The Hit

Chapter 3

Some jobs come with benefits. Insurance is a good one. Corporate retreats are another. Even a free pen or those stupid, metal mugs would be nice. But for Drake, the only benefit he got was the incredible screen and sound system that Jim Starling had installed in a dark room, the best that money could buy. Not that the mob boss actually used the room, but Charity would spend hours there. She'd put on a movie and then stare at her phone the entire time.

This was probably the best part of Drake's job. Inside Negaduck's estate was the safest place for Charity, which meant the safest place for Drake. And even though he had to stand by the door the entire time, he at least got to watch a movie. The only thing better would be if he could actually pick what they watched. Every title Charity turned on was either a senseless comedy with vulgar humor or a terrible chick flick that had no plot, characterization or any real point except for two people to have sex. Baseless entertainment wasn't his cup of tea, but it was better than watching Charity try on clothes.

Charity stood up, making her way to the side door, her posture bent as if sneaking.

"Where are you going?" Drake asked, just as he did every time she stood up.

"Jeez, I'm just going to get a drink of water," Charity said grumpily.

"I'll call a maid to get you one," Drake said, sticking his head out the door and getting one of the girls that were always bustling around and making every surface squeaky clean.

"Thanks. For a minute there, I thought I would have to actually do something around here," Charity grumbled, returning to the plush couch.

Oh, she is in a mood, Drake thought with a smirk. And it wasn't just her attitude. She seemed to be even more clumsy in her stilettoes but had, for some reason, cast off her flirting routine. Maybe she was finally learning that Drake wasn't interested in losing his job or his life just to mess around.

As the maid returned with a tray with a water bottle on top, Drake heard a familiar voice echoing from farther in the mansion.

"Launchpad?" Drake accepted the tray and placed it on an end table as he exited the entertainment room. He didn't get far when he saw Launchpad coming down the grand staircase in the front foyer, holding a black briefcase. "Launchpad, what are you doing here?"

Launchpad froze in mid-step, eyes wide. "Uh…emergency bathroom break."

"Nobody is allowed upstairs," Drake said. He rushed over to his friend and grabbed his arm. "Do you realize how much trouble we both could be in if Mr. Starling finds you up there?"

"Uh…It was a really big emergency?" Launchpad said.

"And where did you get that briefcase?" Drake asked, his tone accusing. He didn't think Launchpad would come in here to steal something, but that's what it looked like. And if anyone else saw, what would they think?

"It's my…lunch," Launchpad said.

Launchpad was a terrible liar. Drake could see right through him. But the biggest question was, why would his friend lie to him?
"You there, aren't you supposed to be guarding my fiancé?"

Drake looked up at the balcony above the grand staircase, seeing Jim Starling glaring down at him like a god on Mount Olympus. "Sorry, sir. I was just helping this driver find a bathroom. He was a bit confused about where to go."

"Yeah, it was a really, really big emergency," Launchpad said, using that strange tone again that said he was lying. "Nothing weird about anything."

Drake wanted to slap his own face. They were both going to die.

"Let him go. He's just a driver," Jim Starling said, although his tone sounded amused. "You're the one who's where you're not supposed to be. Go!"

Drake gave Launchpad one last look. Whatever was going on, he would find out later. Back to the grindstone.

And speaking of Charity, when Drake returned to the entertainment room, she wasn't where she was supposed to be. Could this day get any worse?

Rushing around the mansion, he found the lovebird crouched in front of a door in a very un-lady-like way. "If you're looking for some water, I don't think that's the kitchen."

Charity squeaked and tried to stand up, but ended up on her butt, clutching at the bottom of her dress to prevent too much of her legs and above from showing. "Can you be more of a stalker?!" she shouted. She tried to stand up, but she was too unsteady in her shoes.

Drake went to her and grabbed her arm as he pulled her up.

"Ow! Let go," Charity protested, yanking away when she was back on her feet.

"What were you doing over here?" Drake demanded, more anger behind his voice than he intended. As a bodyguard, he really didn't have any authority to ask, but he was tired of the trouble this woman was putting him through.

"Butt out!" Charity spat. Her feathers fluffed out around her neck. She flipped her hair, slapping Drake in the face, and walked away. Her indignant exit might have had more weight behind it if she didn't wobble so much.

Definitely PMS, Drake thought with a heavy sigh. Between Charity and Launchpad, he looked forward to going home and having a strong drink.


Charity ground her beak in frustration. She was so close. She had searched the entire ground floor of the mansion. Everyone knew that Starling kept all his documents and records and his riches on the second floor, but for some reason that door had always been locked. She guessed it led to the basement. Who knew what Negaduck kept down there?

But she was terrible at picking locks. Sunny was better. If only the cockatiel had been in her place, they might have had this entire operation put to bed.

And just when Charity seemed to be having some luck with the door, Dopey Drake ruined everything. Curse all bodyguards. Curse them to hades.

As she marched back to the entertainment room, she spotted Jim standing in the foyer, talking on his cell phone. She slid out of view, listening in.

"Yeah, it's been taken care of. Don't worry. Nobody's going to trace it back to me," Jim said. "He seemed quite capable. A bit on the slow side, but sometimes brains don't back up the muscle."

What is he talking about? Charity thought, sliding along the wall to get closer. What dirty dealings are your hands in now, Negaduck?

"Usually if someone wants to go somewhere, they move their feet."

Charity jumped, forgetting that Drake had been behind her. She squealed and her horrible shoes clacked noisily against the tile.

"Who's that?" Starling called out.

Cursing how sloppy she'd been lately, Charity plastered a cheerful expression on and walked toward her fiancé. "Jim," she called in a falsetto voice, making herself as perky as can be. Their bodies collided, his arms pulling her close. She pulled his face to hers and pretended that she was kissing anyone else.

A hand squeezed her butt, and she fought her instincts to knee him in the groin.

"Jim, do I really have to have a bodyguard in the house?" she asked him, sliding her hands down his chest. "It seems awfully silly for him to follow me everywhere."

"I know you feel safe here, but I have a lot of valuables. And you're the most precious of all of them," Jim said, running a finger along her jawline.

Charity smiled, the action causing the right muscles in her face and throat to tighten and preventing her from throwing up.

"Besides, I would feel a lot better if you had him around, especially since I'm going to Duckburg," Starling added.

"Duckburg? But you just got back from New York," Charity pouted. "You haven't spent any time with me. Why don't I come with you?" And if you're transporting any laundered money or stolen goods, well…that would be all the better.

"It's a business trip, babe. Maybe next time," Jim said, his finger trailing lower and lower down her neckline. "If you're so lonely, why don't you take your friends out on the town? Go to the spa or something." He reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He fingered several hundred dollar bills and put them in her hand.

Charity forced herself to jump up and down and hug him around the neck. "Oh, thank you, sweetie," she said vapidly before giving him a deep kiss. She had to play her role to the T.

And Starling's suggestion was a good idea. If Charity was to get rid of Dopey Drake so she could finally do some real snooping, she was going to need Sunny and Martha's help. Maybe if they couldn't get her bodyguard to quit, they could find some alternative to get rid of him.


Ten thousand dollars. Launchpad couldn't believe that he was in possession of so much money. It was enough to pay off all his debts and be able to make rent for over a year. And this was only half!

It was too bad that Mr. Starling couldn't cut him a check. Cash was nice, especially crisp one-hundred dollar bills in perfect, bound stacks. And he got a brief case thrown into the deal!

If only he could take it to the bank, but it wouldn't be professional to drive off at that moment. It would have to wait. For now, he put the brief case in his trunk, taking out one of the bundles and putting it in his jacket. After all, if he was going to take Mr. Starling's fiancé out, he needed some cash to treat her right.

Launchpad waited near his limo. He hoped that they could leave soon, but with Miss Charity, there was no guessing when that would be. However, it wasn't long before both Miss Charity and Mr. Starling exited the mansion, Drake a few steps behind. As Miss Charity flounced to the limo, Mr. Starling caught Launchpad's attention and gave him the finger gun. From Launchpad's experience, this was a positive gesture meaning, "You're the man."

Launchpad returned the gesture with two thumbs up.

Drake opened the door for Miss Charity before climbing into the passenger seat. Since the glass partition between the front seat and the back was open, he didn't say anything to Launchpad. He had explained days ago that it was important that nobody knew they were friends, although he didn't say why. When pressed, Drake had said, "It's for your own good. Trust me."

Launchpad trusted Drake, so he had pretended that they were only fellow coworkers while Miss Charity was in listening distance.

"Launchpad, if you could please take us to Sunny and Martha's apartment," Miss Charity said from the back.

Launchpad hadn't counted on Charity's friends coming along, but twenty thousand dollars did seem to be a lot of money. Even paying to take three women out, it wouldn't make much of a dent in the funds. He tipped his hat and said, "Right away, Miss Charity." That was one thing he liked about the lovebird. She had learned his name and used it when talking to him, and even used please and thank you. She also tipped him generously when she had cash on hand. At his past jobs, those kinds of pleasantries had been far and few between.

Putting the vehicle into drive, Launchpad took them the familiar route to Charity's friend's place where the swan and cockatiel were waiting. As the two women slid into the limo, they immediately began talking and giggling.

"Hey, Launchpad, could you take us to our usual spa?" Miss Charity asked. "Unless you know a new place, Sunny?"

"Actually, Miss Charity, your fiancé asked me to take you someplace special," Launchpad said. He caught Drake shooting him a worried glance.

"Someplace special?" Miss Charity asked. "Where?" Her smile looked as fragile as wet paper.

"That's a surprise," Launchpad said.

Miss Sunny laughed cheerfully. "Ooooh, is this some sort of wedding present? A kind of improve bachelorette party?"

Launchpad laughed, too. "I don't know what that is, but Mr. Starling told me to take you out. He said to make this a memorable day."

Miss Martha and Miss Sunny both laughed, but Miss Charity didn't join in. Perhaps she was feeling down, and Mr. Starling knew she needed to have some fun. It was a good thing that he asked Launchpad for help. He knew just where to take the girls.

"Launchpad, what's going on?" Drake asked in a whisper, making sure the women in the back couldn't see him.

"It's okay," Launchpad whispered back with a wink. "I know what I'm doing."

Drake's uncertainty deepened, but Launchpad's grin only widened. He was going to make today a great day. And maybe if all of them have a good day, Miss Charity will be happier, and Drake won't hate his job so much.


Agent Fenton raced all the way to the office, his mind whirling with possibilities. Yes, his ideas have all been shot down in the past, but this time he had something. He had overheard the secret plans of Jim "The Negaduck" Starling about hiring a hitman to knock off his own fiancé. Yes, the listening device he planted on Negaduck wasn't exactly legal and they wouldn't be able to use any of the information in a court of law, they could still listen in to his plans.

This was it. Not only would Negaduck go down, but it would be because of Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera. They wouldn't be calling him Baby Agent after this.

But when he got to the office, he ran into a wall of chaos. Agents were running all over, papers flying, phones ringing, and Bradford was shouting orders. Agent Donald was pinning several crime photos to a corkboard, preparing for a summary meeting to explain whatever this case was about. This must be something big if the whole branch was in this much of an uproar.

"Uh, Agent Donald, may I talk to you?" Fenton asked.

"What is it? We're kind of in the middle of a crisis," Donald said, not pausing in his work. "If you haven't heard, The Nanny has struck again. This time, she's taken a set of triplet girls. We've got less than forty-eight hours before those poor girls end up dead. The parents are working on the ransom, but they're scared that The Nanny will find out that they called the police."

Because of the long explanation, Fenton knew that Agent Donald was completely focused on this case. If there was a criminal that Agent Donald hated more than Negaduck, it was anyone who hurt children.

"It's just that…I think I have some new information about Jim Starling," Fenton said. "It's really important."

"Make a report and put it on my desk," Donald said quickly, not exactly the response Fenton was looking for.

"But this is time sensitive. If we don't act now, an innocent life will die," Fenton urged.

Okay, there had been a huge debate over how innocent Charity Loveatte was. On one hand, she was Negaduck's fiancé. On another, she had no priors, no record, and by all accounts, seemed to be a nice person. She either looked the other way when it came to Jim Starling's "business," or she was just dumb. Whatever the case may be, she didn't deserve death.

"Please, if you could just give me a few minutes to explain what happened, I think that—" Fenton tried to explain.

"Look, I know you're young and full of ideas, but what we really need right now is a team player, not an innovator," Agent Donald said, putting a hand on Fenton's shoulder. "Whatever idea you have, write a report and I'll read it later. But for now, we need all bodies on this case." And with that, Agent Donald was back to work, muttering to himself.

Shuffling his feet, Fenton was going to his desk to do just that when a tall man bumped into him. The man was so concentrated on the book he was reading that he didn't even bother to apologize.

"Gyro Gearloose?" Fenton called out as he recognized the agent.

The chicken was a familiar sight around the office, mostly because he never went into the field. Gyro was the backbone of the FBI when it came to information, facts, and technology. He did more in his office than a whole fleet of agents could in the field. He was in charge of organizing the FBI's resources as well as overseeing the office's stores of spy gear and tech.

And as amazing as Gyro was, Fenton both admired the man and feared that Gyro represented his future. Fenton didn't join the FBI to be stuck behind a desk all his life. Yes, he was a genius and had two degrees, but he wanted to be out in the world, saving people. He wanted to be a hero, not for the recognition, but because he knew that he was meant to be in the field.

And seeing Gyro gave Fenton an idea. Most of the office may be too busy to lend him an ear, but Gyro was famous for his ability to multitask.

"Agent Gyro, a moment please?" Fenton called out.

"Hmmm, yes?" Gyro asked. He had stopped in his tracks, lifted his eyes up to see whom was talking to, and continued to read. Anyone else would think that Gyro was too distracted, but Fenton knew that the chicken was taking in everything around him as he read his book.

Fenton explained all he saw and heard in the coffee shop, then told the older agent his plan.

"Have you been approved by a Senior Agent?" Gyro asked, looking up from his book.

"No, but everyone is too busy to listen. But you could approve of this," Fenton suggested.

Gyro had the authority, but rarely did he use it. He wasn't a leader, he was a loner and preferred it that way. "You're asking a lot from me."

"Look, I just want to save a life," Fenton said. "I'll write the report and put it on Donald's desk. That bug will keep for several days, and it might even be useless. But if we can warn the bodyguard, he could keep Charity Loveatte safe until we can move in. She might even make a good witness against Starling."

Gyro thought about it.

"It's just one burner phone," Fenton pleaded. "I just need it to send a couple of texts. That's it. It can't be traced to us, and it won't affect our case against Starling. All we'll be doing is saving a life."

Gyro sighed. "I can't believe I'm sticking my neck out for the new guy," he said. "Come on."


Charity had expected something extravagant, knowing how Jim liked to lavish her with presents and nice things. But where Launchpad had taken her, this didn't sound like the Jim Starling she knew.

"The amusement park?" Martha asked, raising an eyebrow. "I think we're overdressed."

Charity frowned. Their designer dresses and high-end shoes definitely would stand out in this crowd. And it wasn't exactly a quiet place to discuss their plans.

"Oh, come on, girls. Let's go," Sunny cajoled. "It'll be fun. And Launchpad would be sad if we said no." The cockatiel pouted prettily.

Charity looked through the front gate, seeing a souvenir stand that sold flip-flops, t-shirts and shorts sporting the amusement park's logo. It wasn't the rides that tempted her. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

Launchpad parked the limo, and the five of them headed to the front gate, Drake trailing behind. It was strange having Launchpad with the group, but he insisted on paying for their tickets and soon grew comfortable conversing with the three women. He was polite and cheerful and funny, and the girls surrounded him as if he were a celebrity.

Once in the gates, Charity made a beeline to the souvenir shop for a change of clothes for all of them. They took their purchases to the bathroom to change, putting their other clothes into a dufflebag—also bought in the store—and gave it to Drake to lug around.

Giggling and chatting, they also picked out a t-shirt for Launchpad, insisting that he get more comfortable than his driving uniform. The driver, with the boundary between employer and employee broken, did as was told, posing for the girls in his new t-shirt.

They finished their shopping by buying sunglasses with silly frames, cheap bracelets and necklaces, and a silly animal hat for Launchpad.

"Maybe we should get something for Dopey Drake," Martha whispered as Launchpad paid for their things. "It might cheer him up."

"Nothing's going to make that gloomy expression go away," Charity said, looking at her bodyguard.

Drake, in his black suit and sunglasses, looked out of place in the amusement park. Those shopping in the store gave him a wide berth and funny glances.

"Come on, girls. Let's go on some rides. The faster, the better," Sunny said, hooking arms with her friends and dragging them out of the store.

For the next three hours, they hit every roller coaster and thrill ride that had a height minimum. They insisted on Launchpad coming with them since most rides sat two side-by-side, and they took turns being with their driver. In fact, they stopped thinking of him as a driver and fawned over him as if he were their kid brother. It was also priceless to see the looks of the single men staring at Launchpad with unveiled envy.

Drake kept back the whole time, waiting just outside the rides on a bench or underneath a tree, as stoic as ever. He never followed the group onto the rides and didn't say anything, but he seemed grimmer than before.

Charity kind of felt a little sorry for him. Here they were in a place filled with happy people, and he had to follow them like some sort of robot servant, stuck in that hot suit. But a few times she caught him reading that worn copy of Les Miserables. Maybe he was having fun in his own way once in a while. He wasn't such a bad guy.

Well…except for the fact that he was employed by Negaduck.

And that's where he was a puzzle to her. He had a strong work ethic, he did his job with a level of professionalism that Charity hadn't seen in her other body guards, and he loved to read. What was a guy like that doing working for Negaduck?

Whatever his reasons, he didn't deserve to get heat stroke.

She insisted that the group buy drinks after their latest ride—a whirl-ligig that spun in tight circles until they thought they would throw up—and got an extra bottle of water.

"Here," Charity said, catching Drake reading once more at a bench. She held out the bottle of water. "I can't have my bodyguard fainting on me."

Drake quickly put away his book and took the water. "Thank you."

She was about return to Launchpad and her friends when she paused to say, "You don't have to keep hiding that book. I promise I won't tell Jim." Funny, out of all the things she could tattled on to get him fired, this wasn't going to be one of them. As much as she wanted what was in Starling's safe and bank records, it just didn't seem right to get someone in trouble for liking classic literature.

After that, Drake was more ready to pull out his book as the others waited in line, sipping slowly at the water bottle.

And that's when Charity received inspiration, watching her bodyguard drink. But first, she had to get her friends alone. "I need to pee," she announced before remembering she was supposed to act lady-like.

The three marched to the nearest restroom.

Inside, Charity checked all the stalls to make sure they were completely alone before asking, "What if we spike his drink?"

"Whose?" Martha asked.

"Dopey Drake," Charity said. "He's not going away, so what if we let him take a little nap. Then I'll be free to search the upstairs."

"That could work," Sunny said, pulling out her purse to touch up her makeup. "All you need to do is crush up some sleeping pills and slip it in his drink. Is there any way you can make him fall on top of you?"

"Why would I do that?" Charity asked disgustedly.

"Duh, so you can guess how much he weights," Sunny said with a sneaky grin.

Martha rolled her eyes. "I'll look up his driver's license information and calculate how much of a dose to give him."

Feeling better with a plan to work with, Charity and her friends exited the bathroom, already pretending that they were silly, beautiful girls just wanting to have a good time. They passed by several vendors on their way to the next ride. They stopped to buy some cotton candy and persuaded Launchpad to play a few of the carnival games. The limo driver turned out to be really good with a baseball and won a giant teddy bear, which was given to Drake to carry along with their other stuff. The girls giggled at the sight of the serious bodyguard and the stuffed toy.

Between a booth selling toys and another food stand was a table where a few volunteers were raising money for a non-profit organization. There was a large sign that had pictures of children sitting in hospital beds and infants with tubes and wires surrounding them.

Unobtrusively, Charity reached into her purse and pulled out the wad of bills that Jim Starling had given her. Someone else should benefit from this dirty money, she thought as she slipped the bills into the box on the table just like dozens of others had done that day.

"Thank you," one of the volunteers said with a nod and a smile.

Charity smiled back, thinking about the looks on their faces when they counted the money for the day.


A bodyguard needs many tools in his trade. Most people think a bodyguard only needs muscles and a gun, but Drake knew better. Instincts and sharp senses are what make or break a bodyguard. Without those, you might as well guard a dead body.

Yes, he shouldn't be reading while on the job, but even with his eyes running over the lines in the book, his attention was mostly on their surroundings. It wasn't just sight, but sound and smell that could alert him to danger. And if his senses couldn't be used, he had his gut feelings to fall back on.

And it was his sharp senses that caught everything Charity did. Reading her was just as important as reading any potential threats. Rule number one every bodyguard should know, the person you're guarding is more likely to die because of something they did, not because the bodyguard wasn't doing their job. And with Charity and her unpredictable ways, he wasn't taking a chance on her doing something stupid.

Which is how he noticed her slip the money into the box on the non-profit table. He knew that she rarely carried cash on her unless her fiancé gave it to her, and each day, she spent every cent. This wasn't the first time she gave it away, and always when she thought nobody was watching. Sometimes it was given to a homeless person or left as a tip at a restaurant. One time while running into a grocery store to buy some medicine for a headache, she handed over all her cash and told the teller to use it to pay for the groceries of the next people in line until it was gone.

He had seen all of this. And while it was generous, Drake couldn't help but see it as another example of how the rich doesn't understand the value of money because they've never had to work for it. He was certain Charity never had a job, depending on her looks and on her boyfriends to get her through life. Yes, it was nice that she sometimes put that money to good use to help others, but somehow he couldn't see her in a better light for her generosity. She was too carefree and careless to do it out of empathy.

His coat pocket vibrated, indicating he had received a text. He had two phones, a personal one and a work phone. He kept his personal cell at home; his friends and family knowing to leave him messages until he was off the clock to call them back. As for his work phone, the only ones who had that number was Jim Starling and those he trusted. The text must be important.

The number was unlisted, and the text sent a chill through Drake.

Charity Loveatte is in danger. A hitman is after her.

Drake's body instantly tensed after reading those words, his eyes locking onto the woman he was supposed to keep safe. After over a week of protecting her, he had hoped to make it through his first job without seeing even a little bit of action, but no such luck.

He had to get her out of there. They were too exposed. There were too many variables that he didn't have control over. There were too many places for a sniper to hide.

Before he could move, his phone vibrated with another next.

This is the guy.

And Drake's world was turned upside down as he saw the picture of his best friend in the text window.