“It’s a monitored system. If it goes off, someone will be on the line for you within twenty seconds. It’s state of the art. Wireless. You can use your cell phone to monitor it and change the settings if you want.”

“Great.” I don’t sound as enthusiastic as I should, but Thibault doesn’t notice. He leaves the living room to mount the stairs, and I get a small bowl and fill it with popcorn. When I’m in panic mode, I eat popcorn. I shove an entire handful in my mouth at once. Bits go flying everywhere.

I’m back at the computer, trying to concentrate on photoshopping errant hairs and pimples from the family portraits I shot earlier today, but I can’t. My mind keeps straying to the alarm system I’m about to have installed. I’m not even sure I want it. Do I need it? The killer’s had ample opportunity to come after me, and I’ve been safe all afternoon.

As rational as it is, that thought doesn’t make me feel any safer. In the movies, killers are always very patient as they stalk their prey.

I lean back in my chair, rolling my eyes up to stare at the ceiling. Money, money, money. I need more of it. When the economy takes a dip, photographers are some of the first to feel it. People don’t care about capturing precious moments when the moments suck. Look! Here’s Dad with his hair graying from the loss of his job! And here’s Mom with an extra twenty pounds from all the stress eating she’s been doing!

No. The portrait business goes bye-bye during a downturn in the economy, and it takes a long time for it to recover. In the meantime, I have to get creative. So far, I haven’t found much to cover the holes in my cash flow. Even the wedding bookings are getting scarcer.

A movement outside catches my eye. Tilting my head, I watch as a car crawls down the street, passing by my townhouse. I sit up straighter. Is that the guy who was following me last night?

Panic seizes me. I stand up quickly and move back from the window. The driver keeps going, but he’s definitely looking for something, his head swiveling left and right. He pauses when facing my direction, and I hold my breath. No, no, no, no, no! Do not shoot your gun at my house!

When he keeps on going, I let my breath out. Thank the stars I parked my car in the garage today. I often leave it in the driveway, but I was worried anyone coming to help me with the security stuff wouldn’t have a place to park if I didn’t leave the driveway empty. I’m starting to think I’m never going to feel safe parking out there again.

Thibault comes down the stairs, startling me.

“Jumpy.” He walks up and stands next to me, looking out the window. “See something out there?”

“I’m not sure.” I move closer to him. “I thought maybe I saw the car that followed me last night, but probably not.”

“Make and model?”

My face scrunches up as I try to remember. “Big? Ford? Cadillac? Buick?” I look at him. “Sorry. I’m terrible with the older models. Ask me about the 2014 economy models, and I could give you everything.”

“Special hobby of yours?” He’s smiling.

“No, I had to do some car shopping a few months back. It included a lot of research before I made my decision.”

“Ah, a car enthusiast.”

“No, more like a budget enthusiast. I wanted to get the best bang for my small buck.” I walk over and sit down at my computer again. Thibault’s easy manner has lowered my stress level. Plus the car that was out there is gone now and the street is empty once again.

“We really could use your help if you’re in the market for some work.” He comes over and stands next to me, watching me manipulate a photo on the computer. “I’m good at setting things up, but terrible at anything that requires looking through a lens.”

I look up at him and smile. “I don’t imagine surveillance work requires all that much artistic talent.”

“You’d be surprised.” He gestures at my screen. “You’re using some kind of program to fix the photographs?”

“Yes, I use Photoshop.” I quickly erase a hair that’s sticking up above the mother’s head.

“I can’t tell you how many times we shoot someone and the lighting is so bad, we can’t see a thing on the film. You can fix that, right?”

I shrug. “To some degree. I can lighten or darken, remove things, add things in. But I can’t fix everything. If you’re not taking the shots from the right spot, there’s not a lot that anyone can do.”

“That’s the thing. We’re missing that talent. We’ve got most of our bases covered, but not that one.”

My hand leaves the mouse, and I turn my chair a little to face him more. “What bases do you mean?”

Thibault grabs a chair from the nearby dining table and drags it over to sit near me. He starts counting off on his fingers. “Well, let’s see . . . we’ve got Dev on martial arts. He does all our physical training stuff, with help from Toni. Lucky’s the numbers guy. He can get into financials and find anything anyone tries to hide. He’s not a bad shot either. I’m on security, and Ozzie’s the brains behind everything. He’s also the public face of the business. He works with the police or whoever hires us to get the scope of the job and put all the pieces together. He also writes up the report at the end. He hates doing that part, but no one else will do it, so he gets stuck with it.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that I love writing up reports and essays and so on, but I keep it to myself. He doesn’t care about that. Instead, I decide to question him about something I noticed last night and have been reminded of today.

“I get the impression you guys know each other from somewhere else.” I hook my arm over the back of my chair and lean on my hand, waiting for his answer.

“We grew up together. Got into a little trouble together over on Bourbon Street from time to time when we were younger.” He grins. “Ozzie went into the military, and when he got out, he rounded us all up and made us an offer we couldn’t refuse.”

“And that was . . .?”

“Get on board or get your ass beat down. He made the decision real easy.”

I smile, picturing those exact words coming from Ozzie’s mouth. “He tries to be so hardcore.”

“Tries?” Thibault’s eyebrows go up. “And you think he doesn’t succeed?”

I shrug, my vision going fuzzy as I picture Ozzie in my mind, trying to stay serious, but smiling when his dog does something goofy. “I don’t know. I guess so. But he’s not as scary to me as I think he wants to be.”

“Most people think he’s the meanest bastard they’ve ever met.”

I snort. “Yeah, right. As if.”

Thibault stares at me, a vague smile on his lips.

“What?” I’m worried I have popcorn shrapnel on my face or something.

“Nothing.” He immediately shifts his attention to the pad of paper he threw down on the table after his review of my townhouse. “So, here we go . . . my assessment of your security needs.”

I lean over to see what he’s written, but his handwriting is undecipherable. I wait for him to translate.

“You have five windows upstairs, two in each bedroom and one in the bathroom. There are three downstairs and two entrances, one in the front and one in the back, plus the one from the garage. That’s a total of eleven entry points that need to be fitted.”

“Fitted?”

“Fitted with security devices. I’d also recommend a glass-break sensor at these front windows and the sliders on the back patio, motion detectors in the hallway and this room, and you also need pet immunity.” He makes a few notes on his pad.

“What’s that?”

“Just a device that makes sure your dog doesn’t set off the motion detectors.” He looks up and catches my expression. “What’s wrong?”

I look down at the floor, trying to ease my embarrassment. “I’m just worrying about how much this is going to cost me.”

He claps me on the back, throwing me forward a little. “Not a penny!” He stands and picks up the chair, swinging it around to put it back where it came from.