News Boy - Susan Hawke Page 0,1

taste for it I once did. So, how about we radically change the subject and you tell me a little more about why I'm here today?"

Mack threw his head back with a loud braying laugh. "Touché, Brody. So as I told you in my email, our goal at Out of the Limelight is staying in the shadows. We quietly protect our celebrity clients, catering to their individual needs while allowing them to do what they do best. What did you think of the salary and benefit plan I offered?"

I chuckled, still slightly incredulous at the amount of money I would make if I took the job. "Put it this way. My mouth fell open, and I had to read the section of the email in question several times. Either you're terrible at doing business, or your clients are paying out the ass because you sent me a generous package.”

"I wouldn't say they pay out the ass, but my rates are competitive, believe it or not. For the type of bodyguard or security staff we offer, our clients can sleep peacefully and trust we can keep them safe. Which is another reason why I prefer to hire former soldiers. I don't have to train you to handle a weapon, field dress a wound if necessary, or how to use your body as a shield. The military prepared you. I'm simply reaping the benefits of their labor."

"Makes sense. But if you already have so many men working for you, why come recruiting me?" I thought it was a fair question. I wasn't searching for validation. I knew damn well my experience as a Ranger gave me a leg up on the average soldier.

As if deciding how much he could divulge, Mack leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers with a thoughtful frown. "None of my current employees have your unique background. A local news anchor has received a credible death threat and… let’s put it this way. He’s a special case who would benefit from your skillset.”

"And precisely what special skills are we talking about, Mack?" I didn't want to argue my way out of a job. The truth was, I had to put down some roots and start living again. I needed every bit of my furlough time, but getting back to work was a good start to reclaiming my life. And I couldn't ask for a better opportunity.

Mack turned his computer monitor so I could see the news article on the screen. "The man pictured here is Robert 'Mad Dog' Tate. He was VP of the San Diego charter of the Black Knights motorcycle gang. They ran drugs and arms from Mexico."

I leaned in to study the article. "This Mad Dog person, it says he got out of prison, and you're speaking past tense. What did he do, take the gang out?"

As if I’d amused him, Mack snorted. "Taking them out probably would've saved the taxpayers a few dollars. No, he did something more unforgivable in their eyes—he turned over the state’s evidence and helped shut the charter down and get all of them put away for a very long time."

"I'm confused. What does this have to do with a local news anchor?"

Mack slowly scratched the side of his jaw, the stubble rasping under his fingertips. "It ties into the reason he turned on his brothers-in-arms. Mad Dog was on a run south of the border when a rival gang came into town. They blew up four houses… the private homes of the MC's main officers. Dick Steele—yes, really his name—was the club prez. He got word of the attack in time and had everyone clear out. Everyone, of course, except for Mad Dog's family."

My mouth fell open. "No. That's some fucked up shit. They didn't warn their guy or check on his household? Those MCs are like brothers. What went wrong in this case?"

Mack shrugged. "Hard to say. But for whatever reason, nobody had Mad Dog's back while he was gone doing charter business. His wife and three-year-old twin boys were killed. From what I understand, once he returned, he pretended to accept the club hadn't known there was a threat. He quietly buried his family and let a few weeks pass and tensions die, then walked into the District Attorney's office and made a deal."

I whistled. "Damn. Most guys would've taken them all out. Turning on them and having them locked up is a much slower revenge."

"Right? Mad Dog didn't walk away scot-free. He was still a