Mateo runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely remorseful. "I really put my foot in it, didn't I?"
"Up to your knee," I confirm, but without real heat. We've all made first impression mistakes. Though Mateo's might be a record.
Gloria gathers herself. "Let me show you gentlemen where you'll be staying. The pool house is fully equipped: kitchen, bedrooms, living area. You'll have access to the main house as needed."
"Ms. Hayes," I say as we follow her through the house, "I'd like a full briefing on these threats. When they started, any patterns you've noticed, and particularly anything about this 'Little Doll' reference that seemed to upset Miss Sinclair."
Gloria's steps falter slightly. "That's... not my story to tell. If Jade wants you to know, she'll tell you herself."
"We can't properly protect her if we don't know what we're protecting her from," I counter.
"You're protecting her from whoever sent those messages and attacked her in New York," Gloria says firmly. "The rest is personal."
I recognize the protective stance. I've taken it myself many times for people I care about. Pushing won't get us anywhere right now.
We follow her through the house. I keep my steps measured, my breathing even. My eyes move automatically, cataloging exits, blind spots, sightlines. It comes naturally now, part of the job.
The main house is a textural paradise: reclaimed wood beams contrast with smooth plastered walls, plush hand-woven rugs laid over cool stone floors. Every room bathes in golden California light filtering through strategically placed skylights and tall windows. The place feels both rustic and luxurious, lived-in yet meticulously designed.
Gloria leads us through sliding glass doors onto a stone patio overlooking a resort-worthy backyard. Lush gardens with blooming bougainvillea cascade down terraced levels, vibrant magenta blooms stark against whitewashed walls. The scent of sage and eucalyptus hangs in the air, carried by a gentle canyon breeze. A sparkling infinity-edge pool seems to float above the canyon. A guesthouse nestles among mature olive trees, promising privacy for days.
"Does someone monitor the security system remotely?"
"Yes, through a service. Basic motion sensors and door alarms."
I make a mental note to upgrade everything immediately. "We'll need to enhance that significantly."
The pool house is more modern than the main structure: clean lines, lots of glass,and minimalist furnishings. It has more than enough space for the three of us, with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a compact kitchen, and a comfortable living area.
"You'll find everything you need here," Gloria explains, showing us around. "Clean linens, basic supplies. The gym is through there." She points to a glass-walled room off the pool area.
"And Miss Sinclair's schedule?" I prompt.
"I'll email you her calendar. At the moment, the scheduled photoshoots have been postponed, although at this stage we didn't provide the reason why. We thought it would be best to keep the information contained." Gloria pauses. "She's been advised to rest, but she's not particularly good at following that advice."
"Noted," I say. "We'll need access codes, a list of approved visitors, staff schedules..."
"I'll have it all sent over today," Gloria assures me. She hands me a set of keys. "These are for the pool house and the main house. There's also a gate remote for the driveway."
After Gloria leaves us to get settled, Mateo immediately claims the largest bedroom with a dramatic flop onto the king-sized bed.
"Well, this is definitely a step up from our usual accommodations," he says, staringat the ceiling. "Though I think I might have blown any chance of our client not hating me."
"You think?" I raise an eyebrow as I set my bag down in the second bedroom. "We're professionals. Act like it next time."
Heading to the nearest window overlooking the main house, I notice something useful: from this vantage point, you can see the kitchen, part of the living room, and the edge of what appears to be Jade's studio. Light streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating photography equipment and a large desk.
Good. Visibility is crucial.
Declan silently takes the third room, depositing his duffle on the bed before rejoining us in the living area. He moves to the windows, assessing the sightlines and security vulnerabilities with the practiced eye of someone who's survived by being vigilant.
"So," Mateo says, following me back to the main room, "are we going to talk about what just happened in there?"
"You mean you insulting our client before meeting her?" I deflect, opening my laptop to begin a security assessment.
"No, I mean you suddenly deciding we all need to live here," Mateo counters. "That's not protocol. That's not how we usually operate."
He's right, of course. I typically maintain strict boundaries between personal and professional. Staying in a client's home, especially one as private as Jade Sinclair, crosses those boundaries before we've evenbegun.
