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"What are we talking about here?" Cyrus asked. "Dollarwise?" |
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"Oh, retail . . . between twelve and fifteen million." |
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He let out a long, low whistle. "You always carry that much?" |
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"Anonymity has always been our best protection. Armored cars and guns just draw attention." |
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Kyna stared at him long enough for Cyrus to realize he wasn't going to get the truth. A spark of something dark stirred behind her eyes and then the shades came down and the attitude returned. |
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"Nothing's changed. It's just a large shipment and my boss suggested I get some help." |
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"Why me? Why not one of the bonded agencies?" |
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Shuffling through her purse, Kyna finally came out with a crumpled envelope. "Like I said, anonymity is our best protection. We've used the big agencies in the past and gotten burned." |
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"How did you hear about me? I'm not in the yellow pages." |
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"Julie Del Mar is my roommate." |
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Cyrus mentally repeated the name, but couldn't put a face with it. |
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"She's a model. You and another man provided security for a show she was in down at the convention center." |
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Cyrus remembered then. "Tall black woman? Face like Cleopatra? Beautiful eyes? Braids?" |
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Kyna nodded. "Hard to forget Julie." |
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"But I couldn't have said more than two words to her." |
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"It wasn't what you said. She mentioned that you were very . . . discreet." |
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"Something about one of the girls' boyfriends?" |
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Cyrus remembered the incident; one of the model's friends was drunk enough to make a stink and had managed to sneak backstage. The pageant's organizer wanted to call the cops, |
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