Page 22 of Quiet Protector
When she hands a photograph to Hugo which has Jenni’s eyes gouged out and blood trailing down her legs, Hugo nods.
“Does Isaac have someone watching them?” Isabelle queries.
I hear the gurgles of my gut in Hugo’s reply when he says, “He has Peters watching Nick from a distance, but I don’t know about Jenni. His security team determined the threat pertained more to Nick than his fiancée.”
“You need to get protection for Jenni,” Isabelle says matter-of-factly before she shifts on her feet to face me. “What’s the closest division associated with this district?”
My lips twitch, but I don’t get a word out before Hugo jumps back into the conversation. “Don’t call the authorities until Isaac’s security team gets a look at this first. If you bring in the feds, this will get shut down quicker than Hunter turning down an offer to dance.”
I’m torn when Isabelle wordlessly seeks my advice. Nothing here could hinder my personal investigation into the Bobrovs and Castros, but we entered the property under false pretenses. If there’s a possibility that could have me sidelined for the next six to eight weeks, I’d rather not risk it. But I can’t force Isabelle to tiptoe onto the wrong side of the law for me, can I? She already has IA riding her ass, so I can’t dump more shit onto her pile because I have a private agenda.
The worry in Isabelle’s eyes doubles when I place the burden of her decision back onto her shoulders. “It’s up to you, Izzy. I’ll go along with whatever you decide.” I’m not lying. If she wants to call this in, I’ll do it, but if she wants to conduct her own private investigation as I’ve been doing the past six weeks, who am I to judge her?
After a tense stretch of silence, Isabelle removes the sweat from her nape before digging out the cell phone Hugo handed her earlier. When she passes it to Hugo, I move to join her on the other side of the room. Although she’s technically breaking protocol for Isaac, I want to offer her my support because this joint operation could benefit me as much as it does her. If Isaac views me as more of an ally than a foe, my chances of working out exactly what he’s purchasing from the Popovs triples. Thus, not only giving me the opportunity to show Isabelle who he really is but also allowing me to do the job I’m paid to do without fear of repercussions.
It’s a win/win for me.
The same can’t be said for Isaac.
10
Brandon
“Jesus, is she all right?”
Phillipa’s battered breaths jingle down the line as she replies, “I believe so. A friend working that case said she seemed a little rattled at the time, but was more lucid when he arrived at Julian’s penthouse to take her statement.”
My body doesn’t know which comment to react negatively to first—the fact Melody got into a tussle with my father or Phillipa’s confirmation she stayed with Julian overnight. From the hours of surveillance videos I’ve trawled through the past few weeks, last night was the first time Melody would have been witnessed arriving at Julian’s building by my private investigator. She usually sleeps at her loft apartment every night. Not always alone, but it was better than the thoughts entering my head now.
“Did your friend mention what spooked Melody? My father has always been a hard-ass, but Melody rarely responded to his riles. She usually left that bidding to her father.”
I exhale deeply when the truth smacks into me. Her father can’t fight her battles anymore. That task is now up to me, and if I had been fulfilling my position as promised, I wouldn’t be hearing news about Melody’s exchange with my father second-hand. With my head focused on Carlyle Shroud and his thirty-year-old purchase, I let my private investigator’s email sit in my inbox unopened this morning. That’s not acceptable, and I won’t let it happen again.
“Better yet, can you forward me a copy of the police file—”
I swallow my words when Phillipa interrupts, “I would if either party was pressing charges. With both parties wishing not to pursue the matter further, there are no reports to forward.”
“My father isn’t pressing the matter?” Shock resonates in my tone. “I thought you said Julian hit him?”
“He did,” Phillipa replies through a breathless chuckle. “Socked him right in the eye. From what I heard, his shiner took a makeup artist an hour to cover it for his conference this morning.”
Something isn’t right here. My father sues if the press so much as calls him an asshole. He’s had tweets yanked and has been accused of suppressing freedom of speech on more than one occasion, so there’s no way in hell he’d let a billionaire off scot-free without first fleecing him a few million. More is happening here than we realize.
“Did your police friend take notes of the incident?”
Phillipa hums out an agreeing noise. “I’d say so. They don’t have information-retaining brains like agents do. Do you want them?”
“Please. Also…” I move to the notepad I scribbled a date on earlier. With my mind askew the past few days, I’ve started taking notes, so I don’t forget all the little tidbits I keep setting aside when something more urgent comes up. Although this doesn’t directly affect Melody, it’s been playing on my mind all day. “Can you run a quick search for me? I’d do it, but the internet service here is rat shit. I’m shocked my call went through.”
“Sure. Shoot.” Approximately thirty-seconds after I give Phillipa Isabelle’s flight number and date, she updates me on the credit card details used to bump her ticket up to business class.
Shock dangles on my vocal cords. “Alex Rogers? As intheAlex Rogers?”
“As in the sup of your division Alex Rogers.”
“Are you sure, Phillipa? I’m sure Alex Rogers is a common name.”
I eat my words for the second time tonight when she interrupts, “It was paid for with his Bureau credit card.”
