Page 35 of Quiet Protector
When I say that to Dimitri, the evilness of his smile flares through his eyes. “You’ll do as I ask, or I’ll release this to the hounds.” He shows me a dot-point bulletin that looks like it was printed on an ancient printer. The wording is basic, but the prose of the message doesn’t weaken the threat associated with it. If this consignment is activated, there will be a seven-figure payout placed on Melody’s head.
Nothing but fury highlights my tone when I ask, “How do I know you haven’t already released this?”
“She’s still alive, isn’t she? Living it up in a fancy penthouse apartment in New York City with her billionaire boyfriend.” Partway through his reply, he plays a video on his cell phone that shows Melody exiting the building she was photographed leaving earlier today. “Even with a wrong set of photographs attached to her file, the real Melody wasn’t hard to find.”
Dimitri’s words shift to a chuckle when I grip the lapels of his suit jacket to drag him to within an inch of my face. “If you hurt her—”
“You’ll what? Kill me as I want to slay the man who murdered my wife. He cut our daughter out of her stomach, then left her to die! He treated her like fucking scum, so if I have to use your high school sweetheart as bait because your hero-complex wants to stop a war that started long before you joined the Bureau, I fucking will. I’ll do anything it takes to gut Castro as he did me.” After yanking himself out of my grip, he smooths out the crinkles my grab caused to his suit before raising his eyes to mine. “Do want needs to be done to get Castro out of hiding, then leave the rest up to me.” He leans across my body to pop open my door. “And start here as he’ll get your Honey Pot out of lockup even faster than your daddy’s fancy title will.”
Unease spins around me when my eyes drift in the direction Dimitri is facing. We’re outside the office complex the Ravenshoe division the Bureau works out of, but Dimitri’s focus isn’t directed at the single glass entrance door of HQ. He’s peering at Isaac’s nightclub, which is directly across the street from the men and women endeavoring to take him down.
As I slide out of Dimitri’s fortified ride, I consider my next step. I have a few options up my sleeve, but I take none of them when I pop my head back into the cab of Dimitri’s ride and say, “If you do this, you’ll be hunted as fiercely as you’ve been chasing Castro the past two years. What kind of life will that be for your daughter? Hasn’t she been through enough? You’re her father. You are supposed to protect her, not put her in more danger.”
Confident my words will have a better chance of breaking through Dimitri’s psyche than any amount of muscle, I inch back from his car, slam the door shut, then pivot on my heels. I have a million thoughts streaming through my head, but as much as this sucks to admit, one thing Dimitri said tonight was right. Isaac has more pull in this town than anyone. If he can’t get Isabelle out of lockup, no one will.
Although my focus is elsewhere, and I still don’t believe Isaac is being truthful with Isabelle, the least I can do is set the wheels in motion to get Isabelle released. Then, once she’s out of danger, I’ll sit down and work out how I can stop a cartel war from happening while also keeping Melody safe. It won’t be easy, and in all honesty, I feel like I’m swimming in waters way out of my depth, but I didn’t play nice for seven years for no reason. I have favors—many of them—and I’m about to cash them all in.
15
Brandon
“Brandon, what happened?”
I pull away from Phillipa just before her fingertips caress the red welts on my neck. I’m not embarrassed they’re there, I just don’t want to explain why I didn’t respond to Isaac’s anger with as much violence as he was instilling. I couldn’t bring myself to use years of tactical training on a man who looked like I’d pulled the entire world out from beneath his feet.
I perused surveillance photos from Isaac’s case for hours after Isabelle exposed Olivia Wilde was Ophelia Petretti’s alias. Not once did Isaac’s eyes hold the grief they did when he demanded to be updated on Isabelle’s whereabouts, not even on the night he was informed of Ophelia’s death. He cares for Isabelle. I’m just lost as to why he’s keeping things from her. If he trusts her, why isn’t he being honest with her?
“Did you reach out to Grayson?”
My head swings to the side when a gruff voice answers my question on Phillipa’s behalf. “We did. He’ll be here as soon as he can come up with a plan for his absence.” Harvey smirks at my stunned expression before moving out of the shadow he was camped in. “Nice place you’ve got here, kid. Has me a little worried I’ll wreck the décor when I stop you playing with your tackle…again.”
“Don’t say a word,” I warn to Phillipa when her brow pops up at Harvey’s comment. “It was nothing close to what he’s implying.”
“Still, sounds juicy.” She chuckles at the mortified expression crossing my face as she follows me into the foyer of my apartment.
A whistle rustles Harvey’s mustache when he takes in the makeshift perp boards covering nearly every wall. “How long did you say you’ve been at this again?”
“A week,” Phillipa pipes up, her tone laced with pride. “He swore he showered, but I’m skeptical.” She taps the tip of her nose with her index finger three times before dodging the coffee table ornament I peg at her. It’s a fake piece of fruit my mom thought would ‘spruce up the place.’
I lock my eyes with Harvey. “Did Dr. Maude forward you a preliminary autopsy report on the toddler found in the wall?”
I hold my breath when Harvey jerks up his chin but remains quiet. We’ve only just met, but I can already say that isn’t like him. He’s worse than my mom after a couple of wine spritzers. He never shuts up.
“And?” I ask, pushing him along.
He swishes his tongue around his mouth to ease out his words. “She was around the age you guessed. Approximately twenty-two months old.”
“Any indication on the time of death?” The increase in my blood pressure is heard in my question. If the date on the photograph Dimitri showed me is around the time his wife gave birth, the female corpse in the wall is the same age as his daughter.
“Rigor mortis—”
“Can alter depending on storage conditions and temperature. I’m aware of that. I just need to know whether her death was recent?”
The knot in my stomach untightens when Harvey discloses, “Doc is guessing her death took place over a decade ago.”
“Who did you think she was?” Phillipa asks, reading the relief on my face as only one woman before her has.
Since I still feel one ball drop away from failure, I reply, “That’s a story for another day.” After plopping into one of the seats around my dining table, I drag over my laptop. “What can you tell me about Megan Shroud’s death?”
