Page 13 of Protect Your Queen

But Brian bowed his head and started the car, locking the doors. He pulled out into LA traffic, and that was that. Because he had been my driver for almost three years, he knew to put on music. Nothing with lyrics. Just classical, orchestral music that could drown out the silence in my head.

I don’t know why his consideration made me want to cry.

“It’s okay, Miss Jestiny.” He stared straight ahead as he took the on-ramp to the highway. “It’s okay. You can cry if you want to, Miss. It’s just us in here.”

That was all I needed. I practically broke down in the back seat, curling over my thighs, and whininglike a child.

“That’s alright, Miss Jestiny. It’s going to be alright.” He kept on crooning the words. “That was your brother in the other car. He’s gonna meet us at home real soon.”

Nothing was alright. It hadn’t been alright in a long, long time.

Chapter four

A Killing Look

Chris

“Are you a music fan, Ambrose?” Mr. Jareth said, staring at me through the rearview mirror. His expensive watch glinted at me from beneath that navy blazer sleeve. From only a couple days with him, and my copious amounts of research, navy blue was his go-to color. I wondered if I needed a signature color too.

Was that a thing?I made a mental note to ask Elyse about it the next time we spoke.

Jesus, I hated thinking about clothes. It was dumb. I miss the days of having a uniform. Everyone wore the same thing, and conformity was the name of the game. Those were the good ol’ days.

“Ambrose?” Jareth lifted that thick, dark brow.

“Sorry, what?” I tried to keep the flush from crawling up my neck. I had totally daydreamed into a whole other place.

“Do you like music?”

I fucking love it. It had been my reason for breathing until the possibility of it as a career was cut from my hands – literally.

“I do.”

“What kind?” He volleyed. I was under the distinct impression that there was a right and wrong answer to this.

“All sorts,'' I said,noncommittally.

“Have you heard of my sister, Jestiny?”

“Caledonia Security does full background checks on all their clients, so I’m very familiar with her.” Again, I was staying diplomatic. We never want to offend the client.

I especially didn’t want to tell him that his sister was a musical hack that basically regurgitated the same teeny-bopper, barely legal jailbait songs that were as tired as tired could be. It wasn’t my thing.

“Have you listened to her music?” He wasn’t going to let this go, was he?

I really wanted to know what Jareth Barkada’s point was. I felt like I was a pig, being led by the snout to a troth.

“What’s on the radio, yeah.” As if on cue, the music on the stereo surround sound changed, and the woman in question crooned on about being a girl, trying to find her way into womanhood. It sounded like money and merchandising. Pop, for the sake of chart toppers that were churned out in a formulaic four chords in 4/4 time, ending with a big, trilling belt.

“Do you like it?”

Mayday! Mayday! It’s a trap!

“Sure,” I lied. I slowed onto the off-ramp of the freeway into the Los Angeles side street, covered in bougainvillea and other shrubs. “Who wouldn’t?

I saw Jareth rub the back of his knuckles on his lips as he pensively stared out the window.

“Do you think she likes her own music?”Well, that’s a weird question.

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