by Shandi Boyes
Quiet Protector
Shandi Boyes
Edited by
Nicki @ Swish Design and Editing
Illustrated by
SSB Covers and Design
Copyright
Copyright © 2020 by Shandi Boyes
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Also by Shandi Boyes
Perception Series:
Saving Noah
Fighting Jacob
Taming Nick
Redeeming Slater
Saving Emily (Novella)
Wrapped up with Rise Up (Novella - should be read after Bound)
Enigma:
Enigma of Life
Unraveling an Enigma
Enigma: The Mystery Unmasked
Enigma: The Final Chapter
Beneath the Secrets
Beneath the Sheets
Spy Thy Neighbor
The Opposite Effect
I Married a Mob Boss
Second Shot
The Way We Are
The Way We Were
Sugar and Spice
Lady in Waiting
Man in Queue
Couple on Hold
Enigma: The Wedding
Silent Vigilante
Hushed Guardian
Quiet Protector
Bound Series:
Chains
Links
Bound
Restrained
Psycho
Russian Mob Chronicles:
Nikolai: A Mafia Prince Romance
Nikolai: Taking Back What's Mine
Nikolai: What's Left of Me
Nikolai: Mine to Protect
Asher: My Russian Revenge
Nikolai: Through the Devil's Eyes
Trey: European Redemption
RomCom Standalones:
Just Playin'
The Drop Zone
Ain't Happenin'
Christmas Trio
Falling for a Stranger
Coming Soon:
Skitzo
Trey
Dedication
To all those crazies who couldn’t wait for Brandon’s story. Here it is!
Gobble it up.
Shandi xx
Want to stay in touch?
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Email: [email protected]
Reader’s Group: bit.ly/ShandiBookBabes
Website: authorshandi.com
Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/cyEzNv
Contents
1. Melody
2. Brandon
3. Brandon
4. Melody
5. Brandon
6. Brandon
7. Brandon
8. Melody
9. Brandon
10. Brandon
11. Brandon
12. Brandon
13. Melody
14. Brandon
15. Brandon
16. Brandon
17. Brandon
18. Brandon
19. Melody
20. Brandon
21. Melody
22. Brandon
23. Melody
24. Brandon
25. Brandon
26. Melody
27. Brandon
28. Brandon
29. Melody
30. Brandon
31. Brandon
32. Melody
33. Brandon
34. Brandon
35. Brandon
36. Brandon
37. Melody
38. Melody
39. Melody
40. Brandon
41. Brandon
42. Brandon
43. Brandon
Prologue
Message from the Author
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Shandi Boyes
1
Melody
The mermaid tail of my dress swishes along wooden floorboards when I follow Julian through a packed ballroom. We received a last-minute invitation to the extravagance when I bumped into Mr. McGee last Thursday. He arrived at my office somewhat unexpectedly. It isn’t unusual for government officials to do drop-in visits, but it’s usually announced to the hierarchies before it occurs to ensure they’re not left red-faced.
Mercifully, Leo, my boss, is always on the ball. He handled the Governor’s visit without the slightest drop of sweat beading on his brow. Some would say his gall was compliments to years on the job. Others would say it’s because he classes himself as an equal of Mr. McGee’s. I say it’s because he knew I wouldn’t log out a classified file unless it were important.
Although I’ll never have proof, I’m confident Marjorie Hawke’s file was what Mr. McGee’s visit was about. I followed the rules when Brandon requested her file. I logged its transfer into the database mainframe, doctored out anything deemed confidential, then couriered it to his branch at Ravenshoe via the private security firm our office generally uses. Protocol was followed, yet Mr. McGee believed additional scrutiny was needed.
When I pushed him on why such an insignificant case was being treated as if it held national secrets, I received an invitation to an event instead of a reason. Don’t misconstrue my comment, I’m sure Marjorie’s death was devastating for her husband and family, but for a governor to make a personal visit to the District Attorney’s Office to demand an explanation seemed a little puerile to me.
Although unease was the first emotion I felt upon receiving Mr. McGee’s invitation, inquisitiveness soon took over. I’m reasonably sure his agenda was to assert his importance, hoping it would have me falling into line, but I used his invitation with the hope of expanding both personal and work contacts.
Today’s guest list is filled with the who’s who of New York. The number of influential people in the one room has had Mr. McGee prancing around like a peacock all night. Despite all of that, for the most part, I’ve enjoyed myself. Julian is in his element. He’s in awe of every person in the room, completely unaware they’re eyeing him with an equal amount of admiration.
Money will never be an issue for Julian. His family has enough to last them decades into the future, but Julian doesn’t see his family’s success as his own. To him, he’s just a humble audiologist. To people in this room, he’s the billionaire mogul they’re dying to sink their hooks into.
Perhaps that’s why Mr. McGee invited us tonight? He loves showboating, so adding a recent Forbes 500 man onto his guest list seems like the smart thing to do. A politician is forever in campaign mode. I’m doubtful tonight is the first time Mr. McGee has approached a billionaire with the hope of a generous endorsement check. He’s so unscrupulous, I wouldn’t put it past him to approach the shady billionaires our office is frequently chasing for campaign funds. As long as their pockets are deep, he doesn’t care who he rubs shoulders with.
I’m drawn from my thoughts when Julian stops in front of a beautiful raven-haired woman with kind eyes and glossy red lips. “Katarina, I thought that was you.” Julian places a kiss on Katarina’s cheek before tugging me closer to the dynamic duo. Although there are twenty or more years between their ages, they have a unique spark. “This is my fiancée I was telling you about. Melody, please meet Katarina Rouse.”
My heart pumps out an extra flutter when he mentions Katarina’s surname. “You’re on the board of Julian’s charity. He talks about you all the ti
me.” I offer her my hand to shake, smitten to meet the woman Julian talks about often. Julian is extremely close to his mother, but she barely gets a mention when he gushes about the charity work Ms. Rouse does. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Hi.” Katarina appears more shocked than me like I’m one of the big celebrities sending the paparazzi into a tailspin. I find out why she’s eyeing me with star-filled eyes when she asks, “Have we met before?”
I twist my lips. “I don’t think so.” I run my hand down Julian’s forearm. “I’ve wanted to volunteer with Julian, but life is hectic.”
Katarina smiles. It’s as adorable as her face, which isn’t holding many wrinkles considering her age, which I’d guess to be mid to late fifties. I can only hope to have such a youthful face at her age. I want to say her smooth skin is compliments to Botox, but she doesn’t have the overly-rigid face most Botox lovers do, so perhaps it’s more good genes than a skilled dermatologist.
“Julian said you moved to New York to accept a position at the DA’s Office. How are you finding it?” Katarina asks, appearing genuinely interested in my reply.
I pull a face. “It’s good. Challenging but good.” It usually takes me knowing someone for a good three to four months before I open up to them, but Katarina has the type of aura you can’t help but be honest with her. She reminds me a lot of my mother. “There are more cases here than in the office I interned at in LA, but nowhere near as many staff, so it’s taking me a little bit to adjust to the workload. I’ll get there… eventually.”
Although I’m still treated as an intern by my colleagues, I’m quickly clueing in on how diverse each office is. Such as, it’s not every day you’ll be in the same room as a governor, a district attorney, three Federal Court judges, and a mafia kingpin. The latter has only just arrived, but he enters the room like a god, turning more than a few heads. Even I watch Henry Gottle, Sr. from afar, speechless and in awe. There’s a natural arrogance to him that you can’t help but be sucked in to.
Not sexually. Don’t be uncultured, Henry is around the age of my father. It’s the fact he presents as an extremely dark and dangerous man, but when you truly look at him, you get the sense he has a hidden nurturing side as well. He conceals it well with deadly blue eyes and a fiercely cut suit, but it’s still there hiding in the dimples of his concealed smirk.
His hair is darker than a night’s sky, and his skin looks like he spends his days lazing at the beach instead of amassing a vast amount of wealth from unscrupulous business adventures. His persona, even from a distance, could be described as mulish.
That is until his eyes swing my way.
I take a step back, surprised by the ownership in his heavy-hooded gaze. Unlike a handful of the women in the rape support group I commenced attending in the months following my confession to Julian, my assault didn’t claim my innocence. If anything, it made me more naïve. But even someone with the purity of a saint couldn’t miss the possessiveness in Henry’s eyes as he makes his way across the room.
Even with the room filled with influential people, the crowd creates a pathway for him, knowing no amount of political backing will alter the facts. This state isn’t run by men like Mr. McGee or Leo. It’s owned by Henry.
I’m tempted to slap myself up the side of my head when the reasoning for Henry’s across-the-room stare becomes apparent. He isn’t parting the crowd like they’re the Red Sea because he thinks I’m the most beautiful woman in the room, his eyes aren’t even on me. They’re on Katarina, who looks exactly how a woman should look when the man of her dreams spots her from across the room.
My brows stitch when Katarina presses a hurried kiss to Julian’s cheek before she makes an excuse to leave. She’s so flustered, nothing she says makes any sense, and we won’t mention her unsteady footing as she darts for the exit, or you’ll believe she’s been downing as many cocktails as me.
I’m not drinking because I am as out of my league as Julian is in it. It’s wondering if any other McGees would be at tonight’s festivities. I’ve yet to spot Brandon in any of Mr. McGee’s campaign photographs, but Phoenix and Madden occasionally pop up—Madden even more so the past six months since he announced he’s running for office at the next election. He’s starting at the Senate like his father did.
Thankfully, it appears as if Mr. McGee went stag tonight—if you exclude the three bug-eyed women who’ve been buzzing around him all evening. He’s old enough to be their father, but they still fawn over him like he’s a rock star and they’re thirsty groupies.
It makes me sick.
I’m pulled from my thoughts for the second time tonight when my name is called from a voice I’ve never heard before. When I twist in the direction the thick, deep timbre came from, the caller of my name appears surprised I heard him as I am that he knows my name. We’ve met before, but that was an extremely long time ago, so why is he staring at me like a halo is circling my head.
“You heard me.” Henry Gottle bridges the gap between us with three long strides. I’m tempted to bolt like Katarina did, but a weird sensation pinging through my veins keeps my feet planted on the ground. I also don’t want to appear frightened in front of my colleagues because not only did Julian’s grip on my hand tighten when Henry called my name, every set of eyes in the room honed in on me.
A silent gasp leaves my mouth when Henry cups my jaw in his palms. Because his hands are so big, his fingers weave through the hair I wore in tight curls with the hope it would hide the internal transmitters of the implants behind my ears. The difference in my pitch to people not born deaf already discloses I have cochlear implants, so they don’t need additional proof. I’m not ashamed I was born deaf, I just hate when people assume it’s a disability. It isn’t, it’s a uniqueness.
I can tell the exact moment Henry unearths the cause of my newfound hearing. His gasp is as silent as my earlier one, but I didn’t need to hear it to know of its existence. It fanned my face with a pricy alcoholic scent.
“I can’t believe you decided to get them done.” Henry’s words are only for my ears as are his eyes. “It’s been years. Over two decades. Do you remember me?”
The hope in his eyes almost has me nodding, but the sweat from Julian’s hand seeping into mine stops me. Since he’s clutching my hand as possessively as Henry is holding my face, he’s being roasted by the microscope of scrutiny right alongside me.
I won’t have him subjected to a rumor-monger because my parents had a weird kinship with Henry many moons ago. For all we know, their meetings could have been business-related. But since this town loves gossip, and I can’t shut them up by telling them to keep their eyes on their own paper, I lie as I was trained to do on cue.
“No, I don’t, sorry.” After stepping back, freeing myself from the fingers weaved through my hair and the hands warming my cheeks, I dip my chin in farewell. “But it was a pleasure meeting you. I hope you enjoy the festivities.”
I hightail it to the exit as fast as my quivering legs will take me. Since Julian’s hand is enclosed over mine, he falls into step rather quickly.
“What the hell was that?” Julian mutters when we break through the double doors of the ballroom guarded by secret service agents like the President is in attendance. “Do you know who that man is?” Although he’s asking a question, he doesn’t give me time to conjure a reply, much less articulate it. “He’s Henry Gottle. Henry. Gottle.” He repeats his name slowly like I’m still deaf. “How do you know him, Mel? You’ve never mentioned him previously.”
I move to the edge of the sidewalk to flag a cab. “I don’t know him. He must have mistaken me for someone else.”
“He said your name.”
I roll my eyes like he’s being ridiculous. He isn’t, but when the chips aren’t in my favor, I have a proven track record for acting immature. Brandon learned that the hard way seven years ago.
“There are plenty of people called Melody.”
My eyes snap to Julian when he snickers. “
And how many of them were born deaf?”
With my back up, I get snappy. “I don’t know, Julian. How many? You’re the one whose profession feeds off the ‘disabled,’ so your statistics would be better than mine.”
All it takes is for our eyes to collide for the quickest second, and Julian’s campaign to unravel the connection between Henry and me is set aside for comforting. He does the same thing any time we fight, and I’m ashamed to admit, I use his dislike of arguing anytime I’m overwhelmed with either fear or frustration, or sometimes both, such as tonight.
While joining me on the curb, Julian tugs off his swanky black tuxedo jacket. My heart warms as well as my body when he drapes the quality material over my shoulders, wrongly believing I’m shivering because of the late fall evening. I’m not scared. I am just disappointed about the idiot I’ve been portraying the past twenty minutes.
“Thank you,” I whisper, pulling his coat in closer.
It smells like him, which is both comforting and exciting. He has a different scent than Brandon. His spicy aroma often reminds me of pumpkin spice lattes and freshly baked bread. Brandon’s scent was woodsy and natural like it was plucked straight from nature. It was a smell I often craved before… you know.
