Quiet Protector- Brandon's Story

by Shandi Boyes

  After several deep breaths, Leo’s head drops back into place. “Okay, first things first, was the money for anything illegal?”

  I shake my head.

  “Do you believe it has anything to do with your case?” His tone is lower this time around, more compassionate.

  “No. Henry isn’t aware of what happened.” I stop talking before I add, Madden would be dead if he did.

  I’ve mused over that outcome multiple times the past two weeks, and more times than not, I’ve been in favor of it. The only reason I haven’t taken the easy way out is because Grayson was right when he stopped Brandon from killing Madden. Mrs. McGee has been through enough. She doesn’t deserve more pain.

  “Then why did he give you so much money, Melody?”

  Needing to be honest, I say, “He’s my uncle.”

  Leo’s head slants to the side as his brow cocks. “Henry Gottle is your uncle?”

  It still sounds shocking to my ears. “Uh-huh. He found out I was selling the ranch, didn’t want it sold, so he gave me the funds to maintain its upkeep.”

  “And that’s it? That’s all that happened.” When I hesitate, Leo grunts my name in a growly groan.

  “There was an altercation at the ranch. BJ…” I stop before correcting, “Brandon fired at one of his goons.”

  My eyes snap to Leo when he mumbles in anger, “So Julian’s assumptions were right. You were holed up at your ranch with Brandon the past week.”

  “It wasn’t like that.” Not by my choice, but I keep that snippet of information to myself. My ego is already knocked. It doesn’t need another sting. “He’s my friend.”

  My brows furrow in confusion when Leo asks, “When was the last time you heard from him?”

  “Earlier this morning. Why?” Brandon’s contact was nothing more than a transfer of assets for his BMW since he took the Hellcat as offered, but I’m so curious to see where Leo is going with this, I can’t help but play along.

  Leo scrubs his hair-free chin before asking, “Sorry, let me rephrase my question. When was the last time you contacted Brandon?”

  It takes me a little longer to answer this time around. Guilt does that to you. “I haven’t returned any of his messages.”

  “But he’s your friend… right?”

  Forgetting he’s my boss, I hand some of his snappy attitude back to him. “Don’t judge me. You don’t know what it’s like for me.”

  “I think I can take a guess. Do you clam up at the thought of being touched? Choose years of abstinence over forcing a connection?” The wetness in my eyes leaps into his when he mutters, “Did you agree not to sleep with someone until you’re married because the fear of being touched isn’t just coming from your fiancée’s side of the fence? You’re just as scared as her.” My guards crumble when he asks, “Why do you think he was so patient with you, Melody? Why did you think he never pushed you? A victim knows a victim, right?” When I nod, agreeing with him, he says, “Then why did you never notice Julian’s pain as you did mine?”

  I’ve barely absorbed his first hit when he smacks me with another. “I need to place you on paid leave until we can work out if there will be any backlash to the office for the funds you disbursed. I appreciate the hard work you’ve given our office the past year, but I suggest you use the time of your suspension for personal endeavors instead of work-related ones.”

  “Okay.” That’s it? Seven years of hard work reduced to one lousy word. “I’ll clean out my desk now.”

  I’m halfway to the door when my steps are slowed by a low, panicked tone. “If Julian ever finds out what I told you—”

  “He won’t find out,” I assure him before standing up for myself as I should have years ago. “But the next time you go on a friend-bashing rant, perhaps you should view all the evidence first. I’ve texted Julian multiple times the past two weeks. He has never messaged me back.”

  Apologies brim in Leo’s eyes when he says, “I’m sorry. He never mentioned that.”

  “When do victims ever accept culpability? We’re taught not to, unaware the leeway we’re given to cope isn’t supposed to extend to all aspects of our lives.”

  When Leo remains quiet, having no defense, I dip my chin in farewell before exiting the conference room. The buzz throughout our office usually keeps me enthralled for hours, so I suck in as much of it as I can while heading to my office at the back of the bustling space.

  Although most of my belongings technically belong to the state, I still have a handful of things to pack. Mainly photographs of my parents, the Donald Duck Pez collectible Julian gifted me when he proposed, and a newspaper write-up of our engagement party. My laptop is mine, so I place that into my briefcase after removing the files I updated the team on earlier. Then I’m done. My entire career packed into one tiny box in less than twenty minutes.

  My lonesome walk to the elevator should be somber, but I’m accustomed to being alone. I’ve never been surrounded by a bunch of people, so solidarity is more comforting to me than it would be an extrovert. I doubt that will still be the case when I don’t have work to keep me occupied, but I can’t say I blame Leo. I did compromise his office’s integrity. It just occurred long before he realized. I should have never accepted a position anywhere the McGee name was known. That was just asking for trouble.

  I smile at the security officer at the door before pushing through the rotating entryway door. It’s mid-morning, but you wouldn’t know it when I break outside. It’s dreary and miserable, not that the sun can ever be seen through the tall buildings surrounding me.

  When I gallop down the stairs of my office building, my heart rate kicks into a cantor. A familiar black SUV is idling at the curb. Its tags are recognizable.

  “Julian, what are you doing here?”

  The pop of orange coloring on the top of Julian’s head makes the day not seem so dreary. “I had an inkling you needed me.” His eyes lower to the box in my hands. “If that’s anything to go by, I’m glad I listened.” The sun isn’t needed to brighten the miserable day when he nudges his head to the open back passenger door of his car and says, “Come on. I‘ll give you a ride home.”

  I should jump into his car. Instead, I leap straight into his arms.

  30

  Brandon

  I pull pods from my ears when Harlow kicks my boots with her shoe. She’s balancing a stack of dirty dishes in one hand while the other is gripping a coffee pot. “Did you say something?”

  She takes my snarly tone in stride. “I was asking if you’d like a refill.”

  Shaking my head, I place my hand over my empty mug. “I’m good. Thanks.”

  I wait for her to leave before dropping my eyes back to Tobias’s newer-looking laptop. Grayson shit his pants when I said I refurbished it. It was only after I assured him the shell was the only thing I changed did he stop threatening to punch me into next week. The last time I saw him that worked up was when I told him I let Melody leave me for the second time without putting up a fight.

  He called me every derogative name known under the sun, his rant only ending when I confessed the real reason I was struggling. No one can predict how they’ll handle something until they face the dilemma head-on. Am I handling this one right? Probably not. But I’m hoping to keep my head so buried with work, I won’t have to come up for air anytime soon.

  For now, it’s working. Phillipa is a slave driver. Her work ethics are paying off, though. Not only have we discovered Isaac isn’t just making payments to the Popovs, he’s been dipping his toes into the Petretti conglomerate as well. We have statements going back years. Although the recipient’s surname isn’t Petretti, she has clear ties with them.

  As does Alex, Grayson’s brother, and my once supervisor.

  I close the screen of Tobias’s laptop and replace it with my own when Harlow floats my way again. I get her bakery is a little quiet, but I’d rather her focus not be on me. “Have you heard from Izzy at all today?”

  “No. Why would I hear f
rom Izzy?” It’s not like she has time for anyone not named Isaac.

  I grow panicked I said my last comment out loud when Harlow kicks me again. This time, she aims for my shin instead of my boots. “Okay, Snappy McWhappy. No need to get nasty. Anyone would swear you’re on your period.”

  I wish it were that simple.

  Even knowing I shouldn’t nibble at the bait Harlow is throwing out, I can’t help myself. I told Tobias I’d keep Isabelle safe. You’re probably not surprised to hear I’ve done a shit job of it. “Sorry. Long night. What’s up with Izzy? Is she okay?”

  “Yeah…” Harlow screws up her nose. “… I think so.” I almost whine when she slots into the seat across from me. That indicates she’s settling in for the long haul. “We went clubbing last night.” Her comment both shocks and surprises me. Cormack isn’t as bad as Isaac when it comes to alpha-male possessiveness, but he’s a close second. “Isaac found out.” See? What more proof do you need. “My source isn’t reliable, but I heard Izzy went home with him.”

  “Is that unusual? They’re practically living together.” My intel is as unfounded as Harlow’s, but I’m running with it.

  Harlow pulls a face. I don’t know her well enough to tell you which one. “They kind of were… until the gala.”

  “What happened at the gala?” If it’s anything like the set of circumstances I faced, I’m a worse friend than I realized.

  To make sure her news isn’t shared with anyone but Isabelle’s supposed ‘closest friends,’ Harlow leans to my side of the table. “Clara made assumptions Isaac couldn’t deny. It’s been rough.”

  “Isaac cheated on Isabelle?” When Harlow halfheartedly shrugs, I snap, “This isn’t an accusation you should be throwing around without facts, Harlow. Shit like this can really fuck up a man, so you need to be sure.”

  Her face goes stonewalled in an instant. “I’m not making assumptions. Other than talking to you, Izzy’s friend, I haven’t murmured a peep to anyone. I wouldn’t even be talking to you if I wasn’t worried about her.”

  “Have you tried ringing her?”

  She slaps me up the side of the head with a tea towel. “I’ve tried numerous times this morning. I’ve not yet had any luck.” She does a weird head-bobbing thing while glaring at me. “Why do you think I came to you?” After sliding out of the booth, she adds a threat to her glare. “Keep this between us, dickwad, or I’ll cut yours off.”

  Not only does her quick departure stop me from voicing a comeback, so does the buzz of my cell phone. I assume it’s another message from Grayson telling me to pull my head out of my ass, so you can imagine my surprise when I notice it’s from the private investigator I still have following Melody.

  My already pissy attitude drops even further when I open his message. There’s no text. Just an image. A gut-wrenching image. It shows Melody and Julian hugging outside of her office building. They look super friendly like they’ve never been apart.

  As I tighten my grip on my phone, I glare at the smidge of Julian’s face not buried in Melody’s neck. I want to hate the guy, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t. He helped Melody like I couldn’t and loved her enough to take a 1.5-million-dollar hit, so maybe he’s more suited for her than me?

  With my mood too low to handle more of Grayson’s antics, I hit the end call button on my cell when his face pops up on the screen of my phone two seconds later.

  He tries another three times before I finally succumb to his annoying nature. “Have you ever heard of a day off?” I chide down the line, frustrated.

  “Not when it comes to eradicating scum,” he replies coolly, not the least bit turned off by the scold in my tone. “I need your help.”

  The desperateness in his final sentence has me throwing a twenty onto the table. After storing my laptop into my soft leather briefcase next to Tobias’s, I slide out of the booth. “What do you need?”

  “Remember how you were chasing proof Isaac is working with Vladimir?” Even though he’s asking a question, he doesn’t wait for me to answer him. “He’s meeting with him. Now. At Tastes. Like right fucking now.”

  The chime above Harlow’s bakery door rings in my ear before all of ‘Tastes’ leaves his mouth. After adjusting my briefcase, I hustle through the foot traffic, weaving and darting as much as Grayson’s sprint bellows down the line.

  “Do we know what they’re meeting is about?”

  Grayson huffs out a frustrated laugh. “Not a fucking clue. We’re hoping it’s about the order he placed. Rumors are it has been shipped, but it headed Melody’s way instead of yours.”

  “Thanks for the reminder that we’re in different states,” I grumble under my breath.

  Air whizzes out of his nose before words convey his displeasure. “Anytime you need a reminder about how you fucked-up, punk, I’m your man.”

  “I didn’t fuck up. I’m giving her time—”

  “To find another man. Yep, I got that.”

  “Grayson…”

  My growl doesn’t ruffle his feathers in the slightest. “Don’t growl at me, punk. You weren’t the one who was raped, so you don’t get to act sensitive.”

  “I failed her,” I reply, speaking truthfully for the first time in days.

  “Now? Yep, I got that, too.” Ignoring the hostess at Tastes asking if I’d like to dine inside or out, I enter the main part of the restaurant to scan my eyes over the crowd, acting as if I didn’t hear Grayson grumble, “She gave you a free pass for what happened to her seven years ago, but you had to stuff it up by letting that weasel prickface of a brother get into your head.”

  When I don’t find the men I’m hunting, I signal to the hostess that I’d like a table for one inside before directing my focus back to Grayson. “Unless you want me to put a bullet in my head, shut the fuck up with your assumptions. You don’t know what I’m going through.”

  “That’s not funny, punk. You might be facing a hard time right now, but saying shit like that isn’t funny,” he immediately snaps back.

  For the first time since I’ve known him, he’s left speechless when I say, “Who said I was joking?”

  Before he can get the jump on me for the second time today, I hang up before shadowing the waiter to my seat. Grayson isn’t the only one taken aback by my comment. I’m just as stunned. I’ve never felt like this before, but still, comments like the one I just made aren’t kosher for me.

  Needing to get my head into game mode before I convince myself I need to have it examined by a shrink, I take a seat at my assigned table before grabbing a copy of Ravenshoe News.

  I’ve barely cracked open the newspaper to conceal my face from Isaac when it’s snatched out from in front of me. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. But there’s no fucking chance you’ll fool me a third time.”

  I balk as startled as the person badgering me. “Regan, what are you doing here? Is Izzy with you?” I rescan the restaurant, wondering if my eagerness to seek Isaac had me skimming past Isabelle.

  My eyes snap back to Regan when she snatches Tobias’s laptop out of my briefcase. If she destroys it, Grayson will destroy me. Although it isn’t technically his, half the videos on it most certainly are. There’s a lot of undercover surveillance of Katie on there. It was taken during a failed attempt to purchase her. Kirill wanted her no matter the cost, and his means far exceeded the Bureau’s.

  I realize I have Regan’s motives mixed up when she snarls. “Let’s see how you like having your privacy invaded.”

  When she unlocks Tobias’s laptop without asking for the passcode, I stare at her like she’s Superwoman. How the fuck did she know the password?

  The truth smacks into me when I see the jealous possessiveness beaming out of her. Isaac trained his staff well. Even when he isn’t around, they make sure there’s no chance another man will be moseying in on his turf. I had wondered how many of his staff viewed the video of Isabelle and me kissing. I’m now sitting at five.

  When Regan’s growl vi
brates through my chest, my eyes snap to an invoice on the screen. “That’s not what it looks like.” I slam down the laptop screen, unsure how I can explain that Grayson’s computer is linked to this laptop without breaking his cover. Grayson and Regan have met previously. It was brief, but enough for Grayson to know Regan is as quick-witted as she is attractive. “I was researching business opportunities. Those files are assessable to anyone with the knowledge of how to find them.”

  Regan glares at me, her lips twisted. “True… but I wonder what Isabelle’s take on it will be?”

  When she hightails it out of the restaurant, I’m nipping at her heels two seconds later. “I’m trying to protect her.” Unlike you.

  Regan is as blind to Isaac’s shadiness as Isabelle. Or perhaps she knows all his secrets, and that’s why he pays her so well. It’s not every day you hear about an acquisition lawyer being on a two-million-dollar-a-year retainer.

  “She has no clue who Isaac really is. He’s keeping things from her.” Before she can slide into an idling cab outside of the restaurant, I block her entrance while digging a wire transfer transaction list out of my briefcase. “Look, I’ll prove it. He’s been making secret payments to a woman in Arlington the past six years.” When Regan snatches the document out of my hand, I point out the payments. “See, one hundred thousand dollars a month for over six years.”

  I watch Regan closely when she works the payee’s name through her head a few times. It appears as if the name is familiar to her, but she can’t work out why.

  My assumptions are proven accurate when she snatches Tobias’s laptop from under my arm, tosses it onto the taxi’s hood, then logs back in. Her throat works hard to swallow when she types Kristin Liberman’s name into the search bar. The view isn’t pretty. The screen is full of new articles on the suicide death of Dane Liberman, Kristin’s husband.