The Handler (Noir et Bleu Motorcycle Club #2) (14 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Digger wanted to assign local Dutch Noir et Bleu members to help me, but I only trusted Mug and Gin, so I insisted. Digger eventually agreed. I didn’t tell Tim about the Boomslangs or why they wanted me dead, but I convinced him that organized crime was likely responsible for the bombing, so the best way to protect Lincoln was by having members of organized crime on our side. Tim refused to okay it until he met Mug and Gin in person. He almost flat out rejected the idea when two Noir et Bleu thugs showed up at the airport and looked like they hadn’t showered in weeks. It also didn’t help that instead of Mug and Gin, who I’d briefed Tim on, it was Mug and Kaz.

“Are you shitting me?” Tim said after they exited from airport security with no luggage. “I’m not hiring outlaws.”

“Give me a second.” I rushed over to Mug and Kaz. “I need to speak with you alone for a second,” I said to Mug and nodded my head to signal Kaz to go wait near Tim, which he did. “You were supposed to bring Gin.”

“Parole conditions. He can’t leave the country.”

I lowered my voice. “And you thought Kaz was a suitable replacement? His IQ is like ten.”

Mug pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the inside breast pocket of his leather jacket. “He does exactly what he’s told. That’s all you need to care about.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Kaz stood in front of the window with a bunch of little kids and watched a plane take off. Tim did not appear impressed. “I can’t guarantee Tim will approve the switch.”

“I don’t need nobody’s fucking approval.” Mug lit his cigarette literally right under a no smoking sign.

“Uh, yeah, you do. He’s the head of security.”

“Our orders are to tail you and intercept any future Boomslangs attempts. We can do that without that guy’s help.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if he was on board?”

After a pause, he nodded to concede the point before he headed over to Tim. He shook his hand. “Mike Jarvis. You can call me Mug. That is Alvin Kazinski.” He pointed at the six-eight bald kid in a jean jacket. “Call him Kaz. He doesn’t respond to anything else.”

“Sorry,” Tim said. “But I don’t think this is going to work out. I was under the impression you were both security professionals.”

“Security is all we do, but we’re not here to work for you. This will operate best if we stay out of your way and you stay out of our way. You won’t even know we’re around unless there’s a threat.”

Tim glanced at me, still unconvinced.

“They know what they’re doing,” I reassured him, although I was having doubts about the idea.

Tim hesitated for a long time, torn by the decision. Finally, he said, “They need to arrange their own transportation and accommodations. If they cause any problems, it’s on you.”

I nodded confidently, because I knew for a fact that there would be no problems as long as they were working under Digger’s orders.

“All right.” Tim pointed toward the sliding exit doors. “Cain and I need to go. Hopefully there is no need for us to meet again.” He left.

I handed Mug all the information he needed about the tour stops and venues. Then I handed him the keys to a Suburban that Digger had delivered for them. “Thanks for helping, man,” I said. “It’s parked in the arrivals pick up zone.”

Mug nodded, then whistled like he was calling a dog. Kaz peeled himself away from the view out the window.

As we all walked out of the airport, I said to Kaz, “Your name is Alvin?”

His face twisted into a confused expression, and he thought about it for a while before responding with, “Huh?”

I had no idea if that meant he was too simple to remember his own name, or if Mug had bullshitted Tim. Either way, it wasn’t overly comforting.

For the next six days of the tour, the security was so tight that Lincoln couldn’t even use the toilet without Stan or Aaron checking the bathroom first and standing right outside the door. Hal canceled all her public appearances except the concerts. The fan meet and greets were done in secure rooms with cameras rolling. When we were in public, she acted as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on except that she was always glued to my side and she had pretty much chewed her pinkie nail off.

I hadn’t seen Mug or Kaz once, but I knew they were around because Mug texted me whenever they identified a weak spot in the defense perimeter we had set up. Surprisingly, as it turned out, Kaz was a criminal genius. He studied each venue and figured out how he would get to Lincoln if he were asked to. He found an access point to the stadium in
Amsterdam
that we hadn’t covered. He identified a lazy guard who hadn’t noticed the fans who had snuck into the compound where the equipment trucks were parked
in Dusseldorf
. He suggested we take a different route to Berlin than the one we had planned because there was a stretch of highway that he felt would be perfect for an ambush. And in Copenhagen, he made us completely switch out the contracted security because the company’s owner was loosely associated with a Boomslangs puppet club. Even Tim had to admit Kaz was an asset.

The amount of work that needed to be done to keep everything secure helped me stay focused on my job when Lincoln was working, but it was hard to keep the lines unblurred whenever we were alone and had down time. On the nights she performed, she would kiss me and then go to bed because she was exhausted. On her nights off, she would snuggle up against me on the couch to watch a movie. Usually, she would fall asleep in my arms, and I would carry her to her bed. Once, we both fell asleep and I woke up in the morning with her still snuggled to my chest. It was getting harder to resist her with every day that passed, but I had no choice.

There was no concert scheduled for Tuesday night, so Hal booked us to stay in a hotel in Oslo. Tim insisted that the entire penthouse floor be cleared for Lincoln, and the fourteenth floor was reserved for the crew. Mug and Kaz checked into a room on the first floor.

While Lincoln was in the bath, I left the hotel to do some shopping in Oslo. When I returned, she was lying on the couch staring at the TV.

“Hey,” I said as I hung the package I bought on the chair back and took my jacket off.

“Hi. Where have you been?”

“Out.”

Her eyebrows angled together. “Out where?”

“It’s a surprise.” I walked over and lifted her feet so I could sit on the couch, then lowered them back down on my lap.

“I don’t like it when you leave me alone.”

“Stan was at the door the whole time.” I handed her a pair of manicure scissors, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and tweezers that I picked up at the drug store. “Can you take my stitches out for me?”

She crinkled her nose and shook her head doubtfully. “I can call Dr. Benton.”

“You don’t need a doctor. It’s easy.” I leaned in and angled my face so the light would hit my forehead.

It took her a few seconds to work up the nerve. She soaked a tissue in alcohol to clean the scar first. Then she tentatively cut the stitches and used the tweezers to tug the first thread. It hurt, but I didn’t react because I knew she would quit if she thought it was causing me pain.

“What were you watching?” I asked to distract myself after she pulled the sixth stitch out.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t really watching.”

I reached over and stole the remote control from her. “Can we rent one of your movies here?”

“Maybe. Don’t move. I still have six more stitches to snip.”

I sat still and stared at her determined expression as she removed the rest of the stitches. She smiled from the accomplishment, and I had to move so I wouldn’t end up kissing her.

“Did it hurt?” she asked.

“Nope. You did good.”

She watched as I scrolled through the movie titles and found the one she starred in called
The Sunshine Coast.
I pressed the buy button and she asked, “What’s the surprise you’ve got in the bag over there?”

I leaned to get the bag from the chair. Inside was an eight by ten rectangle wrapped in plain brown paper with a pink ribbon around it. I handed it to her and smiled. “Happy birthday.”

She grinned as she slipped the ribbon off and broke open the tape on the seam of the paper. Her face brightened as she turned the frame over and saw the antique sketch of the Eiffel Tower that I’d found in a thrift shop. She stared at it for a long time, and her smile faded. She looked disappointed or something.

“You don’t like it. Sorry. I know it’s a cliché tourist souvenir, but I didn’t know what to get you that you don’t already have.”

Without taking her eyes off it she said, “I love it. Thanks.”

“You look like someone just told you your dog died.” I took the frame away from her and put it on the coffee table. “You don’t have to lie if you don’t like it. It’s just an old drawing that I found at a dumpy thrift store.”

She reached forward and took the frame back. “I love it, Cain.” She scrolled through a bunch of pictures on her phone, paused on one, and handed it to me. It was a picture of a little blond girl being hugged by a woman who looked like a happy version of Lincoln’s mom.

“Is this you when you were little?”

She nodded. “Look at the picture on the wall behind us.”

I slid my fingers across the screen to enlarge the photo. The picture in the frame was a sketch of the Eiffel Tower. It looked a lot like the one I gave her.

“That photo of my mom and me was taken at my grandma’s house. Grandma bought the sketch of the Eiffel Tower from a street vendor when she was a teenager visiting Paris. She used to always tell me the story about how she had her first kiss on top of the Eiffel Tower, and how it was the most romantic thing that ever happened to her. When she died, I inherited the picture. It was at my mom’s house until she destroyed it in a crazed rampage.” She sighed and ran her palm over the glass of the sketch. “I absolutely love this gift,” she whispered. She leaned over and kissed my cheek, then hugged the frame to her chest and lied back down. She started crying and whispered, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” I watched her for a while, and to distract myself from the urge to sweep her up in my arms, I hit the buttons on the remote and changed the subject. “Let’s see how good of an actor you are.”

“I’ve been told by all the people on my payroll that I’m a natural.”

“I’ll be brutally honest. Are you going to give me my money back if I think the movie sucks?”

“I’m paying for it.”

“Right. Are you going to give me the two hours of my life back?”

“Shut up. You might like it.”

“Doubtful.”

She cheered up as we watched her movie because I made jokes about the cheesy love story and the ridiculous Scooby-Doo like mystery that her character was trying to solve. At the end of the movie, her character kissed the male lead.

“Hey!” I shouted and tickled her ribs. “You told me you never kissed a boy before. I knew you were a liar.”

“Stop it.” She squirmed and giggled. “That kiss doesn’t count. Jared’s gay in real life, and he hates me with a passion.”

I quit tickling her. “Why does he hate you?”

“Hal was originally Jared’s manager, too, but when my career took off like crazy, he dropped Jared.” She ran her finger along my forearm and seemed distracted for a second before she continued. “He’s so immature and bitchy. He disses me on the internet all the time, and the only reason he did the movie was because he knew people would watch it to see me.”

“Hal’s been with you for your entire career?”

“Yeah, since I was a little kid.” She exhaled and sunk back against the cushions. “Sometimes I wish I were still a little kid. Everything was easier then. He could just take me to the zoo or an amusement park to make me happy. It’s not that easy anymore.” Her hand slid up my arm again.

The sensation of her fingers on my skin had my full attention, and I wasn’t able to think for a second. It took all my self-restraint in order to focus on the conversation instead. “Hal tries to do what makes you happy. He just needs to realize that you’re old enough to think for yourself.”

She laughed. “You’ve seen how painful it is for me to make a decision. I honestly find it less stressful if he just decides everything for me. I don’t know what I would do without him.” Her palm rested on my chest over my heartbeat.

She definitely would have been able to feel how hard each beat was. “You’d be fine. You’re not a little kid anymore.”

She nodded and raised her eyes to meet mine. I swallowed and leaned back so my lips weren’t close to her. She smiled. Avoiding her just made the attraction stronger, and since she never got upset when I moved away, she must have known it.

I ignored her flirty smile and said, “You’re a good actress. Hal should put you in a movie that actually has a plot.”

“Really?” She seemed uncertain whether I meant it or if I was only grasping for something random to talk about so I wouldn’t end up making out with her. “You think I’m good?”

“Well, you’re definitely better than Jared, and if the writers didn’t have you saying such lame lines, you’d be believable.”

“Thanks. The studio sent me some screenplays to read. Will you look at them and help me decide if they’re any good?”

“Yeah, I can look at them.”

She shot up, skipped to her bedroom, and came back with three scripts. I skimmed through two that seemed kind of cliché. The third one was darker, and the character they wanted her to play was a teenager who got involved in the seedy drug underworld to find out what happened to her missing older sister. “I like this one,” I said and dropped it on her lap.

“I liked that one, too, but I was afraid people wouldn’t believe me in a role like that.”

“That’s why you should do it—to prove that you can do it.”

She smiled and read through the script again.