Page 7 of Quiet Protector
“What type of incident?” I force through the fear clutching my throat.
Bare feet padding against wooden floorboards sound down the line as Julian replies, “She was assaulted. It’s safe to say it rattled her.”
I grip my phone so hard, I almost crack the screen. “She was assaulted?”
Julian must hear something in my voice I didn’t mean to express. “Not likethat. She wasn’t hurt likethat.”I swear he whispers, ‘this time,’ but since my pulse is raging in my ears, I can’t testify to that. “She bumped into a woman who wouldn’t know class if it bit her in the ass. She spooked Melody into a nervous breakdown…”
He continues talking, but I don’t hear what he says next. I’m too busy making my own assumptions. They all involve a guy in a sparkly gold cape galloping in to save the day. All men with money have a hero complex. Even without hearing the rest of Julian’s story, I guarantee you they’ve been together since the day he rode in and saved Melody on his white horse. I’m not surprised, just disappointed. I thought Melody was too smart to fall in the category of a damsel in distress.
I tune back into Julian’s dribble with barely a second to spare. “If this has anything to do with Melody’s safety, I can assure you she’s in safe hands.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Your security is so lagging, they missed her exchange with a suspected Russian militant last week.”
Julian doesn’t take my snappy attitude in stride this time around. “Henry Gottle approached her, not the other way around, and we left shortly after. She wasneverin any danger.”
Now I’m the one left gasping. “Henry Gottle approached Melody?” When an agreeing hum whistles down the line, I squeal like my nuts have never dropped, “When?”
“At the campaign functionyourfather invited us to.” Even a person with a hearing disability wouldn’t have missed the disdain in Julian’s tone when he mentioned my father.
I snap my fingers at Phillipa, demanding a pen and a piece of paper. She rustles up a notepad and a pen from her leather briefcase, acting as if her ears aren’t pricked, eavesdropping on every word Julian and I share.
Once I have the pen and pad in my hand, I ask, more coolly this time, “Did you purchase anything at the function? A cocktail? Campaign pin? Anything at all you couldn’t use cash for?”
I can’t see Julian, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel his shock at the swift change in our conversation. “I purchased a handful of cocktails. Why?”
“Can you recite me the receipt details?”
Julian scoffs. “It was a twenty thousand dollar a plate function. They don’t hand out receipts for fifteen-dollar cocktails.”
Someone without as many digits in their bank account as me would whistle at the impressive per-plate figure he quotes. However, I feel sick about it. The money doesn’t go toward good, scrupulous causes. It funds corruption, political mongering, and keeps men like my father out of jail.
“What about your bank records?” I suggest in a hurry. “Even minute payments have traceable transaction numbers associated with them.”
Phillipa’s face lights up when she clicks to the reason for my inquiry. I’ve suspected for years my father’s campaigns for office were being funded illegally, but with the Bureau not responsible for that side of justice, I’ve never had the chance to prove my theory. Although a transaction number won’t give me all the answers I’m seeking, it will show me where I should be directing my questions.
Julian is either scrubbing his chin or his tired eyes. I don’t know him well enough to know his nervous traits. “Can this wait until the morning? I left my laptop at my penthouse, so I don’t have access to my banking codes.”
Disappointment should be the first thing I feel, but it most certainly isn’t. “You don’t live with Melody?”
Julian’s sigh is more revealing than his next set of words. “No, I don’t.”
If he’s worried I’m tempted to mow his lawn when he isn’t home, he has no reason to fret. I know what it feels like to be cheated on, so I sure as hell won’t put someone through the same thing even if I think he’s a douche. Isabelle and Isaac weren’t together when we kissed, so it technically didn’t count, but I still felt like shit after it.
Julian fights for the top spot on the podium. “Melody and I are holding back on moving in together until after we wed. We think that will make it more special.”
Confirmation of their upcoming nuptials is like a knife to the heart. It deflates my ballooned chest in an instant and has me more than eager to end our conversation. “Tell Melody I identified the man in the photo she sent me, and that I’ll email her the details within the hour.”
Julian’s sigh this time around is ten times more devastating than his earlier one. “She called you for help?” When I hum out an agreement, he asks, “Why didn’t she ask me?”
Even though he can’t see me, I shrug. “That’s something you two need to work out.”
After thanking him for his assistance, I disconnect our call then toss my cell phone onto the dining room table. I’m fucking wrecked, but I don’t see me getting any sleep any time soon. The dots are starting to connect, so I can’t shut down my mind now.
After a quick scrub of my eyes, wordlessly warning them to get with the program, I lock them with Phillipa. “He said Henry Gottle approached Melody at the fundraising gala.”
Appreciation for her honesty buzzes through me when she replies, “I heard. I’m just unsure how that factors into the theories I’ve been mulling over the past few months. They were in a public place, and Henry isn’t known for making mistakes, but I guess even the sturdiest man’s knees would have buckled in that situation.”
“Theories?” I query, shocked.
