“I need you to explain what you mean by not having a good feeling. I need to know what I’m looking for.”
I grip the wheel tighter. How do I explain I’m worried about this client without giving away that I’m pretty sure my boss is involved in something very illegal?
Well, here goes nothing. “As I said, the man I’m showingthe space to is creepy. The building has been abandoned for years. It’s out of the way. All of it gives me a bad feeling.” I glance over at Hunter, and he’s watching me. “My boss has never warned me about a client before. It’s unusual.”
He doesn’t respond right away, so I glance over at him again. He’s staring at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Do you often get nervous showing properties to strangers?” he asks. “Or scared?”
I turn left and avoid his gaze this time. “I never get scared.”
What the hell am I doing? This man is here to protect me. He didn’t have to come, but he did, so the least I can do is be honest with him. I slump down. “Sorry, that’s a lie. I do. Today is one of those days. But I can’t show it, or I wouldn’t be a good real estate agent.”
“You don’t have to show it, but what about not putting yourself in situations where you feel uncomfortable?”
I laugh. “You mean stop showing properties to people who make me nervous? I’d lose half my business.”
“Do you carry?”
“Carry what?”
He grins. “A gun.”
I frown. “No.”
“What about mace? Pepper spray?”
I shake my head.
“Have you done any self-defense training?”
Again, no.
“Okay, we need to remedy that right away. We’ll talkabout it over lunch,” Hunter says, as if he already has a plan for me.
I pull in front of the building and park. “We’re here.”
Hunter turns his gaze from me to the abandoned structure. It used to be an auto shop that closed down ten years ago, according to the report I pulled. You can tell by the vines growing up the front of it, and the roof is covered in moss. I wonder what this prospective client has in mind for this place. I researched the client but couldn’t find anything about him. Clinton Jones is a popular name.
“It’s seen better days,” Hunter says. “And it looks like we beat the guy here.”
He’s right. No one else is here yet.
We exit the car as another car pulls up. A man in a suit gets out. His face is bruised. Was he in a fight? I try not to stare.
He steps out of his car and walks over to us.
“Clinton Jones?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Savvy Williams, and this is my associate, Mr. Charles.”
Clinton shakes our hands. He turns to face me. “It’s certainly got character,” Clinton says about the building.
Like it’s from a horror movie, I glance around. Aside from the diner across the street, there is nothing around here. I shiver as I think about that.
