Page 62 of Quiet Protector
“As long as he’s getting fed,” she fills in, laughing.
After settling my unexpected laughter, I switch my turn signal from left to right. “Are you sure you’re up for this, Melody?” Only three days ago, she asked Grayson to gather the evidence from her house. I thought it was because she couldn’t face going there. Only now am I wondering if it’s because she didn’t want any holes in her defense. It would be mighty suspicious if the victim and the accused’s brother handed in the evidence. Grayson’s involvement made it official. He followed the correct procedures and conducted his search along with two deputies from Saugerties PD.
When Melody murmurs, “I’m sure. It’s time to stop letting my past haunt me,” I slowly apply pressure to the gas pedal. I won’t lie, this will be hard for both of us.
* * *
Twenty minutes later when I pull down a familiar street, Melody’s eyes stray to two faded white crosses tacked to a power pole on the corner where her parents lost their lives.
“They’re not there, you know.” I take my hand off the gearshift and place it high on Melody’s chest. “They’re in here. They havealwaysbeen in here.”
Nodding, she places her hand over mine. It makes it hard to pull into her family ranch without downshifting the gears, but I manage. I’d rather stall and look like an idiot than take away her comfort when she needs it the most.
“Richie!” Melody shouts at a man entering the barn Socks is housed in. “I thought you weren’t due back until Friday?”
When she throws off her seat belt and tosses open my door, Richie peers back at her. As tunnel-vision forms, my lungs stop sucking in air. Even with his bald head covered by waves of black locks and a wide-brimmed cowboy hat, I recognize Richie’s face. I scanned it into the FBI’s database too often the past two weeks to act oblivious.
After grabbing my gun from under my seat, the frantic stomps of my boots overtake the shrill of my pulse in my ears. “Melody, seek shelter now.” Out of habit, I stomp out her name as well as saying it.
As Melody spins around to face me, her face as white as a ghost, I take aim at the crease between Kwan’s dark brows. “BJ… what are you doing?” Melody asks, her voice fretful. “He’s a ranch hand. He isn’t dangerous.”
When Melody fails to take coverage as directed, I place myself between Kwan and her before tugging her behind me. Ignoring her numerous pleas that I’m mistaken, I demand Kwan to put down the bucket he’s holding and raise his hands in the air.
“It’s just animal feed. I’m not armed,” Kwan assures as he lowers a bucket full of horse pellets to the ground.
“Hands up!” I fire a warning shot over Kwan’s left shoulder, pissed he thought I wouldn’t see him moving for the gun strapped to his ankle. The bulge on his left ankle was the first thing I noticed during my approach. “If you make one more move for a gun, a coroner will spend his night digging a bullet out of your head.”
With a dangerous smirk, Kwan raises his hands into the air. “Henry won’t be happy.”
“I don’t give a fuck what Henry thinks.” I motion my head to the barn he was walking toward before Melody called out his alias. “Hands against the wall, then spread your legs wide.”
“I’m not getting frisked outside of a barn by you—” His words stop when the bullet I pop into his kneecap buckles his legs out from beneath him.
“Inside now,” I shout to Melody when Kwan’s stumble knocks off his disguise, exposing his infamous neck tattoo.
As Melody races up the front stairs of her family ranch, I kick the gun Kwan is stretching for out of his reach before attempting to knock him out as I did Col’s goon months ago.
Regretfully, Kwan’s neck is too thick for my move to be effective. So, instead, I keep him down by scolding the skin on his temple with the heat of a recently fired gun. “Why are you here?”
A bullet shattered his kneecap, and he’s being threatened to have one burrowed into his brain, yet Kwan still finds the time to smile. He must be certifiably insane. “I was feeding Socks… as I have every day for almost seven years.”
“Who sent you here?” I don’t believe a word he said, but the fact he’s talking keeps me talking.
With his white teeth gleaming in the sunlight, he answers, “Why not ask him yourself? He’s standing right behind you.”
I’ve barely cranked my neck halfway back when the butt of a gun strikes my temple, knocking me out.
25
Brandon
When I wake up groggy and confused, trained survival techniques kick in. I grab the first person I sense, having no clue I’m clutching the arm of the woman I love firm enough to snap her bone until she frailly whispers my name. She isn’t panicked I’m about to hurt her, I dropped my hand the instant she muttered my name. She’s worried about the cool metal material brushing my temple.
This time around, Kwan has his gun butted against my head.
Doesn’t mean I’ll go down without a fight, though.
Even with my head still murky, I disarm him so fast, Wren would have baked me enough peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies to last me a month if she were still alive.
