"Event security, yes, not personal protection." Diane stopped pacing, and distractedly checked something on her phone. "You need a bodyguard. It’s time. I know someone. His firm handles high-risk clients—politicians, witnesses, celebrities with serious threats. He's expensive and he can be a little intense, but he's good at his job—the best there is."
Cody looked at the floor-to-ceiling windows, the glittering Nashville skyline beyond. Somewhere out there, someone was thinking about him right now. Obsessing, maybe writing another one of those sick letters, or possibly planning something worse.
"Okay," he said. "I’ll think about it."
If he was being honest with himself, Cody didn’t want someone he didn’t know hanging around him every second of every day. It seemed like too much of his life already belonged to other people. But if the threats continued…
“Good,” Diane replied. “Get some sleep. You look like you need it. We’ll talk tomorrow about some of the offers I’ve received for you.”
Cody nodded. “Thanks, Diane.”
“Sleep tight,” she said, then she was gone, leaving Cody alone with his thoughts.
He crossed to the mini bar, grabbed himself a beer then took it to the couch and settled back mindlessly flicking through television channels, but not finding anything interesting enough to watch. A couple of hours had passed before he had wound down enough to go to bed.
That night, Cody woke to the sound of his hotel room door closing. Not a soft snick, it had been deliberately loud enough to wake him.
“Diane?” he said, voice groggy from sleep.
No answer.
Cody went from sleep to adrenaline-soaked alertness in a heartbeat, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up: three forty-seven in the morning. He switched on the bedside lamp.
The door was closed and the room was empty. But on the pillow next to him was a small handful of photographs. Printed photographs. Glossy and sharp, like someone had taken the time to get them developed properly not just printed them at home.
Cody’s hands shook as he picked them up. They were photographs of him. Asleep. Taken from beside his bed by someone who had been close enough to touch him. Cody was a heavy sleeper—always had been—but the thought that someone had stood over him, close enough to photograph his face, and he hadn’t woken up made his stomach turn. It made him feel sick to think that someone had been in his room, standing over him while he slept, and worse, they’d done it more than once.
Cody grabbed his phone and called Diane.
She picked up after just a couple of rings.
“He’s been in my room,” he said in place of a greeting. “He left photographs, photographs he took of me sleeping.”
"We're leaving," she said before he could say anything further. "Pack now. We're getting you out of here."
"Where?"
"Somewhere safe. And I'm calling Reid Colter about personal security. No arguments."
Cody looked at the photographs spread across his bed—evidence of how badly he'd underestimated the danger—and didn't argue at all.
Chapter Two
Reid
Reid Colter's office occupied the second floor of a nondescript building in Missoula, Montana. No glass logos. No security cameras visible from the street. Just a brass nameplate and a deadbolt.
The call came at 0400 hours—Reid still thought in military time, even though he'd been out of the service for eight years.
"Colter," he answered gruffly, scrubbing a hand over his eyes.
He wouldn’t usually have been awake at that hour, but he’d had an emergency security detail the night before and had only just handed it off to one of his employees. He was interviewing someone at 0800 so he hadn’t seen any point in going home.
"Reid, it's Diane Martinez. We spoke two years ago about the gubernatorial candidate."
Reid remembered. Governor Reeves had pissed off some militia groups with his environmental regulations. Reid's team had kept him breathing through an election cycle.
"I remember. What do you need?"
