Page 30 of Quiet Protector
“Is that…ugh… the smell.”
“At least it isn’t a human corpse,” I gabble through a gag while removing a mummified cat from the wall. It’s so badly decomposed, I’m going to burn my nose hairs with bleach just with the hope it’ll eradicate the smell from my nostrils.
I realize not all the smell is coming from the cat when I break away a large chunk of the drywall. There’s a hand, a tiny one, and it’s very much human.
While working my jaw side to side, hopeful its workover will hold back the bile scorching my throat, I move to the window Isaac broke with his elbow. After removing a thin piece of thread the CSI team has yet to discover and sliding it into my pocket, I shout down for Harvey.
When he pops his big head out of the wooden shed Carlyle’s truck is parked in front of a few seconds later, I jerk up my chin. “You’ll want to see this.”
My brows inch together when he replies, “You first.”
“I’ve got a body,” I shout, stilling the deputies standing between us.
“So do I, kid,” Harvey replies, “And more than one of them.”
13
Melody
Islant my head to the left before slowly dragging it to the right. Printing out the image Brandon sent me this morning hasn’t improved its quality at all. I can tell it’s a bank record, there’s a familiar logo in the top left-hand corner, and some of the digits not covered by smeared ink could possibly be an account number, but without knowing every digit and what this document corresponds to, I’m running blind.
I would have more of an idea on what I’m seeking if Brandon had included text with his picture message. This soggy image is all I’ve got to work on. He gave me more information when he requested Marjorie Hawke’s file.
There’s a thought. I wonder if that corresponds with this?
Eager to check, I snag my loft keys off the coffee table, then dash into Julian’s office. “I need to pop by my loft. Did you want me to pick up something for dinner on the way back?”
“You’re going out…alone?” The shock in his voice is understandable. My backside has barely left the couch since my run-in with Mr. McGee two nights ago. Leo was adamant I was to take a few days off, and since Julian has a butler, a cook, and several housemaids, I haven’t needed to lift a finger. Although Brandon’s underhanded request for help isn’t exactly heart-pumping stuff, it feels nice to be needed. Julian never needs anything, and if he does, he has a bucket load of staff at the ready, waiting to serve him.
When I nod, Julian asks, “Would you like me to come with you?”
“No, it’s fine. You’re snowed under. I should only be a few minutes.” When a worried groove burrows between his brows, I nudge my head to the large Samoan man standing in the corner of the massive living room. “I’ll take Tiny with me.”
Tiny smiles a beaming grin when my nickname reaches his ears. Fetu isn’t close to being tiny. He’s thick, tall, and his face tattoos would have people double-guessing their approach before they’ve even considered it.
“If you’re late, I’ll wait up for you.”
Julian’s brow arches when I mutter, “I won’t be late.” He knows I barely turn up for anything on time, and let’s not mention the fact he printed out Brandon’s image for me, meaning he most likely knows what my trip home is about. I left a certified copy of Marjorie’s file on my desk. “I’ll be back soon.”
When I spin on my heels, Julian calls my name. He waits for me to pop my head back into his gigantic office before he signs, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I reply with a smile.
When Fetu joins me outside of Julian’s office, I hold my finger in the air, requesting a minute. The smell of freshly baked cookies streams through my nose when I dash into the kitchen. It’s as large and as well-equipped as the rest of Julian’s penthouse, but mercifully, it has a homey feel to it. That might have more to do with Julian’s cook’s fond fascination with dessert items.
Once I have three large walnut cookies stored in a white paper bag, I return to Fetu’s side. “Hungry, miss?” he asks, holding out my coat for me.
“They’re not for me.”
When I press my finger to my lips, he nods. I don’t want Julian knowing I’m sending meals out to the man Brandon has sitting outside of his penthouse. It isn’t that I want to lie, I’m just unsure how Julian will feel about it. He’s encouraging my friendship with Brandon as he believes it will be good for my state of mind, but he’s also been distant the past few days.
Have you ever felt lonely even with someone sitting directly beside you? That’s the only way I can explain Julian’s distance of late. Part of me wonders if it has to do with his run-in with Vincent McGee. Although no formal charges were filed, their tussle was certainly picked up by the media. It thrust the story of Henry Gottle getting friendly with a woman half his age to the bottom of the stack.
It isn’t what you’re thinking. I’m confident Henry has plenty of young beauties at his beck and call. I’m just not one of them. The media didn’t care about that, though. They saw the age-gap between Julian and me and assumed I have a thing for older men. In all honesty, the headlines made me ill. Julian is ten years my senior, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at him. Henry Gottle is around the age my father would have been if he were still here.
Before I can let my thoughts run loose, I thrust my arms into the lightweight coat Fetu is holding out for me. “I’ll drop these off while you grab the car, then I’ll meet you out front.”
“Yes, miss.”
