“If you want me to betray you with your wife, you’re out of luck.” She returned her gaze to him, and he stood as if naked, in spite of the swimmers and the holiday shirt flapping open around his hips. “Am I supposed to take you seriously? I’m getting mixed signals here.”
“I rather prefer to be taken seriously, at least by those whom I might employ, but I do feel as if a few steps have been missed between introductions and accusations. As the prospective employer, I anticipated that I would interview you, and not the other way ’round.”
“Huh. My experience is, it’s always mutual. We size each other up, learn more about the risks and rewards, make a mutual decision that the latter outweighs the former, and proceed from there.”
“How very American.”
She flashed a smile, like a fox through the bracken. “Yep. Guess we’re done here, but thanks.” She turned on her heel and flipped out the sunglasses, already deploying them as she crossed the pool surround heading back to the gate she’d just walked through.
Utterly bewildered, Nigel stepped after her. “I beg your pardon?”
She rubbed a hand over her face, and glanced back over her shoulder. “Okay, look, the British thing is fun, and that’s part of why I applied. I’m up for the travel, I match your qualifications, and the salary range is low but adequate. But I can’t protect the life of someone who won’t protect his own.” A shrug.
Drawing himself up, Nigel looked around, trying to imagine what she saw. Two chaise lounges, a table and an ash stand for the smokers stood close by. The villa occupied two sides of the pool area, the other two had a tall fence, topped with spiky bits handy for impaling the skulls of one’s enemies. Long view out toward the ocean, small clumps of skinny palm trees — too skinny to hide behind, surely — long view in the other direction toward the drive, and a few other houses at a distance. Honestly, he’d been pleased to find a place that seemed so readily defensible.
“You’re interviewing bodyguards from a lounge chair —”
“So that I can see people coming. I’ve a solid 180 view.”
“Of an ocean, and a street. At least six rooftops have line-of-sight on you right now, and there’s no cameras at the front of the house, no alarm system to speak of, pretty much zero situational awareness on your part. That’s before we talk about how you vetted the people you’re interviewing.”
She barraged him with words, and he could barely absorb the first part before she’d moved on. “Hold up a moment — how’d you know what’s at the front of the house?” She had approached along the lane, per the candidate instructions.
“Told you, it’s mutual.” She reached into her shoulder bag and pulled something out. “Say ’cheese.’“ She held it up, pushed a button, then tossed it toward him.
Nigel snatched it from the air, recognizing the object as it tucked into his palm: his compact, waterproof camera, its screen cheekily displaying his own astonished face, blue eyes wide, the wings of silver in his hair revealed by the tossing of his wild glance. Put that on the social media, and he’d get a thousand likes in moments. Nothing his audience “liked” better than his own absurdity.
“How did you —” he glanced back at the French doors lining the ground floor of the house, and the office he could see from there, the office where he’d been stashing his equipment.
“Always have a deadbolt, Mr. Rowe. Then use it. Hope you live long enough to sign your new hire. God knows you need the help.” She pushed through the gate and strode off, long, languid strides.
Either they’d hate each other every moment, or she was precisely what he required. Or possibly both. “Ms. Alexander? A moment, please —” He stepped after her, only to trip over the base of the cigarette receptacle and stumble like the fool he seemed to be.
A gale of laughter echoed behind her as she strode away, tossing off a wave. Nigel thrust back his hair, recovering his balance if not his composure. Truth to tell, he’d been a touch off-kilter since the shooting, his first time being on the wrong end of the foxhunt, but if he expected any accommodation from people like this, he might have to try being honest for once. The camera already dangled from his wrist, the strap deployed by second nature. It was, perhaps, not Lancelot he required, but the Sancho to his Don Quixote: the wise counter-balance to his more fanciful self. At least she’d been the final interview today. He ought to take a scroll back through the candidates and review his notes. There’d been another woman earlier, a Russian, who seemed quite capable, and that gentleman from Thailand who owned to having certain talents —
“Mr. Rowe?”
His biggest fan stood on the ocean side of the fence where a narrow path led around from the front. “Didn’t expect you’d still be back here, sir. Hope I didn’t startle you.” His teeth resembled the arc of Stonehenge, including the gaps and bridges.
“I plan to make my decision in the next day or two, but I do appreciate your coming by.” The woman’s derisive remarks about security and situational awareness came back to him, and he turned as the fellow circled back to the gate. Casually palming the camera, Nigel tapped the record button.
“I know, I know. Sorry.…” He pushed through and scrubbed a hand over where his neck should be. “This is embarrassing. I …” he glanced away toward the ocean, his round face crumpling. “I’m on this medication that means I need to, uh, use the crapper.” He raised his eyebrows, cheeks growing a little pink. “Thought I could make it back to my hotel, but I started walked, and nope, not making it. Do you — that is, could I? Aw, jeez.”
What did a man say to a request like that? Putting him off seemed positively inhuman. Not as if he’d give the man free rein inside the villa, of course. Nigel wasn’t that stupid. “Over this way.” He gestured toward the villa’s guest quarters at the short end of the structure. “There’s a loo in here.”
“Thank you, sir. I should’ve known you’d understand. After all, there was that time in Borneo —”
“God! Don’t remind me of Borneo, just go.” Nigel ushered the man forward, stepping toward the corner of the pool to make way for his need, not to mention his bulk.
“You are a gentleman, sir — or should I not mention that either?’ He stuck out his hand, and Nigel responded. The man gripped Nigel’s wrist in a swift movement, the ash stand with the other hand, and stepped into the pool.
Want to know more? Join the newsletter for updates about the series launch! bit.ly/RocinanteStories
As always, thanks so much for reading!
About the Author
* * *
E. Chris Ambrose also writes dark historical fantasy novels as E. C. Ambrose: the Dark Apostle series about medieval surgery, from DAW Books. Developing that series made the author into a bona fide research junkie. Interests include the history of technology and medicine, Mongolian history and culture, Medieval history, and reproductive biology of lizards. Research has taken her to Germany, England, France, India, Nepal, China and Mongolia as well as many United States destinations. In the process, E. C. learned how to hunt with a falcon, clear a building of possible assailants, pull traction on a broken limb, and fire an AR-15.
Published works have appeared in Warrior Women, Fireside magazine, YARN online, Clarkesworld, several volumes of New Hampshire Pulp Fiction, and Uncle John’s Bathroom Reader. The author is both a graduate of and an instructor for the Odyssey Writing workshop, and a participant in the Codex on-line writers’ workshop.
In addition to writing, E. C. works as an adventure guide, teaching rock climbing and leading hiking, kayaking, climbing and mountain biking camps. Past occupations include founding a wholesale sculpture business, selecting stamps for a philatelic company, selling equestrian equipment, and portraying the Easter Bunny on weekends.
Table of Contents
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAP
TER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
More by this author
Rogue Adventures, Volume 1 Excerpt
About the Author
Landmarks
Cover