Defending Her Dignity Page 2

  I type out a quick email to the agency that had sent me the last four nannies. I’m too afraid to call them, and I’m also not entirely confident they have anybody left on their roster to send. I’m going to need to leave work early today to pick up Isabel from school, so I also let my secretary know to clear my schedule for the afternoon. My father’s words continue to echo in my head, but I need to push him away and focus on the forty-plus emails in my inbox that need my attention.

  I manage to get in a few hours of work before a soft knock at my door pulls my eyes away from the budget projections spreadsheet I had just spent the last thirty minutes analyzing. I slide off my glasses and rub my eyes, which feel dry and irritated from the hours spent staring at my computer screen.

  “So sorry to interrupt sir, but I have an urgent call that came in for you,” my secretary says.

  “Who is it, Leila?”

  “It’s Isabel’s school. They said they’ve been trying to reach you for an hour.”

  I quirk my brow and pull my cell out of my breast pocket. I have four missed calls: all from Isabel’s school.

  “Shit,” I mutter. “Send the call in.”

  A second later the phone rings, and I quickly pick it up. “Hello?”

  “Ah, good, you’ve finally picked up,” a curt and annoyed voice replies on the other end. I feel my stomach sink as soon as I recognize the familiar voice of Isabel’s principal. “This is Mrs. Green over at Isabel’s school. We need you to come right away.”

  2

  Yael

  I push open the door to my apartment and pop my earbuds out, shoving them into my pocket. My roommate is camped out on the couch, wrapped in a large blanket, with a bag of chips on her lap, her eyes glued to the TV. I make my way to the kitchen and grab a water bottle out of the fridge. I’m covered in a thin layer of sweat after my ten-mile run, and after rubbing the cold bottle on the back of my neck, I take a long swallow of water and head back into the living room. Perching on the edge of the couch, I join my roommate, who is watching some reality TV show about bored housewives hosting elaborate parties and throwing wine at each other.

  “Eva, why do you waste your time watching this bullshit?” I ask her before taking another long sip from my bottle.

  My roommate, Eva, is one of the most confusing people I have ever met. Her long, chestnut hair and alabaster skin make her one of the most stunningly beautiful women I have ever met, but I don’t think she’s ever even had a boyfriend in the last five years. In fact, in my eight months living with her, I haven’t seen her leave the house once and yet every day, she’s wearing designer clothes and diamond earrings as she camps out in front of her laptop for ten hours. She has a private-investigator license, but that is really the only above-board thing on her resume. She tried to hide it from me, but the girl is a shit liar. She’s a hacker. And as she spent several hours explaining, she is a “white hat” hacker, and only hacks for good. And apparently to help buy Manolos, whatever that is.

  And in her downtime? She watches shit TV like this.

  She turns to look at me, her mouth wide open. “Yael, this is not…bullshit! This is art. Just like how Picasso and Pollack were not appreciated in their day—neither is reality TV. You’ll see,” she smugly adds, before turning her attention back to the TV.

  I roll my eyes but sink into the empty space on the couch regardless. Eva mindlessly passes over the chips and I dig in. It’s not like I really have anything better to do. Since arriving to the States from my native Israel almost a year ago, I’ve been following the same pathetic routine: wake up, read, watch TV with Eva, run, sleep. My cousin had offered for me to come and work with him at the private security agency he owned here in California. They only hired elite ex-military, and because I had been an officer in the Israeli army, I was more than qualified. The trouble was, no one wanted a female bodyguard. When I am lucky enough to get sent on a job, the second my would-be clients see my slim, five-foot-five frame, they automatically dismiss me. No one took me seriously, and I was beginning to regret coming here at all. Though if I were to be honest with myself, there was nothing much waiting for me back home, either.

  I let out a melancholy sigh and Eva pauses the show to look at me. “Yael, this little depressed thing you have going on lately is seriously starting to bum me out.”

  I roll my eyes again, but I can’t deny that she’s right. One of the reasons I had quickly come to love Eva is because she has no filter, and is never afraid to tell you the things everyone else is too polite to say. Though, being Israeli, you could say I also lacked that particular trait, which is why we got along so easily and had become such fast friends. We didn’t have any bullshit between us.

  “I’m just frustrated. I haven’t gotten a gig in weeks. Maybe I should go back.”

  “To your psycho dad who locked you in closets and made you do pushups all day?” she asks, her expression skeptical. “Yeah, tough choice coming here.”

  “You know, you’re really making me regret telling you anything,” I shoot back. “And my father is not a psycho. The closet thing was because he wanted to teach me how to escape from small quarters. It was just his version of teaching me to be self-reliant, I guess. He’s just…he’s just who he is,” I say, throwing my hands up. And truthfully, I really don’t know who my father is. There are two versions of my father that I know. There’s the father of my youth, who was softer, more patient and loving, and the man he became after my mother died: cold, distant, and dictatorial.

  He had met my mother, a young American, when she had been traveling through Israel on a summer break. They had fallen in love over the span of just a few weeks. My father had still been in the military, and she had moved from the States to be with him. They had me, and I knew he had wanted more children, or more specifically, a son, to become a soldier: a mini-version of himself that he could be proud of, and to carry on his legacy. And he had almost gotten his wish, but my mother had been killed in a cafe by a suicide bomber. She had been six months pregnant with my baby brother.

  After their deaths, my father changed. And at ten years old, he decided that since he had lost his chance at a son, he would transfer all his dreams and hopes to me instead. From then on, my life at home became an introduction to army life. I was given chores, had to exercise for hours daily, and was trained on technology, escape techniques—everything to make me the perfect soldier.

  And it had paid off. When I was eighteen years old, I was drafted into the only light-combat unit women were allowed to join, the Caracal. I spent two years patrolling the Egyptian border before signing on for another two years. Then I had met my stupid ex-boyfriend, and my life had gone downhill from there. Once I finally realized what an idiot he was and left his sorry ass, I decided that I needed a change, and when my cousin had told me I could work here in the States easily given my mother’s American citizenship, I jumped at the opportunity.

  Only now, it feels less like an opportunity, and more like another mistake. My savings were dwindling quickly and there was simply not enough work coming in. The last thing I wanted to do was march back to my father and have to face his disappointment yet again.

  “You’re brooding again,” Eva says, interrupting my thoughts.

  “What am I going to do?” I ask, inwardly cringing at how pathetically whiny I sound. “My cousin hasn’t called all week. I know he’s avoiding me. I need to get a job.”

  “Well, why don’t you work in the mall and sell those face masks like the rest of your country folk?”

  I shoot her a pointed glare and cross my arms at my chest. I admittedly came over to the States woefully unprepared. I underestimated how much the American jobs here required a university degree. Even these supposed “entry-level” jobs asked for a degree and three years of experience, which made no sense.

  And while all my male counterparts at the agency were scoring bodyguard gigs left and right, I was… floundering. For weeks, I hadn’t gotten any requests or call backs and I was beginni
ng to lose hope.

  “One more week,” I announce. “I’ll give it one more week, then I’ll figure something else out.”

  Eva offers me a wry smile as she un-pauses the show. We both know I’m bluffing: there’s no chance I am going back to Israel any time soon. Since I was twelve years old, my dream has been to escape the strict lifestyle imposed on me by my father. For me, the States was that opportunity to escape. All I needed now was the perfect job that would give me enough money so I could…do something.

  Because truthfully, I had no idea what I even wanted to do. All my life, I had been told what to do, how to do it, when to do it—first by my father, then my commanding officer, then my idiot boyfriend. And now that there were no men in my life dictating my every move, I felt paralyzed. I was twenty-four years old with no plan, no education, and barely four digits in my savings account. My options were diminishing by the day.

  I slump down on the couch beside Eva and watch the TV for a few more hours until my brain feels dead, then I announce I’m heading to bed. It’s mid-summer in Los Angeles, and tonight is uncharacteristically hot. I take a quick shower, jumping in under the cold stream of water to try and help cool me down so I can sleep. I have too much on my mind tonight, though, and I spend the next few hours fitfully tossing around in my bed, my sheets twisting around me as I desperately try to will myself to sleep.

  Only when I finally feel my body sink into the mattress and sleep approach does my phone buzz on the small table by my bed. I let out a loud, frustrated groan and roll over, grabbing the phone to read the message.

  My heart races when I see that the text is from my cousin, Oded. Even though it’s four thirty in the morning, I’m not surprised to see a text from him: he’s a consummate professional and textbook workaholic. I slide open my phone and read the message: Got a job for you. Be ready at 7am.

  3

  Lawrence

  I pace the span of my living room, my hands in tight fists at my sides. My mind is racing, and I know I need to reign it in. I can’t have Isabel seeing me like this. I’ve managed to keep it together up til now for her sake and I can’t crack now. She woke up screaming from a nightmare last night and her shrill cries scared the hell out of me. There is no way I can let any more harm come to her.

  Isabel. Thank God she is okay. When the principal had called me into the school yesterday, I had assumed she had acted out in some way. Usually she just reserved her terror for her nannies, while being sweet and attentive at school. So, when I had come in and had seen the somber look on the principal’s face, along with the two police detectives, my heart had stopped.

  Mrs. Green had ushered me and the two officers into her office, where they explained that while Isabel had been outside for recess, someone had tried to grab her. They weren’t sure of the specifics, but from the grainy security footage, it looked like a figure dressed in all black had approached Isabel while she had been playing with a small group of friends. They had pulled Isabel away from her friends, then snaked their arm around her waist, lifting her off the ground. With their hand around her face, they had pulled at her while she fought and kicked to get out of their grip. When she made too much of a scene, they appeared to have gotten spooked, jumped into a car idling nearby, and sped away. The camera wasn’t able to catch the license plate, only that it was a dark sedan.

  Unfortunately, Isabel had gotten some of her hair torn out and needed a small bandage on her head. As soon as the school nurse had cleared her, I had rushed her home. After checking on her a few dozen times and patrolling the house, double checking each locked door, I had spent the remainder of the night wracking my brain to figure out who the hell would do something like this.

  Of course, Peter came to mind. I told the officers about the threat he had made earlier in my office, but after they had investigated I was told he had an alibi: he had been at his step-sister’s house. Which was complete bullshit. Peter and Fiona had a fucked-up, codependent relationship that was one of the many reasons neither of them were in my life anymore. So, of course Fiona would alibi him. But the police felt that it was a strong enough alibi and without any further leads, not much else could be done. At least on their part. I, on the other hand, would not mess around, and called Liam, my youngest sister’s boyfriend. He had worked as a bodyguard for my other sister Daphni for a short time and had somehow managed to keep her alive, even during her best attempts at self-sabotage. Though he was now studying engineering at Stanford, he was able to recommend the agency that had originally set him up with Daphni. It was an elite company, staffed only with ex-military, and had an impeccable reputation. Even though some might think it overkill, I wasn’t taking any chances, and I requested a meeting with the owner immediately. We had made an appointment for first thing this morning.

  And like clockwork, right at seven thirty, the doorbell rings. As I walk to answer the door, I shout up the stairs to my daughter. “Isabel. Come on down!”

  I hear her let out a dramatically loud moan before jumping off her bed. “I’ll wait in the living room!” she calls out as she runs down the stairs and breezes right past me.

  I sigh and shake my head. Isabel has recently become addicted to the Wii. More specifically, this boxing game called “Ring of Victory.” Since seeing The Karate Kid a few months ago, she has become increasingly obsessed with becoming a boxer and karate master. No matter how much money I spent on ballet classes and tutus, they inevitably keep getting tossed to the side in favor of my own, very expensive silk ties serving as makeshift karate belts while she practices for hours in the living room.

  As soon as Isabel is out of sight, I open the door. A tall man with a deep olive complexion, close-shaven black hair, and dark-tinted sunglasses greets me. He’s jacked, his muscles still clearly visible in his fitted khaki suit. He looks like the kind of guy who spends six hours a day in the gym and posts pictures of his protein smoothies on his Twitter feed. He’s exactly the kind of guy I’d expect to own a private security firm comprised of ex-military. He immediately offers his hand. “I’m Oded. We spoke on the phone.”

  I nod and take his hand, doing my best to not wince as he strongly grips my hand in a firm handshake. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Please come in.” I stand back, holding the door open, and wave him in.

  As he steps toward me, I see that behind his large frame is a whole other person. A woman. An unbelievably gorgeous woman. Long, dark hair is pulled into a high pony tail that’s just messy enough to make me believe that she probably slept with it like that and rolled out of bed. She’s short, no more than five six, with an athletic but curvy frame. She’s wearing a simple white tank with black jeans, ripped at the knees, and boots. Next to Oded in his suit, she looks like the lost baby sister he’s stuck with for the day. Except she’s most definitely not a child. No, the swell of her breasts in that tight tank and the curve of her hips confirm she is all woman.

  She follows Oded into the house, not bothering to introduce herself. She holds herself with the same confidence as her muscled partner—something I find both incredibly confusing, and alluring. Her toned arms and flat stomach tell me that she is definitely in shape, and when her hazel eyes lazily wander up and down, assessing me, I get the sneaking suspicion she is also very capable of kicking my ass.

  Her brown eyes continue to dart around the open foyer, taking in everything around her. Her eyes widen as she spots the crystal chandelier above. I’m suddenly fascinated by this woman standing in my foyer, feeling no need to introduce herself or even acknowledge my presence. Who is she? And more importantly, why is she here?

  When she still doesn’t make any move to introduce herself after a long moment, I shake my head and gesture down the hall. “Right, so let’s head into the dining room to talk,” I offer, as I lead the duo down the hall and past the cavernous living room to our dining room. It’s a big house—too big for just two people—but it’s where Isabel and I spend most of our time: our refuge where we make forts out of blankets, h
ost competitive karaoke battles, and where we spend each Saturday night eating pizza and, inevitably, watching The Karate Kid over and over again.

  I gesture to the open seats, offering them to Oded and his companion, who continues to sweep her wide eyes around the room, silently appraising and taking everything in. I sit down across from the pair, keeping my gaze on the woman’s as she continues to look around the room. As we sit, her eyes find me and she looks at me, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. While her easy confidence and mystery of her role here unnerves me a bit, I’m not uncomfortable hiring private security; I’ve had bodyguards before when I traveled overseas, but this is different. This time the threat is against my daughter, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.

  “So, Oded,” I say, facing him. “Tell me what I need to know.”

  Oded nods and leans forward, propping his elbows on the marble table top. “I looked into your brother, Peter, like we had discussed.”

  “Half-brother,” I interrupt, my voice curt, bordering on rude. I catch the flicker of surprise from the woman at my outburst, and she shoots me another curious look.

  “Yes, half-brother. Apologies,” Oded says. “You’re right that his alibi is his step-sister. Even if it is true, he could have easily hired someone to try and kidnap your daughter. I’m not ruling it out.”

  “The police have.”

  Oded curls his lip and offers me a wry smile. “I am not the police. My recommendation is that you have a detail with Isabel whenever she leaves the house. My team will come and upgrade this shit security system you currently have. We will do drive-bys, both by the house and Isabel’s school. You use the security to drive her to school, her friend’s houses, everywhere. We want eyes on her all the time.”