I didn’t say that out loud, though, because Champ had already started making wheezy, pained sorts of noises at the mention of Horns, and it was all I could do to fake a cough to cover my laugh.
I’d had no idea that the man was so incredibly pun-averse until he’d set up our offices in Licking Thicket, Tennessee, and the jokes had started writing themselves. For the record, I absolutely never made those puns on purpose just to watch his eyebrow twitch because that would have been wrong. Ahem.
He shot me another angry look, like he’d heard my laughter… or like he thought it was my fault that the disgruntled programmer had had advance knowledge of his impending layoff and had taken off with a back door to the HOG system, which he was apparently trying to sell to a dangerous criminal and which might or might not have gotten him kidnapped for reasons I couldn’t fathom.
And… okay, yeah, come to think of it, that one was probably on me.
“We know what Horn of Glory is,” Champ admitted reluctantly. “The video game HOG Corporate produces—”
“Horn of Glory ain’t just a video game,” Kandi said passionately. “It’s a whole lifestyle. It’s literally the most popular video game system on earth ever, even though it’s only been out for a few months. I think half the people in the world must have a Horn! The first-generation Horn devices sold out in a day and a half. And my brother was the one who came up with the whole idea for the game while he was driving a tractor on our great-uncle Amos’s farm. He made the original Horn prototype. He did all the coding for the game too, even though it took him years. It was his life’s work. And now he’s gone. And I’m, like, ninety-nine percent sure he didn’t go voluntarily.” She sniffled again. “Or, like, maybe eighty-two percent. Something big like that.”
“Something big like that.” Champ nodded sagely. “Uh-huh. And have you taken your concerns to HOG Corporate?”
“No way.” Kandi’s eyes flashed. “I wouldn’t warn Jacob Horn if a tornado was heading for the Thicket. Not after the way he treated Buck. Besides, y’all are HOG’s security folks, and there wouldn’t be any HOG without Buck Nutter, so I figure all y’all should, you know, secure him.”
“Secure him,” I repeated, scratching my head. “From an unknown location. Where he may or may not have gone voluntarily.”
Let’s face it; it was almost definitely voluntarily.
Champ shot me a look. “What Mr. Riggs is trying to say is that there isn’t a lot of information to go on, Ms. Nutter. Was Buck’s passport taken? Were any of his clothes or suitcases gone? Can anyone access his accounts to see if he’d made any large purchases or withdrawals?”
“Weeeellll…” Kandi licked her lips, then admitted, “His girlfriend said Buck’s passport’s gone. And technically he’d bought tickets for them to go to Mexico the day after he disappeared. And if you want to get specific about things, he maybe had both their suitcases packed and in the trunk of his car when he went out to the Dairy Queen to get Kellie some soft-serve, but his case is gone now…”
Ah, the old going-out-for-soft-serve-and-never-coming-back schtick. I felt almost bad for Kandi. And Kellie.
“But you don’t understand,” Kandi implored, seeing the truth on both Champ’s face and my own. “The man who was greedy for Buck’s Horn… Buck said he was a big-time criminal from another country. And Buck was scared.”
I would be, too, if I were selling stolen information to a criminal, but I didn’t say that.
“In that case, is it possible that your brother was planning to complete the sale after all, maybe because he was scared?” Champ asked gently. “That he flew out to Mexico alone but didn’t take Kellie because it was too dangerous?”
Kandi blinked.
“It’s hard to think someone you love might not have been totally honest,” Champ went on. “But you need to understand, Ms. Nutter, that this isn’t a matter for Champion Security. We no longer work for HOG, so we don’t have client security needs to maintain, and what you’re talking about is a serious matter. You should contact the authorities. You can start with the police right here in Licking Thicket, or I have a, uh… a contact or two at the DEA,” he admitted.
Kandi only just then seemed to notice Champ was a fine specimen of man, the kind the US military put on recruitment posters and public relations ads. He was a real-live superhero with a square jaw, a dimpled chin, and biceps that strained the sleeves of his T-shirt. What she didn’t see was the fact he was gay.
“Oh. Oh my. Why, aren’t you sweet. And it’s Kandi, please. I… I would like to speak to you in private if you don’t mind, sugar. See if we can’t come to an… understanding. One where you could start working for me, and I could… compensate you.” She blinked her black eyelashes rapidly, pretty clearly spelling out S-E-X in Morse code.
I wasn’t sure why, but Champ always seemed shocked when women hit on him. How he wasn’t used to it by now was beyond me. He took a step back and crossed his arms in front of his chest, not realizing he could also get top billing as a forearm porn model.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. It would be unprofessional of us to step on the toes of our former client. I’d advise you to go to the authorities for help or, barring that, to contact HOG Corporate and see which security firm they’ve selected to replace us.”
She reached out a lacquered fingernail and ran it along one of his forearms. I enjoyed the resulting look of maidenly shock on his face, but I bit back the laugh because I valued my life. “But… I have needs,” she said with a pout. “Client security needs.”
Champ met my eyes over the woman’s head and communicated everything with one simple glance. Get rid of her.
Because Champ seemed to be nearing the end of his patience—which was concerning since I figured I still had a good bit of reaming left to endure—I didn’t pretend to misunderstand him this time.
I cleared my throat. “Ma’am… ah… Kandi, Champ’s husband is on his way here with a load of new weapons he picked up from the gun show.”
Damn it, the woman looked even more impressed. I’d forgotten we were in rural Tennessee where guns weren’t very intimidating.
“Also, he’s bringing his…” I glanced at Champ with an apologetic wince. “His drag queen friends along. It’s… ah, Drag Queen Firearm Friday. But I’m sure you already know that.”
Champ literally face-palmed.
Fine, I wasn’t known for my ability to think up lies on the spot. Sue me.
But it apparently did the job because the woman threw up her hands. “Christ on a Christmas cracker! Is everyone in the Thicket gay now?” Then she pivoted on one heel and stormed out.
As soon as the half-red, half-gray Honda Civic peeled out of the lot, I turned back to Champ with a puffed-up sense of pride at my success. “Am I forgiven?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll ask my husband. The gun-toting drag queen.”
I pointed at him. “May you be so lucky. If you weren’t a workaholic, you could totally land a nice buxom queen instead of that big, callused hand you’re married to now.”