Page 72 of Quiet Protector
“To find another man. Yep, I got that.”
“Grayson…”
My growl doesn’t ruffle his feathers in the slightest. “Don’t growl at me, punk. You weren’t the one who was raped, so you don’t get to act sensitive.”
“I failed her,” I reply, speaking truthfully for the first time in days.
“Now? Yep, I got that, too.” Ignoring the hostess at Tastes asking if I’d like to dine inside or out, I enter the main part of the restaurant to scan my eyes over the crowd, acting as if I didn’t hear Grayson grumble, “She gave you a free pass for what happened to her seven years ago, but you had to stuff it up by letting that weasel prickface of a brother get into your head.”
When I don’t find the men I’m hunting, I signal to the hostess that I’d like a table for one inside before directing my focus back to Grayson. “Unless you want me to put a bullet in my head, shut the fuck up with your assumptions. You don’t know what I’m going through.”
“That’s not funny, punk. You might be facing a hard time right now, but saying shit like that isn’t funny,” he immediately snaps back.
For the first time since I’ve known him, he’s left speechless when I say, “Who said I was joking?”
Before he can get the jump on me for the second time today, I hang up before shadowing the waiter to my seat. Grayson isn’t the only one taken aback by my comment. I’m just as stunned. I’ve never felt like this before, but still, comments like the one I just made aren’t kosher for me.
Needing to get my head into game mode before I convince myself I need to have it examined by a shrink, I take a seat at my assigned table before grabbing a copy ofRavenshoe News.
I’ve barely cracked open the newspaper to conceal my face from Isaac when it’s snatched out from in front of me. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. But there’s no fucking chance you’ll fool me a third time.”
I balk as startled as the person badgering me. “Regan, what are you doing here? Is Izzy with you?” I rescan the restaurant, wondering if my eagerness to seek Isaac had me skimming past Isabelle.
My eyes snap back to Regan when she snatches Tobias’s laptop out of my briefcase. If she destroys it, Grayson will destroy me. Although it isn’t technically his, half the videos on it most certainly are. There’s a lot of undercover surveillance of Katie on there. It was taken during a failed attempt to purchase her. Kirill wanted her no matter the cost, and his means far exceeded the Bureau’s.
I realize I have Regan’s motives mixed up when she snarls. “Let’s see how you like having your privacy invaded.”
When she unlocks Tobias’s laptop without asking for the passcode, I stare at her like she’s Superwoman.How the fuck did she know the password?
The truth smacks into me when I see the jealous possessiveness beaming out of her. Isaac trained his staff well. Even when he isn’t around, they make sure there’s no chance another man will be moseying in on his turf. I had wondered how many of his staff viewed the video of Isabelle and me kissing. I’m now sitting at five.
When Regan’s growl vibrates through my chest, my eyes snap to an invoice on the screen. “That’s not what it looks like.” I slam down the laptop screen, unsure how I can explain that Grayson’s computer is linked to this laptop without breaking his cover. Grayson and Regan have met previously. It was brief, but enough for Grayson to know Regan is as quick-witted as she is attractive. “I was researching business opportunities. Those files are assessable to anyone with the knowledge of how to find them.”
Regan glares at me, her lips twisted. “True… but I wonder what Isabelle’s take on it will be?”
When she hightails it out of the restaurant, I’m nipping at her heels two seconds later. “I’m trying to protect her.”Unlike you.
Regan is as blind to Isaac’s shadiness as Isabelle. Or perhaps she knows all his secrets, and that’s why he pays her so well.It’s not every day you hear about an acquisition lawyer being on a two-million-dollar-a-year retainer.
“She has no clue who Isaac really is. He’s keeping things from her.” Before she can slide into an idling cab outside of the restaurant, I block her entrance while digging a wire transfer transaction list out of my briefcase. “Look, I’ll prove it. He’s been making secret payments to a woman in Arlington the past six years.” When Regan snatches the document out of my hand, I point out the payments. “See, one hundred thousand dollars a month for over six years.”
I watch Regan closely when she works the payee’s name through her head a few times. It appears as if the name is familiar to her, but she can’t work out why.
My assumptions are proven accurate when she snatches Tobias’s laptop from under my arm, tosses it onto the taxi’s hood, then logs back in. Her throat works hard to swallow when she types Kristin Liberman’s name into the search bar. The view isn’t pretty. The screen is full of new articles on the suicide death of Dane Liberman, Kristin’s husband.
The usually ball-clutching pitch of Regan’s voice is reduced to a whisper when she asks, “When was he killed?”
She looks like I ran over her cat when I point to the date of death in Dane’s obituary. She takes a few moments drinking in images of men with the same name as Dane, only stopping when she stumbles upon one that includes Alex, Grayson’s brother. It’s a photograph of Dane and Alex when their college team claimed victory on the lacrosse field. I’m reasonably sure I’ve never seen Alex smile the way he is in this picture.
Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Grayson smile like that either.
I guess I’m not the only one who has a fucked-up past.
After brushing a rogue tear off her cheek, Regan’s eyes drift to mine. “How did he die?”
I inwardly curse when it dawns on me why Grayson reacted to my earlier comment so negatively. Dane was Alex’s best friend, which means he would have known Grayson. Dane killed himself, so I don’t think Grayson will ever find my morbid sense of humor entertaining.
Fuck, I’m an asshole.
