?”
“I don’t think Bridger knows where Tory is at the moment, but he hired a PI, guy named Floyd Wickham, to follow us. He tracked us to our hotel. If Wickham’s stupid enough to call him, Bridger might come after Tory. I don’t want to leave her alone.”
“Where are you?”
“Marriott Courtyard in Scottsdale near the hospital. Room 221.”
“If the traffic gods are with me, I’m twenty minutes away.”
“I’ll see you soon.” Josh ended the call and went into the other room.
He pulled his duffel out of the closet and collected the gear he would need. Opening the room safe, he took out the Beretta nine mil he had brought with him from Texas, not a problem since they were flying private and his concealed carry permit was reciprocal in Arizona.
As he clipped the holster onto his belt and pulled his T-shirt over it, Tory walked into the room.
“What’s going on, Josh? I’ve got a right to know.”
“I told you. I’ve got an errand to run. The friend I called is Hamilton Jackson Brown. We served together in Afghanistan a couple of years back. He was wounded in action, left the marines. We stayed in touch through that wounded vets group I support. Ham works for a company called Maximum Security. They’ve got a branch in Dallas. I trust Ham to keep you safe.”
“He’s a bodyguard?”
“That’s right. I’ll just be gone for a couple of hours. With Ham here, I know you’ll be okay.”
“Where are you going, Josh?”
“Probably better if you don’t know in case something goes wrong.”
“Tell me you aren’t going after Damon. Please tell me that.”
“All right, I’m not going after Damon.”
She propped a hand on her hip. “Why don’t I believe you?”
He leaned down and kissed her. “Because you’re a very smart lady.”
“Josh, you can’t—”
A sharp knock at the door interrupted them. Josh walked over and pulled open the door and a big, beefy African-American walked into the hotel room, making it suddenly seem too small.
Dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt with an old-fashioned iron manacle on the front, the Maximum Security logo, Ham was about the same height as Josh, around six-three, but heavier, with a barrel chest and bulging biceps. He was handsome until he turned sideways, revealing the terrible burn scars that covered half his face.
Josh clasped his hand, leaned in, and gripped his shoulder, bumping the holster Ham was wearing. “Ham, meet Victoria Bradford. Tory, my good friend, Hamilton Brown.”
Tory stuck out her hand and Ham’s big palm engulfed it. If she noticed the scars on his face, she didn’t react. “Nice to meet you, Ham.”
“You, too, Tory.”
