Page 19 of Quiet Protector
Phillipa whistles out a shocked breath when I give her a bullet-point update on Megan’s obsession with Isaac’s brother. “And this is why I’m convinced the world isn’t flat. Life is a never-ending circle of unknown connections.” With tiredness strangling my senses, my laugh comes out as more of a yawn. “Perhaps after you’ve packed, you might get some sleep.” When I scoff, she whispers, “I can come prepare you a warm cup of milk and rub your tummy until you fall asleep if you’d like?” Don’t take the childishness of her offer as being innocent. Her comment could have only been more insinuating if she had said it while naked.
Feeling playful, I mutter, “Phillipa?”
My cock twitches when she purrs, “Yes, BJ.”
Her laughter roars above the pulse in my ears when a snippet of the old Brandon breaks through the dark cloud above my head. “Can I have some cookies with my milk?”
8
Melody
When a shuffle sounds at the door, I peer up from the mountain-load of case files I’ve been sorting through the past few weeks. I have been in the reference library for hours, yet I’ve barely deciphered half the charge sheet in front of me. My mind is elsewhere, and I don’t see that improving when I lock eyes with my caller. The Governor has popped in for another visit, except this time, he’s minus his posse of advisors.
“Mr. McGee, good evening.” My tone is lower than usual, somewhat skittish. I’m not a fan of my voice as it is, let alone speaking to a man who rarely stops glowering.
It’s men like Mr. McGee who keep fear alive. Their insides are so evil even a deliriously handsome face can’t hide it. For years, I believed the McGee children’s personalities were evenly split between their mother and father. Brandon and Joey took after Mrs. McGee, and Phoenix and Madden adopted their father’s traits.
My beliefs only changed the night of Joey’s party.
Not wanting my mind to get sidetracked again, I ask Mr. McGee in a kind and professional voice, “Is there something I can help you with?”
He walks into the room, all regal-like. “I popped by your apartment. You weren’t home. Clearly.” His laugh makes me so uncomfortable I stand to give my flipping stomach room for its churns. “I figured you’d be here. Barbara put many hours into her studies before we wed. I often found her in the library.” Even though they’re in the process of separating, he speaks fondly of his wife while shuffling through the case files I’m working on. When his eyes lift to mine, I forcefully swallow. They’re so hollow even with them being oddly familiar. “Will you continue working once you’ve wed?”
I nod without pause for thought. “Julian has no wish for me to stop. He knows how important this is to me.”
“He sounds a lot like your father.” He tosses down a file with more aggression than needed, ensuring I’m aware his dislike of my father is still apparent even years after his death. “I heard the ruling on his accident was altered. What are your thoughts on that?”
“Umm…” I’m truly lost for a reply. Mr. McGee isn’t a caring man, so why is he pretending as if he is? “I’m not exactly sure what to think of it, to be honest. It’s all rather new. I’m still trying to process it all.”
A reason for his visit comes to light when he asks, “Are you planning to sue?” He’s not worried about my well-being after discovering my parents were murdered by the man who brutalized them years earlier. He doesn’t want a murky cloud placed over his state’s head.
Yes, you heard me right. Vincent McGee believes he owns New York. He’s wrong, but the last man to tell him that is buried in a cemetery next to his wife and my mother, so I’d rather not point it out when I’m alone with my attacker’s father in a room that only has one exit. I’m not scared of Mr. McGee, I’m frightful of the children he raised.
With my mood hostile, my words get snappy. “I have no intention to sue, so you have no need to fret.” I stack my files together before sliding them into my messenger bag. “What happened was unfortunate, but as far as I’m concerned, the matter has been attended to.” I don’t know who killed Milo Bobrov, and in all honesty, I don’t care. Justice was swiftly served. I couldn’t have asked for more than that. “If that’s all, I’d like to get a head start on my weekend?”
I’m heading for the door before half my question leaves my mouth, my brisk strides only stopping when Mr. McGee’s hand shoots out to seize my elbow. “Where do you think you’re going? I’ve not yet finished speaking with you.”
On instinct, I respond to his somewhat aggressive hold and statement with the same amount of edginess he used to deliver it. The breath that vacates Mr. McGee’s lungs when I ram my elbow into his ribs fans my nape. When I lower my elbow ten or so inches, the remaining air in his lungs expels with numerous curse words. I saw him mutter them multiple times in my childhood, but the disdain they are delivered with this time around is nothing like I imagined. They’re full of hate and disgust. Furthermore, I’ve been assaulted by a McGee once before. I refuse to let it happen again.
As I tear away from him, a scream peels from my throat. I bolt out of the Resources Office so fast anyone would swear I’m outrunning the Grim Reaper. Partway down, I crash into someone coming from the other end.
“Mel? What’s going on? Why are you running?”
Although I recognize both the voice and the scent of the person gripping my shoulders, I break out of his hold with the determination I wish I had showcased seven years ago. I need fresh air, and no amount of reassurance that I’m safe can take that away from me.
“Mel? Melody?” Julian continues to shout until the fire alarm on the emergency door I burst through gobbles up most of his words. It’s for the best because from the menace of his words, and the threat they arrive with, I don’t think they were for me. He has his sights set on one man—the one I’m sprinting away from like my life is in danger.
* * *
I stop twisting the hem of my skirt around my fingers when a pair of polished black dress shoes pop into my peripheral vision. I don’t need to glance up to know who they belong to. The designer price tag is indicating enough, much less the reflection of his face gleaming in the shiny black material.
“Am I fired?”
Leo, my boss, plants his backside on the grimy step outside of our office building, acting as if his pricy suit isn’t worth the coat hanger his dry cleaner hangs it on at the end of each week. The contents pooling in my nose almost spills when he hands me his embossed handkerchief. It’s his compassion that makes him such a good DA. He understands what the victims have been through as he too is a victim. I don’t know what he’s been through, or how he overcame it, but I know he’s been through something. Victims of crime have a way of recognizing each other. He saw the pain in my eyes as readily as I noticed his. I guess that could be the reason he went against protocol to hire me on the spot. I always thought it was because he’s friends with Julian, but I’m doubtful now.
The sleeve of Leo’s rolled-up dress shirt tickles my arm when he leans in close to my side to whisper, “Why would you be fired, Melody?”
I pull aduhface. “I hit the Governor.”
