Page 43 of Protect Your Queen

“Wedon’t do anything,” the sister said with a flick of her thumb towards the door. “Scram, pretty boy. Your job is done. Thank you for your service.”

Maybe sarcasm and general assholery was genetic. I wondered if, somewhere in the helix of their DNA, there was a sequence that made the siblings dicks.

“No,” Jareth corrected, gently. “I think we should use him.”

Jazz’s jaw ticked, but she didn’t defy him. I don’t even think she considered that an option.

“Tell me why I should trust him,” the woman asked. Again, I was invisible to her. “As far as I see, his best qualification is that he’s got the hots for our baby sister. That’s not a good thing.”

I straightened but didn’t correct her. I’d have to be blind to not find her attractive. Denying it would just offend her more than my general existence.

“Because Callum MacLachlan told me to,” Jareth said. That did shock me because I wasn’t totally sure my boss knew me from Adam. “Or, at least, his wife told me to.”

“Your boarding school friend’s wife told you to trust him?” Jazz confirmed, slowly, as if not believing what she was hearing. “That sounds credible.”

“Yes. She’s like us.”

“Likeusand not like your boarding school friends?” Whoever she was, and wherever she came from, Jasmine Barkada was not at all impressed with the boarding school set. That made me like her, though she’d still be very happy to gut me like a fish.

“She’s a Bonifacio.”

Jazz’s single brow rose - it was obviously a genetic trait, since three out of five siblings I had met were able to arch just one brow - the left one. Never the right.

“As in Leopold Bonifacio?” Jazz asked, almost in awe.

“The same. I checked.” Jareth looked over at her, and they shared a moment, just breathing, communicating this information between them. “They even named their son after him.”

“Interesting.” Jazz looked at me with a quizzical expression, as if I didn’t belong in the illustrious company I was keeping.

She was probably right, because I had no earthly clue who Leopold Bonifacio was, but if touting his name got this She-Devil to trust me, then it was worth it.

“Where do you stand on the Triangle Trade?” she asked me, referring to the current criminal trafficking of guns, drugs and humans worldwide. Law enforcement, and the international community, had been struck by how helpless they were to face this problem.

“It’s bad,” I deadpanned.

Jazz looked at her brother, and again, she rolled her eyes. “Is he a bodyguard or a comedian?”

I tried not to laugh. The sisters were smart-asses, both of them. But it was only cute on Jestiny.

“When does your back up arrive, pretty boy?” Jareth asked me.

“They should be flying in tonight, which means I can happily go on the prowl as early as tomorrow.” I totally ignored the fact thathecalledmea pretty boy. I had seen a family portrait of the five siblings. None of them were anything less than pretty. Jestiny, when she was glammed up, hit the stratosphere. When she sang? She was ethereal. But none of the siblings belonged in a bell tower. Not even the cauliflower-eared MMA champion.

“Jazz, find your contacts and see if you can help locate him,” Jareth ordered, sounding like one of those old-timey WWII generals, giving out orders in advance of D-Day. “I’ll do the same, and pretty boy… keep Jestiny safe. If he gets away, fine. As long as she is safe.”

There was a heaviness in his words that I didn’t fully understand. I wanted to pry, but since our rapport was so flimsy, I also didn’t want to break anything between us.

“Brian put in his notice months ago,” Jareth said, placing his hands in his pockets. “He stuck around until he felt that Jes was in safe hands.” Jareth’s black eyes turned towards me. “It seems that he thinksyouare adequate security for our precious little princess.”

“I thought she was a queen.”

“She is a queen.” As if to emphasize the seriousness of her point, Jazz brought out a switchblade from her back pocket, and cleaned her nails with it. “And don’t you forget it, peasant.”

“Jasmine,” Jareth brought his forefinger and thumb up to the bridge of his nose, massaging it as if he was fighting off a headache.

“He should know what he’s up against.” I suspected she was the kind of woman who didn’t apologize for anything. “Right, pretty boy?”

“I’m not nuts about that nickname,” I sighed, dramatically, trying to seem undisturbed. “I prefer being called the help.”

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