Page 51 of Guarding the Star

Lilacs. Her favorite flowers. The son of a bitch knows her favorite flowers.

Trent gets there a second later.

“Ease up, Paula. Please.”

I've squeezed harder than I needed to. I know it. My head knows it. But the rage has me.

Derek Linden's face goes red. He claws at my forearm, nails scratching without force. A wet, choked sound escapes his throat. His legs give out and his full weight hangs from my arm.

“Delgado!” Trent yells. “Let go. You're going to kill him.”

I don't let go.

“Paula, please,” Iris breathes behind me. “Let him go.”

I let go.

Derek Linden drops forward, and stadium security catches him before he hits the ground. He coughs. Spits. Breathes with a long wheeze that echoes off the tunnel walls. He's conscious. He's fine. More or less fine, considering I compressed his throat for six seconds longer than necessary with considerable force.

“I just… I just wanted to give them to her,” he says as they take him away.

Iris wraps her arms around me. Rubs my back while I shake. Those were the longest seconds of my life.

“I thought he had a knife in his hand,” I whisper.

“I know,” she sighs, and kisses my cheek while security leads Derek Linden away with the compliance of someone who believes he was doing something good.

***

The second half starts, but I don't watch it.

Twenty-five thousand people screaming and all I can do is replay what happened, over and over.

Last night: the alert from my firm. Derek Linden on our street. Then Iris's nightmare. Then the exact moment I delegated the credentials. Trent ran the list but didn't catch the fake badge. It wasn't a knife, but it could have been. Or a gun that somehow got past security. He could have been faster than me and reached Iris. It could have been so many things.

And I didn't check the credentials.

Iris scores in the seventy-eighth minute. She raises her fist and screams. She's turned her rage into fuel.

The game ends in a win.

Iris walks off the field.

“Did they take him?”

“Yes. The police have him now.”

“Is it over?”

“It's over,” I repeat with a sigh, and she disappears toward the locker room.

I stand alone on the sideline. The stadium empties. The floodlights go dark.

I type the incident report on my phone.

“The bodyguard did not personally review credentials by her own decision. This was a serious error that resulted in an inexcusable breach.”

I send the report. Walk onto the field. Sit on the bench.