Page 5 of Quiet Protector
She drags a hand across her wet cheeks before assuring me I have nothing to apologize about. “It was not what you said. It was hear—”
She stops signing when a male voice joins our voiceless conversation. “Mel, what are you doing hiding out in the living room? Come back to bed, baby. It’s cold without you.”
For the first time in my life, I dislike the taste of peanut butter in my mouth. It isn’t just the guilty expression on Melody’s face that has me regretting my dinner selection, it’s the image of a man wearing nothing but a pair of sleeping pants in the top righthand corner of Melody’s screen. The lamp behind him shows he’s standing in front of a rumpled bed.
My eyes shoot back to Melody’s face when I spot her signing in the corner of my eye. “I have to go, BJ. Can I call you tomorrow?”
With how hard sick, morbid jealousy is hitting me, I should say no, but for some fucked-up reason, I dip my chin instead.
My quick agreement returns the smile I was mesmerized by only seconds ago. “Thanks, BJ.”
Melody stares directly at me for what feels like a lifetime before she disconnects our call. It takes me just as long to lower my phone from my face. Even with an immense amount of awkwardness fueling our exchange, it was so surreal, I’m beginning to wonder if I am napping on the couch with Phillipa.
The only reason I know I’m not is because Phillipa has her shoulder propped on the doorframe of my bedroom. Her brows are pulled together tightly, and her lips are pursed. “Do you often have wordless conversations in the middle of the night?”
I shake my head. “That was Melody.”
“I kind of gathered that.” Phillipa enters my room without waiting to be invited. “The sign language gave it away, and let’s not forgetthat.” She swallows harshly at the end of her sentence before dropping her eyes to the crotch of my pants—theexposedcrotch of my pants since I knocked off the pillow somewhere between being astonished by Melody’s call and blinded by jealousy. “What did she want?”
After covering the tent in my pants with a pillow, I arch a brow. “Do you really want to have this conversation now and in here, of all places?”
I stare at Phillipa with massive eyes when she touches her toes, twists her back, then does leg stretches like she’s about to run a marathon. “I’m not as nimble as I was in my college days, but this old girl should still be up to the task.” When she spots my whitening gills, she laughs. “I’m joking, BJ. Even if it’s been a while, you don’t have the equipment I need for an all-night romp-a-thon.”
“Huh?”
Phillipa motions for me to scoot across the mattress. When I do as asked, she discloses, “I’m a lesbian.”
“You’re a lesbian?” I apologize to anyone within a five-mile radius of my apartment building. I can’t help but shout. I’ve never been in the dating circuit, but I could have sworn she was giving me flirty kiss-me vibes earlier today.
Fuck, I’m in even more desperate need to get laid than I realized.
After slipping between the sheets of my bed, Phillipa slants her head to the side so she can peer at me with batting lashes. “I’m not a lesbian. But I’m more than happy to pretend I am if it saves my ass from spending another minute on your couch. Just because it’s expensive doesn’t mean it is habitable, BJ. I paid a fortune for a bonsai garden to fancy up my patio, and it died within two weeks.”
Even though I shouldn’t laugh, I can’t help it. I’m so tired, deliriousness is the next logical step to full-blown craziness.
Phillipa waits for my chuckles to settle before nudging her head to my phone. “Are you going to show me what Melody sent you, or should I wait for you to fall asleep then hack into your phone?” When I give her a look as if to say,I’d like to see you try, the smugness on her face triples. “Melody’s birthday, am I right?”
When she scoops up my phone, I snatch it out of her hand, grumbling about how I have a knack for picking up annoying strays. Once I have my message app open, I scroll down so Phillipa can’t see I was unaware of Melody’s private cell phone number until now, then pass her my phone.
“That’s Kwan Turgenev. Why do you have a photo of him?”
The collision of our eyes is almost brutal. I’m desperate to find out how she identified the perp so quickly, and she’s dying to know why I have a photograph of him.
Since Phillipa had a nap, her stability is more noticeable than mine. I dive over her legs without the teeniest bit of concern my male parts brush her shins on the way by. I need my laptop, and I left it on the dining table when I gathered the bedspread for Phillipa.
Phillipa’s craziness jumps up a notch when I yank out a chair from beneath my dining table and take a seat in front of my laptop. “Whatcha doing?”
“Running a background search on Kwan Turgenev.” I raise my eyes to hers. “Does his first name start with a K or Q?”
“K…” I stop typing Kwan’s name into the search bar of the Bureau’s mainframe when Phillipa adds, “But you won’t find anything on him. He’s a ghost. Has been for years.”
With my lips twisted, I finalize typing his name, certain I have access to channels Phillipa doesn’t know about.
* * *
Ten minutes later, I’m chewing on my tongue. There’s not a single shred of evidence that a Kwan Turgenev exists, much less had an invitation to the campaign fundraiser I saw flyers for in the backdrop of the photograph Melody sent me.
“I told you he’s a ghost.” Phillipa slumps in the chair across from me before balancing her feet on part of the seat not taken up by her backside, so she can cradle her knees with her arms. Melody used to sit in the nook at her window the same way anytime she was tired. “It’s been like that for years. Other than a handful of long-range surveillance photos a few years back, his file is empty. I’m shocked you have an image of him. I doubt you would if he noticed it was being taken.”
