Her Personal Bodyguard

When I looked up at Victoria, she said, "There are several others, but I thought you'd probably be most familiar with these. Max built a range behind the house if you'd like to shoot them. Oh, I did forget one. Max loved shooting that first pistol, but he didn't carry it."

She reached onto another shelf, checked the chamber on the pistol, and then handed it to me.

"Max liked this one because he said it was easier to carry. He carried it every day from the time he dressed until he went to bed, and it sat on the night stand all night."

It was a custom "officer's model" 1911 that fit just as tight and the trigger was just as nice as the full size version Victoria had handed me before. Unlike the full-size 1911, this pistol didn't have fancy grips and it was showing clear signs of holster wear. In spite of the custom tuning, this was definitely a work gun.

I figured it was best to stay with what I knew and liked. That was the 1911. From what I'd seen in Iraq, the 9mm round for the Beretta was a good round, but with ball ammo, it tended to glance off bone rather than smashing through. Sometimes that meant a determined man might keep coming. I'd never had that issue with the.45 caliber round of the 1911. It hit like a ton of bricks and stopped anybody hit in a vital area dead in their tracks. Even if not hit in a vital area, the big bullet made the guy fall down and stop thinking about shooting at me. I did like the idea of the smaller, officer's model though. It would work better sitting in a car seat because it wasn't as long.

"I think I like the officer's model 1911, if you don't mind me using it."

Victoria smiled.

"I'm sure Max would like it if you did. I'll get the holster he used for you."

After Victoria gave me the holster, she said, "Now I'll show you the rifle Max kept loaded around the house and the rifle he carried when we went riding."

The rifle Max used for his house gun was a civilian model of the M4 carbine, again, the same weapon I'd carried in Iraq except for it lacked the position for full-auto fire. It sat in the rifle rack beside two AR-15's, an M14, an M1 Carbine, and two M1 Garands. They all looked like all that would be needed was to load them and fire.

Down the rack from those rifles were several bolt-actions I figured Max used for deer hunting, though I wasn't sure what he'd hunt with the.460 Weatherby Magnum sitting in the rack. I had to smile when Victoria pointed out the rifle Max packed on a horse. It was a Winchester 1894 in the standard.30-30 caliber. I'd loved lever actions since I was a kid watching western movies on TV.

I didn't need anything except a pistol for the firearms class, so I told Victoria I'd carry one of the rifles when we were at the ranch. She said there were shotguns too, and showed me the rack. It was like the rifle rack, half modern shotguns from a really nice semi-auto 12 gauge, to a couple 12 gauge pump guns to some beautiful over and under guns in both 12 and 20 gauge. Beyond those the rack was filled with older shotguns like side by side 10 gauge coach guns, an old Winchester lever action 12 gauge, and several old muzzleloaders.

On the way out of the vault, Victoria picked up six boxes of.45 ACP from one of the shelves. She said I'd need them for the class, but I should carry the pistol loaded anytime I was at the ranch even if I didn't have my license yet.

"If something happens before you get your license, my lawyers will get you out of trouble. They can't do anything for you if I'm dead."

That afternoon, I packed up everything I thought I'd need. The next morning, Dad drove me to the ranch and wished me luck.

Victoria met me at the door and then showed me a room with a connecting door between it and her bedroom.

"This is your room and it connects to my bedroom. The only time I want you anywhere but beside me is when I'm in my bedroom doing something. That door doesn't lock, but don't think you can just walk in unless there's a good reason. I sleep with a loaded pistol in my nightstand, so if you know what's good for you, you'll knock first unless you hear me calling for help. If you hear me doing that, you come in no matter what, and I mean that starting tonight."

I didn't spend much time at the ranch for the first four weeks or so. I had to take four training courses to get my license. The firearms qualification was a breeze. If the Marine Corps can do anything, they can teach you how to shoot a pistol and a rifle. I aced the qualification.

The class about Texas law was harder, but I passed it. After that was defensive tactics, all of which I'd already learned in the Marines plus a few things they didn't teach in the class, and more about Texas law as it relates to private security guards. In between, I got my fingerprints taken and filled out a form for an FBI background check. There was also a two hour session with a shrink to prove I wasn't some nut job just looking for a reason to carry a gun.

When I'd passed all the classes, the FBI said I wasn't a criminal, and the shrink said I was mostly sane, and I got my license from the State of Texas that said I could work as a private security guard. When I gave all those documents to Victoria, she did smile.

"I'm happy for you and I'm happy for me. Now we can get you started."

Victoria opened her desk drawer and took out a box.

"You have to wear a badge, so I had one made for you."

It was a gold-colored five pointed star with a ring around the points, and engraved on the ring were the words, "ALDOR RANCH PRIVATE SECURITY".

Victoria stood up, walked around the desk, and pinned the badge on my shirt.

"As you know, you have to wear this anytime you're on duty, which in your case means anytime you're with me. I feel like going for a ride. Can you ride a horse?"

I said it had been a while, but I could probably manage. Victoria smiled.

"I hoped you'd say that. I didn't want to have to teach you. I had one of the men saddle Dixie and Diablo, so they're ready. Let's get your rifle and get started so we can be back before dinner."

Thankfully, Diablo proved to be a very gentle black gelding. He stood like a rock while I slid the Winchester into the saddle scabbard and then got into the saddle. When I picked up the reins, his ears turned backwards like he was listening for something.

Victoria mounted Dixie, her palomino mare, and then turned to me.

"Diablo was the horse Max rode, but he doesn't know you yet. Just give him a couple clicks with your tongue and he'd go wherever you tell him. He neck reins, so go easy on his mouth with the bit."

I had no idea where we were going, so I followed Victoria. We rode at a walk for almost two hours before she stopped and got off Dixie. I got off Diablo and walked over to the tree where Victoria was looking at the ground.

"This is where they found Max. I saw the look on your face when I told you I was sure Max didn't shoot himself. You didn't believe me. I wanted to show you so would believe.

"They found him laying against this tree with his pistol in his hand beside him. They think he shot himself in the heart, but the animals had...they couldn't tell for sure and they never found the bullet. I just know Max wouldn't have done that to himself. It was somebody else and I think it was his brother."

I was looking at that tree and imagining how the scene would have looked when it hit me. Max couldn't have shot himself.

"Victoria, I'll admit I had some concerns about what you told me, but I don't now.

Victoria had tears in her eyes when she looked up at me.

"How can you tell. The sheriff and the coroner couldn't."

"I don't have to see the body to know. I've seen too many people shot in combat. None of them looked like you just described.

"When a man is shot, he doesn't die instantly. If he's on his feet, he'll jump or fall over and it takes a few minutes before he stops moving. I've seen men killed while leaning against a wall, and they always end up stretched out a few feet from where they were. The only exception to that is a head shot, and even then, a man doesn't just stop moving. His nervous system is still working a little so he'll move his arms and legs. I don't see how Max could keep hold of his pistol while doing all that.

"It's also strange that he'd shoot himself in the heart. He had to have killed enough deer to know that a heart shot isn't immediate death. From what I've read, most people who shoot themselves are afraid of pain so they shoot themselves in the head. Why do they think Max shot himself in the heart?"

Victoria sniffed, then pulled a tissue from her back pocket and blew her nose.

"They said he had a hole in his heart that looked like a bullet hole and that was the only thing they found that could have killed him. Like I said, the animals...there wasn't much left for them to examine."

I could understand how they could have made that decision, but it still didn't seem logical. For Max to shoot himself in the heart, he'd have had to hold his gun at a really uncomfortable angle.

"Victoria, is the gun I'm carrying the same gun Max had when they found him?"

"Yes. I didn't tell you because I thought you wouldn't carry it if you knew, and I wanted you to have it."

I pulled the pistol out of the holster, removed the magazine and then racked the slide to eject the cartridge from the chamber and into my hand. When the pistol was clear, I tried to point it at my chest. I could do it, but the effort was almost painful because my wrist was bent so much. If I turned it around and put my thumb on the trigger, it didn't hurt my wrist, but it was hard to control the muzzle when I pulled the trigger. I tried it four times, and each time, I kept pulling the muzzle up enough I'd have missed my heart and probably hit a lung or my spine. The coroner would have seen a hole in a lung and if a.45 slug had hit Max's spine, the damage would be obvious.

I also saw another problem with the conclusion that Max had shot himself. The full size 1911 handles the recoil of the.45 cartridge pretty well, but even a full-size 1911 has quite a bit of muzzle jump. The shorter officer's model was lighter and would have had significantly more muzzle jump when fired and that muzzle jump would have been aggravated by the odd grip Max would have had on the pistol. It was hard to believe Max could have held onto the weapon after he fired, let alone be able to lower his arm to his side while still holding on to it. He'd probably have thrown it out in front of him.

"Victoria, I believe you. I don't know how Max died, but I'm certain he didn't kill himself. There are too many things that don't add up to a suicide."

Victoria looked up at me and smiled through her tears.

"So you think I'm in danger and you'll help me?"

I nodded.

"I still don't know about the danger part, but if that ever happens, I'll be there to stop it."

Victoria ran to me and hugged my neck while she cried on my shoulder. I let her cry, but it didn't seem right to hug her back.

For the next week, I stuck to Victoria like glue. The only time she was out of my sight was when she used the bathroom and when she went to bed at night.

We did a lot of things during that week. Victoria had a ranch foreman who actually ran the ranch and directed what the three hired hands did. She also had a man who came by once a week to mow the yard, and a woman who came in on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to clean the house. Victoria just signed paychecks and took care of any paperwork that had to be done. She also did all the grocery shopping and cooking for us both because she didn't trust anybody. She thought it was possible Jason would have her poisoned.

I thought Victoria was probably being paranoid. If this brother was as evil and as greedy as she said, I couldn't see him waiting what was now eight months after her husband died to put her out of the picture. On the other hand, if he was as smart as she said, maybe he was just letting things cool down a little first. I couldn't make up my mind.

The hired hands didn't live on the ranch. They'd all go home about six every night and be back at seven the next morning. Saturdays were just half days to check the water tanks in the pastures and to feed the horses. Victoria and I took care of feeding the horses on Saturday night and Sunday.

The Saturday two weeks after I was officially Victoria's bodyguard, one of the hands set off the little warning bell in my head. When you join the Marines, you get thrown together with a lot of different people, and it doesn't take long to sort them out into who you'd trust and who you wouldn't. The Marine Corps is very good at figuring that out too. Most of the guys you wouldn't trust end up being bumped out sometime during Recruit Training.

By then, I'd met the foreman and the hired hands, and all but one was a pretty easygoing, friendly guy. Gary Rush, seemed easygoing and friendly, but my instinct said he wasn't what he looked to be. It was his eyes, I think. He'd never look me or anybody else directly in the face. When I asked Victoria about him, she said he was originally from Tyler and the Unemployment Office in Paris had sent him out. She hadn't talked to him but the foreman had and thought he was all right.

That Saturday, Gary was the last one to leave, and before he did, he told Victoria when he'd checked the water tank in the South pasture, he saw a cow that looked like she'd cut her leg on something. He said she didn't look like she was hurting so he came back, but maybe it would be a good idea if somebody had a look at her just to make sure.

That was a logical statement. A brood cow is worth a lot of money because of the calves she can produce. Cattle are usually pretty healthy, but a cut could result in infection that could end up killing her. Losing one cow meant the dozen or so calves she could produce over her productive life wouldn't be born. Depending upon the market, that could be a loss of twelve grand or more.

Victoria said she'd ride out and if the cow was hurt, she'd bring the cow back to the barn and call the vet. After lunch, we saddled the horses and started for the South pasture.

One thing the Marines had taught me was a skill called "situational awareness". Basically that means to always be aware of where you are and who's in close proximity. After Iraq, that had become almost instinctive. Over there, the most innocent looking guy leading a camel could easily have had an AK hidden under the load the camel carried. Over there, what looked like a dead goat lying in the road might be holding down the trigger of an explosive device. Some guy on top of a building had a fifty-fifty chance of being a sniper waiting for you to get within range. I learned to watch people who were close enough to be a threat and to question anything that seemed unusual or looked out of place. Soldiers who didn't usually came home either in an aluminum coffin or missing body parts.

We were about half way there when it struck me that we were doing the same thing Max had done. We were out there by ourselves and nobody except Gary knew where we were going or why. I asked Victoria to stop and then rode up beside her.

"Victoria, does this seem as familiar to you as it does to me?"

She started to shake her head, and then her mouth fell open.

"Yes it does. We're doing the same thing Max did the day he was killed."

I nodded.

"That's what I was thinking too. Do you remember that day, the day Max went out by himself? Did any of the hands stay late and talk to him?"

Victoria thought for a couple of minutes, then wrinkled up her brow.

"I'm not sure. I was in the stable brushing Dixie and I think I saw him talking to Gary. Max never said anything about that though."

"Do you know who discovered Max's body?"

Victoria didn't have to think about that.

"Sure. It was Gary."

That was enough to make me really suspicious, and my Marine tactical training kicked in.

"We're not going to that water tank. If somebody is there, they'll be watching for us coming from the north. We're going to ride around south of it about half a mile and then go the rest of the way on foot. When we get within about a hundred yards, we'll start sweeping the area and looking for anything that doesn't look right. How quietly can you walk?"

Victoria pointed to her blue running shoes.

"Probably a lot quieter than you can with those boots."

I nodded.

"OK. No talking from now on. If you see something that doesn't look right, just point."

We rode west for about fifteen minutes and then turned back south for half an hour until we came to the fence that enclosed the south pasture. I got off Diablo and tied his reigns to the fence and then motioned for Victoria to do the same.

I pulled the 1911 from the holster and whispered, "Can you shoot this?"

Victoria lifted up her blouse and pulled a Beretta Cougar from the holster inside the waistband of her jeans.

"I brought my own, and I can hit what I aim at."

After holstering the 1911, I pulled the Winchester from the saddle scabbard, eased the action open enough to confirm I had a round chambered, and motioned for Victoria to follow me.

We walked down the fence until we came to the fence that ran east and west. I knew that water trough was about two hundred yards north east of that point. We'd walked about a hundred yards east along that fence when Victoria tugged on my sleeve and then pointed. There, parked twenty feet on the other side of the fence was a beat-up, red pickup truck. Victoria put her mouth almost touching my ear and whispered, "That's Gary's truck."

I nodded and walked about ten feet into the trees, then started back west in an arc around the water trough. When we got back to the north-south fence without seeing anything, we walked another ten feet toward the tank and started another arc.

I figured we were about thirty feet from the tank when I saw him, or rather I saw his back as he was crouched inside the branches of a downed tree. I touched Veronica on the shoulder and pointed. She nodded and quietly drew the pistol from her holster. I held up five fingers and pointed to my right. I was going to tell Gary to stand up and I wanted Victoria out of the line of fire.

I leveled the Winchester in his direction and yelled, "Gary, stand up and turn around."

I knew Gary was probably armed, but I hadn't seen anything, so I figured he had a handgun, probably a.45 like Max had carried. That would explain the hole the coroner had found in Max's heart. At that range, he'd have to be good to have any hope of hitting either me or Victoria before I could put him on the ground.

Gary stood up slowly, then wheeled to face me. I saw the AK in his hand too late to do anything but drop to the ground. As the round thudded into the tree I'd been standing beside, I heard a shot from my right. Gary dropped the AK and went down clutching his left shoulder. Victoria screamed, "Gary, if you move anything, I'll kill you where you are."

Victoria was shaking when I got to her, but she still had her pistol pointed at Gary. I touched her on the shoulder.

"Victoria, I'm going to go get his rifle. Don't shoot me, OK?"

She nodded, but didn't take her eyes of Gary. It wasn't until I cleared the AK and tossed it off to the side and then checked Gary for any other weapons that she holstered her pistol and walked up to us.

She'd shot Gary high on the shoulder, low enough it had probably shattered his collarbone, but high enough to miss anything vital. It had to hurt like hell though, and I figured Gary wasn't going to be doing much of anything for a good long while.

I asked Victoria if her cell phone would work out here and she shook her head.

"Well, you'd better ride back to the ranch and call the sheriff and the EMT's. I'll stay here and make sure this asshole doesn't bleed to death. I don't know how he got his truck back here, but tell them where it is and maybe they can get here the same way."