FOUR MONTHS LATER

  Sitting in a café and reading the New York Times, I waited patiently for my charge to finish school. I was not alone here; the other tables also had an assortment of mutts with nice suits, comfortable shoes, and carefully watchful eyes, just like me, seated at them.

  This café was across the street from the Miller Academy, a very exclusive private school with a price tag at an astronomical level. Oliver, the New York chauffeur for the Burtons, was seated in the BMW parked on the street a block away and waiting for my call.

  My smartwatch throbbed against my wrist. Classes had ended, and I stood up along with all the other security types before tucking my paper into my map case and shouldering it.

  Discreetly rotating the crown of my watch and tapping Oliver’s icon on my contacts, I walked out the door while I heard the buzz in my earpiece, “Gotcha, Cassidy. On the way.”

  Flexing my back slightly as I tapped the watch face again to disconnect the call, I crossed the street and stood silently as the kids began to exit. The kids of millionaires and billionaires, mafiosos, diplomats, politicians…the kind of people with the money and the pull to get one of the exclusive spaces at the Academy for their little darling.

  “Cassidy!”

  And there was the little darling I was responsible for.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Burton.”

  Zachery Burton was twelve years old and finishing up 7th grade. He was a good kid and looked nothing like his grandmother, with blond hair, pale skin, and bright blue eyes. That wasn’t surprising since his father had been adopted by Lady Burton, and Lady Burton absolutely spoiled Zachery rotten just like a grandmother was supposed to, so it all worked out. Even with the level of money and spoiling, his parents had worked very hard to make sure he wasn’t an asshole.

  He nodded solemnly, “Good afternoon, Cassidy,” then he smiled.

  I smiled back, “It’s going to be just you and us staff for the next two weeks, I understand.”

  “Yeah, Mom and Dad are off doing something for Grandmom again. They do this twice a year, you know?”

  Eric and Sadie Burton were both very athletic and exuberant people, but they were also completely focused on the family business when they needed to be; I liked them

  “Coppersmith warned me about this; he also said that I am to make sure you don’t try to get away with anything.”

  He stuck out his tongue and then looked at me seriously, “So, did their plane leave already?”

  “Oliver dropped them off at the heliport around noon. They have to pick up some things at the Vermont estate before they leave for wherever they’re going…Nepal, I think,” I replied.

  “Have you ever been there?”

  “Nepal?” I shook my head. “No, I was stationed in the Balkans and the Mediterranean, mainly.”

  Oliver pulled up, and I opened the back door for Zachery to climb in before circling to the front and climbing into the passenger seat. As we pulled out, I did my normal 360° pursuit sweep.

  “Oliver…” I said quietly, as Zachery pulled out his Nintendo to play on the ride home, “…take the next left…no turn signal.”

  His eyes flicked up to the rear-view mirror, “The Escalade?”

  “Yes.”

  “Turning.”

  He yanked the wheel hard, and the Beemer slid quickly and smoothly around the corner.

  “Straight home, no delays.”

  “Got it,” he replied.

  “Cassidy?” came from the back seat. “What happened?

  I was watching in the rear-view as the Escalade slowed, then sped up past the corner; I turned to Oliver, “They know they’ve been made…They’re going to try for an intercept.”

  ‘Cassidy!?” Zachery was sounding scared now.

  “Mister Burton,” I used my politest command voice, “Please duck down until I tell you it’s safe to sit up. Some people are making poor life choices, and I don’t want you to be injured by their stupidity.”

  “How stupid are they?” he asked, wide-eyed.

  “Very stupid.”

  “Cassidy,” Oliver spoke up. “You called it.”

  I looked out the windshield and saw the Jeep heading toward us. They were starting their turn to block the road.

  “Mister Burton, I hope your seatbelt is on. Oliver, ram them…Full speed.”

  As I spoke, I leaned back in my seat and pressed my skull against the headrest while tightening up all the slack in my seatbelt. Oliver was doing about the same as he pressed the accelerator pedal of the heavy sedan to the floor.

  The blockers realized what was happening a moment too late as we smashed into the side of the larger SUV, sending it skidding sideways. As both Oliver and I were ready for it, the whiplash was nowhere near as stunning, and as soon as the airbags had finished deflating, I was slapping my belt release and kicking my door open.

  “Call the cops and keep an eye on Burton…” I said as I glanced over at Oliver. He was getting his own pistol out.

  The guy in the front passenger seat was groaning; we had hit his door, and he had not been ready for the impact. However, the driver and the two guys in the back had only been dazed and were looking at me with undisguised hate.

  Jumping onto the crumpled hood of the Beemer, I dove across the roof of the Escalade as the gunfire began and, sliding across the metal, tumbled off into a shoulder roll before the gunmen had even realized I had crossed their vehicle. The driver’s door was open as he was climbing out, and I pivoted and chopped him in the throat with a knuckle strike before kicking the side of his knee and separating the joint with a muffled pop.

  That got him screaming even with the swollen larynx.

  The guy in the back on the driver’s side was turning toward the scream, and he saw my Glock pointed at his face as he began to swing his shotgun toward me. I shook my head and said, “Put it down.”

  Sirens were blaring now, and I saw flashing lights reflecting off the vehicle in front of me. Quickly dropping to my knees, I pulled my carry permit from inside my holster along with my ID and ejected the magazine from my pistol before setting it on the ground and putting my hands on my head with the fingers interlaced and gripping my documents.

  “You’re a chick?” the first officer said as he kicked my pistol away and cuffed me.

  “Yes, sir,” I said very politely. “I am a licensed and bonded bodyguard, and the mutts there, one of which has a sawed-off shotgun and the other who has a Uzi, were trying to snatch my principal.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Oliver, is he all right?” I called out.

  “Yes, he is, Cassidy!”

  “Who’s that?”

  “My principal’s chauffeur and the guy who just called my lawyer and had recorded the entire incident.”

  He laughed, and I just shrugged as he dragged me to my feet; I was a good three inches taller than he was.

  “What do you have, Martinson?” a guy wearing lieutenant’s bars was walking over.

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  “She says she’s a bodyguard, and she had this paper and that gun.”

  “Lieutenant,” I spoke up, “have you asked Officer Martinson why the guys with the sawed-off and the submachine gun seated in that ride haven’t been disarmed? They haven’t started shooting yet because they know their whip is fucked up, and there are a lot of your guys arriving.”

  “Submachine gun?”

  “An Uzi. They tried shooting me.”

  “That’s bullshit…” Martinson began.

  “Did you tell him about those weapons?” the Lieutenant asked me as he looked at my permits.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And is this the New York Attorney General’s name and signature on these authorization to carry forms?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my employer is a very important person, I suppose.”

  “How important?”

  “Enough to make me vanish if I let her grandson get hurt; he’s in the back of that car. We were on our way home from the Miller Academy.”

  The Lieutenant stiffened; he knew what kind of money that school meant. By this time, officers, including Martinson, had removed the four gunmen from the Escalade, and an ambulance was arriving for the one I had incapacitated. He uncuffed me and, after sniffing the chamber, handed me my pistol and permits back.

  “Unfired.”

  “I didn’t need to,” I said as I tucked the Glock back into my holster and snapped the retaining flap down. The documents went into my inside jacket pocket.

  “Who are they?”

  “No clue, but it feels like a snatch attempt; I used to work for the State Department as a Protection Officer. So, when I spotted these mutts tailing and then setting up a shoot-and-scoot roadblock, I had to make a fast decision. If I let them get a shot off first, it would get bad, so I told our driver to be proactive. A car is cheaper than a funeral.”

  He sighed, “I’m going to need a statement.”

  “Of course, can I get a ride with my principal to our home? Then, I’ll ride with the officer to the precinct. My principal is only 12 years old, after all.”

  The Lieutenant nodded, “Yeah…Dickinson!”

  “Yes?” an officer jogged over.

  “Follow Ms. Cassidy over to that car and take the child inside to…?” he looked at me.

  “Central Park Tower.”

  “Of course it is,” he sighed again. “What floor?”

  “120.”

  “Follow them up so she can stow her firearm and then deliver her to Police Plaza.”

  “Got it.”

  I walked around the Escalade, brushing the crud off my suit, and saw Oliver standing with Burton next to a paramedic.

  “Cassidy!” Burton yelled. “You’re okay!”

  “Well, of course I am. I was wearing my seatbelt. Oliver,” I pulled out my wallet, “Get it towed and then take a cab back to the building ASAP.” I handed him a pair of hundreds. Being a bodyguard frequently means you need to be the bank, too. “I’m running Mister Burton home, but I want to make sure he’s got some coverage while I’m giving our statement.”

  “You got it…Here’s the dashcam card. I already uploaded a copy.”

  “Thanks. Mister Burton, time to go. Officer Dickinson is going to give us a ride home. You have all your stuff?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  It was late by the time I got out of interrogation. The Burtons’ lawyer, a guy named Harrison, showed up, which helped a lot, but there was just so much paperwork. The fact that I hadn’t fired my piece and they had, made my case stronger, especially when the bullet holes in the pavement and some parked cars showed that our attackers were playing for keeps.

  “Hey, Cassidy!” Jennings, the night desk concierge, waved as I entered. “Ollie said you had an exciting day.”

  Snorting a laugh, I nodded, “Nobody died, at least.”

  “You’ll get days like that.”

  Heading to the penthouse elevator, I used my card and headed up to the 120th floor. Getting out at the reception gallery, I waved my card at the foyer door, and it clicked open. Oliver was seated in the main room, watching Burton do his homework.

  “Hail the conquering Hero.”

  “I feel pretty conquered myself,” I replied. “You okay, Mister Burton?”

  Burton looked up at me, “I’m fine. Ollie kept a good eye on me. Are you hurt?”

  “No…I was ready for the crash…But I think your mom and dad are going to be mad at me for telling Oliver to run into them and breaking your car.”

  Burton laughed, “I think they’ll understand.”

  “I hope so!” I was smiling when I said that. “Now I need some dinner.”

  “Mrs. Hagerty left you something in the oven,” Oliver said.

  “Then it’s off to the kitchen I go. Oliver, if there’s anything you need to do or a place you need to go, I’ll have him for the rest of tonight. We’ll take the Mercedes tomorrow.”

  “I’m off then.”

  “See you in the morning.”

  He grabbed his jacket and headed out. I went into the kitchen to get the steak, potatoes, and beer that were waiting for me. As I walked back into the living room, I sat down on a sofa and sighed before taking my jacket off.

  “Cassidy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Did they shoot you?”

  “They tried, but they were so shaken up by the crash they couldn’t hit me.”

  “Mom said you used to do this…protecting people…for Presidents and Senators and stuff.”

  “Ambassadors and other government people, not Presidents. That’s the Secret Service. I worked for the Diplomatic Security Service, and before that, I was an Army policewoman. Protecting people has always been my job.”

  “Well, you’re really good at it.”

  “Thanks.”

  He went back to his homework, and I ate my dinner.

  After I had cleaned up my dishes, I went to the room that had been set up as a small gym and worked out on the heavy bag for an hour before returning to my room and taking a long shower before getting ready for bed. Before I turned in, I walked down the hall to Burton’s room and made sure he was asleep. I did this every night.

  Hearing his faint snores, I returned to my room, navigating by the faint glow of the floor easement lights. Climbing into bed, I closed my eyes, and then I heard a faint series of clicks. My bedroom was near the service foyer door, and I kept my door slightly ajar so I could hear if Burton needed anything. What I was hearing now was not Burton, but someone picking a lock.

  The service foyer door had a mechanical backup to the electronic card lock, and that was what was being attacked. I slept in sweatpants and a t-shirt, so I was out of bed, stepping into my boots, and sliding my shoulder holster on, ready to go very quickly.

  I pressed the speed dial for the front desk, and, as I feared, there was no response after three rings. Time to call the cops. Pressing the panic button next to my bed, I scooped my tactical light off the nightstand and crept into the hall. The easement lights didn’t reveal much, but I heard breathing, and then, in the faint glow, I saw the shapes of two men wearing night vision gear.

  Staying low, I snuck over to the main switch panel next to the laundry room and flipped the overhead lamp override on the timer. The whole condo was now very well-lit, and as they recovered from the sudden flare, I was behind one of them with my Glock pressed against his kidney.

  “Peek-a-boo.,” I whispered in his ear.

  “Oh shit…”

  “Both of you should put those nasty guns on the floor. Officer Friendly will be here soon, and we don’t want any messes.”

  They laid their suppressed Uzis on the floor and then set their pistols next to them.

  “Smart boys.”

  There was a click behind me, “Smarter than you, bit…” Before they finished speaking, I was already moving, throwing my body sideways. There was the rapid chatter of a suppressed automatic weapon as the speaker panic-fired, with most of the rounds of his burst slamming into the guy I had gotten the drop on, including a headshot, and taking him out. I was spinning as I fell and shot the shooter twice in the chest. It was clear that he was wearing some kind of body armor, but the shots still succeeded in knocking him back onto his ass.

  I log-rolled behind a wall as the third guy fired, gouges being torn out of the floor in a cloud of marble chips. I could still see the guy I had gut shot as he was getting to his feet, so I plugged him in the face; being nice was not going to cut it here.

  “Yo!” I called out. “Five-Oh is on the way, and two of your boys have been done by one chick in her sleepwear, buddy. You like your odds?”

  I heard him turn and run, so I was up and chasing him; I turned into the hallway toward Burton’s room and saw him slapping something on the wall before he lowered his weapon and turned to face me, “You are so fucked now.”

  Reaching behind him, he tried to open Burton’s door, but he was clearly surprised that it didn’t open or even flex.

  “My employers are very security conscious…and I hit the panic button, asshole. All the bedrooms are rated as panic rooms when that triggers. You have no prayer of getting through that before the cops arrive.”

  Just then, he started to laugh, “Maybe I can’t, but it can…”

  The wall he slapped something on began to twist and warp, and some weird-looking metal arm stretched through, followed by what looked like a rusty ass wind up toy two meters tall.”

  “The hell…?” I gasped and shot it twice, aiming for what looked like the eyes. The bullets sparked, and I got one of the eyes, causing it to turn its head toward me.

  Extending one of its three arms in my direction, it fired a hoop with the outer edge looking like a circular saw blade at me. I flattened against the wall as it zipped past and cut right through the armored glass of the living room at the end of the hall and out into the city.

  Now, there was a ripping sound as its two other arms tore Burton’s bedroom door and its frame from the wall and casually dropped it on the floor. The remaining gunman rushed in.

  “I got the kid!” he called out. “You probably don’t want to shoot.”

  At that, he came out holding Burton as a shield to protect his torso, with his gun at the back of the boy’s head.

  I took a breath, let out half, and, raising my pistol, shot him in the small piece of his gun hand’s elbow that I could see, smashing it and jerking the pistol away from Burton before I then shot the intruder twice in the kneecap. He screamed in pain and collapsed, and the automaton launched another saw disk at me.

  I dove forward and tumbled as the blade whizzed over my head, reaching Burton and trying to drag him clear; when the automaton kicked me, I felt myself leave the floor, and then a sudden crash, and everything went black.