Page 1 of Quiet Protector
1
Melody
The mermaid tail of my dress swishes along wooden floorboards when I follow Julian through a packed ballroom. We received a last-minute invitation to the extravagance when I bumped into Mr. McGee last Thursday. He arrived at my office somewhat unexpectedly. It isn’t unusual for government officials to do drop-in visits, but it’s usually announced to the hierarchies before it occurs to ensure they’re not left red-faced.
Mercifully, Leo, my boss, is always on the ball. He handled the Governor’s visit without the slightest drop of sweat beading on his brow. Some would say his gall was compliments to years on the job. Others would say it’s because he classes himself as an equal of Mr. McGee’s. I say it’s because he knew I wouldn’t log out a classified file unless it were important.
Although I’ll never have proof, I’m confident Marjorie Hawke’s file was what Mr. McGee’s visit was about. I followed the rules when Brandon requested her file. I logged its transfer into the database mainframe, doctored out anything deemed confidential, then couriered it to his branch at Ravenshoe via the private security firm our office generally uses. Protocol was followed, yet Mr. McGee believed additional scrutiny was needed.
When I pushed him on why such an insignificant case was being treated as if it held national secrets, I received an invitation to an event instead of a reason. Don’t misconstrue my comment, I’m sure Marjorie’s death was devastating for her husband and family, but for a governor to make a personal visit to the District Attorney’s Office to demand an explanation seemed a little puerile to me.
Although unease was the first emotion I felt upon receiving Mr. McGee’s invitation, inquisitiveness soon took over. I’m reasonably sure his agenda was to assert his importance, hoping it would have me falling into line, but I used his invitation with the hope of expanding both personal and work contacts.
Today’s guest list is filled with the who’s who of New York. The number of influential people in the one room has had Mr. McGee prancing around like a peacock all night. Despite all of that, for the most part, I’ve enjoyed myself. Julian is in his element. He’s in awe of every person in the room, completely unaware they’re eyeing him with an equal amount of admiration.
Money will never be an issue for Julian. His family has enough to last them decades into the future, but Julian doesn’t see his family’s success as his own. To him, he’s just a humble audiologist. To people in this room, he’s the billionaire mogul they’re dying to sink their hooks into.
Perhaps that’s why Mr. McGee invited us tonight? He loves showboating, so adding a recent Forbes 500 man onto his guest list seems like the smart thing to do. A politician is forever in campaign mode. I’m doubtful tonight is the first time Mr. McGee has approached a billionaire with the hope of a generous endorsement check. He’s so unscrupulous, I wouldn’t put it past him to approach the shady billionaires our office is frequently chasing for campaign funds. As long as their pockets are deep, he doesn’t care who he rubs shoulders with.
I’m drawn from my thoughts when Julian stops in front of a beautiful raven-haired woman with kind eyes and glossy red lips. “Katarina, I thought that was you.” Julian places a kiss on Katarina’s cheek before tugging me closer to the dynamic duo. Although there are twenty or more years between their ages, they have a unique spark. “This is my fiancée I was telling you about. Melody, please meet Katarina Rouse.”
My heart pumps out an extra flutter when he mentions Katarina’s surname. “You’re on the board of Julian’s charity. He talks about you all the time.” I offer her my hand to shake, smitten to meet the woman Julian talks about often. Julian is extremely close to his mother, but she barely gets a mention when he gushes about the charity work Ms. Rouse does. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Hi.” Katarina appears more shocked than me like I’m one of the big celebrities sending the paparazzi into a tailspin. I find out why she’s eyeing me with star-filled eyes when she asks, “Have we met before?”
I twist my lips. “I don’t think so.” I run my hand down Julian’s forearm. “I’ve wanted to volunteer with Julian, but life is hectic.”
Katarina smiles. It’s as adorable as her face, which isn’t holding many wrinkles considering her age, which I’d guess to be mid to late fifties. I can only hope to have such a youthful face at her age. I want to say her smooth skin is compliments to Botox, but she doesn’t have the overly-rigid face most Botox lovers do, so perhaps it’s more good genes than a skilled dermatologist.
“Julian said you moved to New York to accept a position at the DA’s Office. How are you finding it?” Katarina asks, appearing genuinely interested in my reply.
I pull a face. “It’s good. Challenging but good.” It usually takes me knowing someone for a good three to four months before I open up to them, but Katarina has the type of aura you can’t help but be honest with her. She reminds me a lot of my mother. “There are more cases here than in the office I interned at in LA, but nowhere near as many staff, so it’s taking me a little bit to adjust to the workload. I’ll get there…eventually.”
Although I’m still treated as an intern by my colleagues, I’m quickly clueing in on how diverse each office is. Such as, it’s not every day you’ll be in the same room as a governor, a district attorney, three Federal Court judges, and a mafia kingpin. The latter has only just arrived, but he enters the room like a god, turning more than a few heads. Even I watch Henry Gottle, Sr. from afar, speechless and in awe. There’s a natural arrogance to him that you can’t help but be sucked in to.
Not sexually. Don’t be uncultured, Henry is around the age of my father. It’s the fact he presents as an extremely dark and dangerous man, but when you truly look at him, you get the sense he has a hidden nurturing side as well. He conceals it well with deadly blue eyes and a fiercely cut suit, but it’s still there hiding in the dimples of his concealed smirk.
His hair is darker than a night’s sky, and his skin looks like he spends his days lazing at the beach instead of amassing a vast amount of wealth from unscrupulous business adventures. His persona, even from a distance, could be described as mulish.
That is until his eyes swing my way.
I take a step back, surprised by the ownership in his heavy-hooded gaze. Unlike a handful of the women in the rape support group I commenced attending in the months following my confession to Julian, my assault didn’t claim my innocence. If anything, it made me more naïve. But even someone with the purity of a saint couldn’t miss the possessiveness in Henry’s eyes as he makes his way across the room.
Even with the room filled with influential people, the crowd creates a pathway for him, knowing no amount of political backing will alter the facts. This state isn’t run by men like Mr. McGee or Leo. It’s owned by Henry.
I’m tempted to slap myself up the side of my head when the reasoning for Henry’s across-the-room stare becomes apparent. He isn’t parting the crowd like they’re the Red Sea because he thinks I’m the most beautiful woman in the room, his eyes aren’t even on me. They’re on Katarina, who looks exactly how a woman should look when the man of her dreams spots her from across the room.
My brows stitch when Katarina presses a hurried kiss to Julian’s cheek before she makes an excuse to leave. She’s so flustered, nothing she says makes any sense, and we won’t mention her unsteady footing as she darts for the exit, or you’ll believe she’s been downing as many cocktails as me.
I’m not drinking because I am as out of my league as Julian is in it. It’s wondering if any other McGees would be at tonight’s festivities. I’ve yet to spot Brandon in any of Mr. McGee’s campaign photographs, but Phoenix and Madden occasionally pop up—Madden even more so the past six months since he announced he’s running for office at the next election. He’s starting at the Senate like his father did.
Thankfully, it appears as if Mr. McGee went stag tonight—ifyou exclude the three bug-eyed women who’ve been buzzing around him all evening. He’s old enough to be their father, but they still fawn over him like he’s a rock star and they’re thirsty groupies.
It makes me sick.
I’m pulled from my thoughts for the second time tonight when my name is called from a voice I’ve never heard before. When I twist in the direction the thick, deep timbre came from, the caller of my name appears surprised I heard him as I am that he knows my name. We’ve met before, but that was an extremely long time ago, so why is he staring at me like a halo is circling my head.
“You heard me.” Henry Gottle bridges the gap between us with three long strides. I’m tempted to bolt like Katarina did, but a weird sensation pinging through my veins keeps my feet planted on the ground. I also don’t want to appear frightened in front of my colleagues because not only did Julian’s grip on my hand tighten when Henry called my name, every set of eyes in the room honed in on me.
