CI: Take Me Anywhere Chapter Two

For not the first time in the past few months, Robert Goren had to stop and take a minute to remind himself just what country he currently resided in. While traveling all over the globe for varying amounts of time was something he enjoyed, acting as a bodyguard wasn’t his first choice of occupation coming out of the ARMY and working as a cop in the New York City Narcotics division. He’d just kind of fell into it. First as a favor for a friend of a friend of the captain’s, then word got around that he was pretty good and thorough and before he could return to his home base of New York, he was offered another job in yet another part of the country.

The avalanche of assignments meant he hadn’t been to the apartment he continued to pay rent on in over two years. He had wanted to end up in Major Case, but had gotten sidetracked. His captain had assured him he’d put in a good word that would almost guarantee him a spot when he was ready for it. And to be honest, he was ready to go home. Or stay in one place, at least. His buddy, Lewis, was living in his apartment rent-free in return for taking care of the place and the bills. Lewis was a good guy, but Bobby held his temples when he thought of the state he may find it in should he ever return.

But Bobby liked his current job. It was always changing, which kept his mind occupied, and took him to all sorts of locations. He could exercise his knowledge of foreign languages and got to travel, which he always enjoyed – trying new foods, blending in with new people. He had just come off a stint in France, now he was back in the English-speaking part of Europe, where they had the slightest tinge of upper-crust English accents to their voices. It was a small country, which at first surprised him. He was mostly brought on specifically for special cases, high profile or high risk only, so his job was never to just stand around, there was always an investigation to run. But he’d be lying if he said all of it wasn’t catching up to him.

Bobby sighed, pushing any remaining negative thoughts to the side, and flipped open the file he’d already memorized on the plane. Alexandra Elizabeth Eames, who preferred to be addressed as “Alex,” was a newly recognized royal plucked from among the masses to be made the country’s figurehead. But the assent was expected to be a complicated one as the family was already plagued with tragedy and the general public, along with other royals, were getting restless. Bobby’s role in all this was to be combination bodyguard, head of security, and investigator as there had already been death threats on Ms. Eames’ life.

Bobby looked up across the desk at Mr. Eames, Alex’s father and the man who had sought him out. Which was something Bobby had worried about at first – parents were notorious for their overreacting and had a habit of getting in the way of the truth. In a folder in Bobby’s hand were copies of the numerous letters and e-mails mentioning Ms. Eames chances of not living long enough to wear the crown. Bobby could tell right away some, ironically the more forwardly hostile, were amateur – cranky citizens looking to make a fuss or young kids looking to get on the local news and cause uproar. But some, he zeroed in on as quite legitimate.

Richard Eames nodded to the pile on the desk Goren shifted through, “Alex doesn’t know . . . all of this, but this wouldn’t be the first time a royal’s life has been threatened.” He stressed the phrase “all of,” which Bobby took to mean “anything about.” That, along with the brush off at the end, raised all sorts of red flags.

“Has anyone looked at the rival family? The . . .?”

“Wallace’s,” Richard supplied. He smiled, “Goren, the Wallace’s are not known for their good moral standing, but trust me, they wouldn’t kill anyone.”

Bobby didn’t feel particularly convinced and, judging by the wavering in his voice, he wasn’t sure Richard was either. Understandably, the idea may be so unsavory he refused to acknowledge it -- he couldn’t be objective as it was his daughter being threatened. That’s where Goren came in.

“Well, sir, don’t you, don’t you think she ought to know?”

Richard leaned forward in his chair, “Alex is going to having a rough time of it, I’m afraid. I did not raise her for this possibility. In fact, I raised her for the opposite. If I can take one thing off her mind, I was hoping it would be this,” his eyes visibly saddened.

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather discuss this with her,” Goren plodded gently, albeit firmly, ahead.

Richard nodded in defeated understanding.

“If she’d rather be left out of it, then I will,” Bobby put both hands up in surrender, “But I’d like to hear it from her.”

Richard jumped a bit in his seat, “Speaking of,” he said. “Ah, Alex!” he called out as he saw her swoosh past the open door and Goren twisted in his chair.

Alex audibly skidded to a halt. Backpedaling she stood in the doorway, craning her neck to check out the entire room, then looked at her father and poked her head back outside the hallway, obviously surprised to see them all there. She was noshing on licorice, and had a peace hanging loosely from her lips as she surveyed the room confusedly. She could’ve sworn her dad’s office was around the next bend, but nope, there he was, standing up at his desk across from some big guy who was looking at her amusedly -- which pissed her off.

OK, so she was already in a bad mood. She had just spent five hours in an enclosed space with people called themselves “fashion consultants” -- two word that Alex detested separately. Together, they were pure hell.

“Alex, is the candy completely necessary?” Richard Eames glanced nervously at their guest.

Alex rolled her eyes – trying to turn her into a snob already, was he? “You spend five hours in a corset circa 1887 and see if you don’t get a little peckish,” she gestured at him with the Twizzler in her left hand.

Goren dropped his head to hide the smirk and chuckle that threatened to escape. “No, its fine,” he insisted, lifting a hand.

Alex crinkled her brows, Like I need this guy’s permission to eat. Who is this guy?

“Who is this guy?” she voiced the thought in her head. Okay, that had come out a little pissier that she had planned, but the guy looked like he could deal, yet she guiltily watched him sober nonetheless.

“Meet Detective Robert Goren,” her father gestured to the big guy who stood belatedly (that much she remembered from that morning’s Etiquette 101) and a little clumsily.

“Alex,” the Detective offered his hand, and his chair, his eyes aimed at the floor for most of the greeting.

Alex took his hand, her eyebrows still knitted together, “Call me Al . . .,” she began out of habit of insisting on being called Alex then stopped, realizing he already had. Huh.

But her mind was already going in another direction altogether, “Wait a minute – detective?”

“I, I’m not here to get in your way,” Goren began.

“Well that’s fine, but get in my way how?” she insisted, looking at Richard warily.

Her father stood, “It’s because of the nature of the thing.”

“The nature of what thing, how?” Now her father was being cagey, which was never a good sign. Neither was the ominous folder in the detective’s grip.

Bobby stood also, but had the good sense to stay out of it for the time being. This is what he had been afraid of – Alex had been kept out of the loop and now she was being thrust into yet another foreign situation. Now she was openly hostile to her father . . . and to him.

“If I could, ah, interrupt,” Goren forced himself into the middle of the standoff – a role he was used to.

“What?” she whipped around on him.

Bobby tilted his head and gave her dubious look. He didn’t mind being the interim scapegoat for the anger that was inevitably to come out of such an adjustment, but this would get them nowhere and Alex seemed to come to the same conclusion.

“Sorry,” she quickly amended.

Goren shook his head, “Fine. I see we have . . . a lot to cover, do you mind if we take this,” he gestured with the folder and Alex’s eyes followed it, “elsewhere?” He’d purposefully not asked her father for permission; instead spoke directly to her, moving to let her through the doorway first.

“Fine,” she agreed tersely. She knew she was acting the part of the petulant child, but if she was going to be treated her like one, what kind of reaction did they expect? She strode down the hallway, trying her best to ignore the gawker-lined hallways that seemed to be a fixture in her life now and allowed herself be led toward one of the smaller conference rooms.

She chose to concentrate on the sound their shoes made echoing off the walls. Alex glanced out of the corner of her eye, studying the man as he shortened his strides to fall in step with her. “What’s in the folder?” She nodded to the manila in his grip.

Now it was his turn to look confused as he followed her gaze, seemingly having forgotten he carried it with him. “Oh, um,” Goren stalled, not really wanting to start this conversation in the hallway, “Ah . . . you,” he finally settled on the truth.

Alex visibly jerked. His answer may not have been a great one, but it effectively shut her up for the rest of the trip.

They entered the conference room she vaguely remembered having a meeting in that morning. Her orphaned New York Times on the table, folded open to the crossword, confirmed it. She had brought it with her, thinking she’d have time to kill. She had been wrong. Alex watched as the detective picked it up like he was familiar with it.

“Boomtown.”

“What?” She was getting sick of playing catch-up with this guy.

Goren looked up, like he hadn’t realized he’d said it aloud. He licked his lips and danced a little agitatedly, “Thirty-five Across, Fast-growing community, eight letters. The, the answer’s Boomtown,” he gestured with his hands.

Alex’s eyebrows finally unknitted from the previous room, but only because they now shot up in the air. This was surreal. And jeez, he stuttered a lot. If this all turns out okay, he’ll prove to be the most competent incompetent she’d ever met.

“Oh. You do the crossword?” He hadn’t answered in a conceited way and she couldn’t fault him for knowing the answers just by glancing at it. Meanwhile Alex had to stare at it like a monkey doing a math problem.

He nodded, “When I have the time, yeah. I’m surprised to find The New York Times here. I couldn’t find it at the airport.”

Alex circled around the table, “This country is suspicious of anything that wasn’t discovered, invented, or grown here. I have to get it smuggled in. Though I’m sure that’s in your file,” she nodded to the little slip of manila in his hand that apparently held her life story. Why the hell’s it so thin? “Along with me,” she added when he wasn’t instantly forthcoming with information.

“I don’t know how much your father or anyone’s told you . . . about the threats against your life. I’m led to believe not a lot.”

Alex’s face visibly paled, “You’d be right.” Her hand felt to her right and gripped the back of a chair, but fought the urge to lower herself into it.

“There’s been threats made on you life, Alex – real threats. Now, some turmoil is to be expected in this type of situation.”

So she was a ‘type’ she thought.

As he talked, he reached into the folder, deliberately taking out one letter at a time, lining them in a row on the table. “You’re being brought in from the outside. Now . . . now, some of these are pretty flimsy – designed to just ruffle a few feathers. But some of these could be very serious.”

Alex watched as the row became longer and longer. She wanted to yell out, “Stop” – to grab his arm and throw the pages away, but she didn’t.

“That’s what I’ve been brought here for – to protect you and weed out the likely suspects, and hopefully bring them out into the open before any real attempt is made on your life and preferably before your coronation.”

Stammered, Alex mentally corrected herself. He stammered, not stuttered. She continued her delicate, shaky trek around the table, blindly picking up letters and email printouts, fighting the bile that rose in her throat over the horrible words and pictures that littered them. Alex’s focus was blurred and she couldn’t read what was on the page in front of her. She steeled herself under his studious gaze – she could feel his eyes burning onto her face, watching for any and every reaction.

“Well, what do you think?” Alex didn’t normally seek out others’ opinion on her life, but he seemed to be some kind of an expert, and she needed to buy some time to allow some things to sink in.

Bobby jerked a little at her question, probably surprised she wasn’t getting hysterical. “I don’t want to alienate you out of this. We should be a team.” Bobby ducked his head, trying to catch her eyes as she was staring into space with an expression that worried him, partly because he couldn’t read it. “That is if . . . if you want to be. What do you think?”

“Well,” she breathed, “I knew I wasn’t going to be popular in some circles, but this is ridiculous.”

He looked shocked, suspended in midair. It was a beat before somebody cut the strings that held his limbs all at once, “Oh, humor, I get it.” But neither of them relaxed. And he was still waiting for her answer.

“Do you always carry that?” she nodded just to the right of him. He followed her gaze to the gun at his hip. She hadn’t been staring unfocusedly at all, quite focused in fact.

“Ah, yeah,” he answered confusedly. She nodded at his answer. “And you?” he ventured again. “Um . . . what do you think?”

She raised her chin, met his eyes dead on, and spoke with the authority that finally hinted to him why these people wanted her for their queen, “I think you’re going to teach me how to shoot.”

TBC