Clive follows, his hand on his hip under his jacket. I shudder as I realize he probably has a gun.
“Can I help you?” a sweet, older woman asks as we approach the front desk.
“Y-yes. I’m Evianna Archer, and I called half an hour ago. I spoke with a Beatrice Nix. Is she here?”
“Of course. I’ll get her right away.”
As the woman shuffles off, Dax links our fingers and holds tight. “Once she authenticates you,” he says, “let me do the talking.”
“Ms. Archer? I’m Beatrice.” Her gaze flicks to Dax and then Clive, and she furrows her brows. “Will you come with me, please? We can talk in my office.”
I nod, but when Dax steps forward with me, Beatrice holds up her hand. “Only family members are allowed in the back, gentlemen. I’m sorry.”
A low growl rumbles in Dax’s throat, and I drop his hand, grab Beatrice’s arm, and whisper, “Nutella. Please. They’re with me…”
The password settles her, and she angles her head towards the hall. “Fine. This way.”
Dax turns to Clive. “Stay here. No one comes in or out unless you vet them. Wren sent you the picture?”
“Affirmative.” He takes position by the front door, his hand resting on something black and decidedly gun-like at his hip.
Beatrice’s office is small, decorated with pictures of babies, teenagers, and adults. All who bear a striking resemblance to her. “Ms. Archer, this is a safe facility. Can you tell me why you think your mother is in danger?”
Dax shuts the door behind us. “Ms. Nix, I’m Dax Holloway with Second Sight Security Services.” Digging into his pocket, he withdraws a small leather wallet and passes it to the woman.
“A private investigator? But…you’re blind.”
“I’m quite aware of that, Ms. Nix. I’m also aware you’re sixty-two-years-old, have three children, four grandchildren, and a dog named Chester. Now can we table the discussion of my blindness and talk about the safety of Ms. Archer’s mother?”
Anger and frustration radiate off Dax’s stiff frame, and if he squeezes my hand any harder, I’m worried he’ll break one of my fingers. But his little speech does the trick, as Beatrice takes a step back and stares down at her desk.
“My apologies, Mr. Holloway. But Mrs. Archer isn’t in any danger.”
“She had a visitor this morning,” I say. “He brought her flowers, claimed to be from my company. We didn’t send anyone.”
Beatrice sits, taps a few keys on her computer, and nods. “Yes. the gentleman had identification. Benjamin Denik. He stayed for ten minutes, and your mother was quite happy with the flowers.”
“There’s no one working for Beacon Hill Technologies named Benjamin Denik,” I protest. “He lied to you.”
Dax gives my hand a gentle tug, and I stop, turning towards him. “We have to—”
“Ms. Nix, the man you admitted this morning is a professional hitman. He tried to kill Evianna several nights ago. She’s been under Second Sight’s protection ever since. Mrs. Archer isn’t safe here, and unless she’s moved, immediately, neither are any of your other patients or your staff.”
Dax’s phone buzzes, and he taps his Bluetooth. “Excuse me for a moment,” he says. “Wren? Tell me you have a solution.”
He listens for a minute while Beatrice stares, her cheeks at least three shades paler than they were when we walked in here. When he hangs up the call, he nods. “Two unmarked, specially outfitted transport vans will be here in twenty minutes. They will pull up to your loading dock, side-by-side. We need to have Mrs. Archer ready to go by the time they show up. There will be no paperwork, no record of this transfer. Evianna will continue to pay your bill for the next ten days, or until we can guarantee Mrs. Archer’s safety and return her to your care. Do you understand?”
Holy shit. I think I just met Sergeant Holloway, Green Beret.
Beatrice nods, then, when I arch a brow at her, adds, “Of course, Mr. Holloway.”
“How did you do all of that so quickly?” I ask as I lead Dax towards my mother’s room.
“A lot of people owe me favors.” He offers me a half-smile. “And you can accomplish just about anything with enough money.”
“Oh God. Tell me what I need to send you, I’ll—”
“Nothing, darlin’. It’s done.”
