Close Protection (Blood Brothers #2)

by Manda Mellett

  And I’m dying to get some new clothes. Vanessa had bought me two sets of clothing, so one I wear and one I put in the wash, rotating daily. Wash, rinse, repeat. Literally! I’m sick to death of the nondescript T-shirts and sweatpants and want to feel something different against my skin other than leisurewear. I’m fast going stir crazy.

  To try and help pass the time, I’ve completed the setup of the new laptop, enabling my attempts to get some work done, but I’m only managing a pitiful one thousand odd words a day—far below my usual word count—and even those are forced out. It’s a struggle to get anything on the page; nothing seems to flow.

  I’ve neither seen nor heard from Jon, but not having sight of the man doesn’t mean thoughts of him haven’t taken up residence in my brain, and memories of the little time we had together keep going round and round my mind. I miss the intimacy, both the emotional connection with another person, as well as the physical. He’d helped me explore my sexuality, and having had one taste I want more. And he’d been such good company to have around; I miss the easy way we seemed to fit together. Everything had seemed so right with him. I loved his wry sense of humour, his thoughtfulness. Shit, here I am thinking about that man again. I’m making no headway in my attempts to forget him. God, I miss him. Stop thinking about him!

  Ceasing my pacing, I go to the back window and look out over the sparse garden; just an overgrown lawn surrounded by bare, high wooden fences. My CPOs take their work very seriously, preventing the slightest of risks. Yes, I’ve got to get out of here. If not, I’ll go stark raving bonkers in the very near future. But first I need to convince my gaolers to allow me out on parole. Surely I deserve time off for good behaviour?

  But there might be a chance. Yesterday I received a call from the insurance people—Nafisa has been brilliant sorting out as much as possible— but now they need me to go to the property in person to meet with the assessor. Apparently, I have to walk him through exactly what’s been lost, giving me a bona fide excuse to get out of this house. No one can argue I shouldn’t get on with getting the claim sorted, and then perhaps I’ll be able to start moving forward with my life. At the moment I’ve nothing to my name, and the thought I’m going to have to start over almost from scratch is scary.

  Very few things had proved salvageable from the fire, but here Grade A came up trumps, arranging to have anything worth keeping moved into storage for me. The inventory of what they were able to rescue is sparse, though; a few books that randomly escaped both fire and water damage, some kitchen utensils, the odd ornament, some jewellery and a couple of bits of furniture. The only thing of any real significance was a hard drive that seemed in fairly good nick. They’ve put one of their computer experts on it for me to try and recover what’s on the disc, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed the expert can work his or her magic. It will be an older backup from a few months ago, but miles better than nothing.

  Getting back to planning my great escape, I make a mental list of what I want to do. I’ll need to go to the cottage and then can hopefully persuade my protectors to take me to a clothes shop. It wouldn’t be a long detour; my favourite shop has a branch in a small out of town shopping centre just on the outskirts of Epping. That surely would be safe enough; nobody would know I was there. In my head, I run through just what I need to buy. Jeans, leggings, skirts, tops, a jacket, socks, tights, shoes, perhaps a dress and of course, at least a week’s worth of underwear! The ones I’ve got will soon be little better than washed out rags. And I’ll need make-up and toiletries. I start to feel excited. What girl doesn’t like spending money on a shopping spree, especially when she can justify the need for everything she buys?

  Determined they’ll have to let me out of my prison, I walk into the kitchen where Sean is helping himself to a bowl of cereal and, without apology for interrupting his breakfast, tell him what I want to do. At first there’s the predictable protest as he recounts his instructions to keep me here. But I keep my cool, impressing on him the importance of meeting with the assessor, even Sean can’t argue with that. And he doesn’t, after giving me a sharp look and throwing his hands up in defeat, he reluctantly agrees to approach Ben for permission.

  Thrilled at the thought of some freedom, if only for a few hours, I find it hard to sit still while waiting for his boss’ response. Hovering in the kitchen, my fingers tap aimlessly on the worktop. Shows how tedious my life has become if the promise of a shopping trip gets my blood flowing. When he returns to tell me Ben’s agreed, I leap up and give him a hug as though he’s given me the go-ahead himself.

  “Whoa, there, baby.” He hisses breath in through his teeth and pulls my arms from their position around him placing me at arm’s length.

  I cock my head on one side and frown. “What’s the matter, Sean?”

  When he denies anything is wrong and shrugs it off, I don’t push it, even though he seems to be in pain. Selfishly, I’d been too excited about my impending great escape, and hadn’t noticed how stiffly he’s moving, but now I do as he leaves to do whatever bodyguards do when they’re out of sight. Briefly, I wonder how he got injured, but let it go, deciding it’s probably none of my business. Leaving the room, I collect my phone. Putting in a call to the loss adjustor, I arrange to meet him later this morning at noon.

  I’m ready and chomping at the bit when Ryan, at last, appears and gives me warning we’re leaving in five minutes. In that time he tells me Sean will be checking the car, and then they’ll both reconnoitre and ensure it’s safe for me to leave the house. He throws me a sweatshirt to wear which is too large and looks ridiculous on me, but at least with the hood up it helps to hide my face. I’m happy to agree with any of their instructions for the opportunity to breathe some fresh air. When Sean eventually opens the front door and tells me it’s time to go, I step outside to see Ryan scanning the road while his partner hurries me out of the house and into the back seat of a non-descript, dark grey SUV with blackened rear windows. Sean then gets in beside me. Once we’re in and belted up, Ryan quickly slides into the driver’s seat, and without further delay we move off.

  “The M25 is going slow to stop, so I’m taking the back roads,” Ryan speaks over his shoulder to Sean. I let their route planning discussion wash over me, and turn my head to look out of the window, enjoying freedom for the first time in days. The journey first takes us through the suburbs, but soon we’re driving across a bridge over the M25, looking down at the bumper to bumper traffic snarled up in both directions. Soon we head out through country lanes into the southwestern parts of Essex, and into the commuter belt where the property costs are sky high. The rolling hills give the impression of vast open countryside, yet it’s only just beyond the motorway and close to the stations providing easy access into central London explaining why this part of the commuter belt is so expensive. It’s a pretty area, and I’d bought a house I could afford as close to it as I could.

  As we get nearer to Epping, I grow tense. The last time I was here it was dark and flames were shooting from my home. My almost healed shoulder throbs, serving as a reminder of everything that happened that night. I’m still unable to believe my house is gone; it doesn’t seem real, and half of me is expecting to pull up outside, walk across the garden and enter the front door as if nothing has happened, as if it was all a terrible dream. Tears prick at the back of my eyes as it hits me again how much I’ve lost. Putting my hands to my cheeks I feel them escaping and impatiently wipe them away. It seems I do nothing but cry these days.

  “You okay?” Sean’s picked up on my tension, and I turn to meet his wary gaze.

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

  He reaches over and takes my hand, understanding I need some physical support. His touch gives comfort, but nothing more, and my traitorous mind tells me I’d feel better if Jon was here. I swallow down the sob that threatens to overwhelm me. I hadn’t realised going back would be so hard. The house might be gone, my memories of the man certainly aren’t.

  We tu
rn into my driveway. My car’s gone; another courtesy of Grade A as they’ve had it towed to get it fixed. It was just the paintwork that had bubbled and burned, but because of that it needs a new door that’s still on order, and a window and the windscreen, cracked from the heat, also need replacing. As we stop, my perfidious mind shows me a vision of the McClaren sitting out in front with Jon just stepping out, and determinedly I thrust it away. I don’t want to remember the car or the man who drove it! Instead, I focus on the roofless garage, noting there’s more of that left standing than the house itself.

  Finally, I let my eyes settle on the ruin that had been my home. The lone brick inglenook fireplace and chimney stand high and proud, blackened with smoke residue making it a macabre sight. Shuddering, I thought I’d been sufficiently prepared to visit the scene, but I wasn't anything like. The garden I’d so carefully tendered is trampled and ruined. The whole plot an indescribable mess.

  Ryan gets out of the SUV, carefully scanning the perimeter. Sean waits with me in the backseat until the loss adjuster arrives. It’s not long before a car pulls up behind us and Sean’s muscles tense as he gets prepared in case he needs to protect me while Ryan goes and checks the man’s credentials. When Ryan throws a nod to us over his shoulder, it seems he’s satisfied the man’s who he says he is, the fact confirmed when he waves at us to get out and come over. Sean stays very close to my side as we walk up to the house, Ryan waits outside.

  “Morning.” The newcomer holds out his hand. “Jenkins.” He informs me succinctly.

  “Mia Fable,” I verify my identity equally briefly. I don’t see the necessity in introducing my companions; it would take too long to explain.

  Jenkins regards me sympathetically. “Police confirm arson.”

  I gather he’s a man of few words, so I don’t waste any of mine and nod in agreement. Not news to me.

  “Have you got any quotes for rebuilding yet?”

  I shake my head. “I’m waiting for the go ahead from you.” Not him personally, but his company, but he’ll know what I mean.

  “Walk me through.”

  We start picking our way where we can, and I point out the different rooms to him and run through what the fire had consumed. He accepts I might be missing some of the minor items, but for now just wants the gist of it.

  When we finish, he looks at me sympathetically. “You’ve got a good policy, Miss Fable. Rebuilding won’t be a problem, and your contents cover should be more than adequate. Hopefully, the next step will be the go-ahead from head office to start clearing the site. Then you can get on with your life again.”

  I’ll be able to get on with my life once the stalker has been caught, I think to myself, while out loud I just thank him. He’s only doing his job. Jenkins nods a farewell at me, looks curiously at Ryan and Sean, who’ve stayed silent throughout the encounter, and takes his leave of us.

  After he’s driven off, I raise my eyes, blinking furiously to hold back the tears. “Just get me away from here, will you?”

  Without delaying, Sean leads me to the SUV, and once more Ryan has a good look around before again taking the driver’s seat. As we at last get underway, I breathe out a long sigh of relief that I’m leaving the ruins of my cottage behind and gradually start to regain some enthusiasm for my shopping expedition ahead. Replacing clothes seem to be my only step forwards while everything else is in a state of stagnation.

  Ryan regularly checks the rearview mirror as he drives, and I hear him confirm to Sean that we’re not being followed, finding comfort in knowing they are taking my safety so seriously. And it’s not all that long before we arrive at the shopping centre I wanted to go to. It’s one I often visit so I know it well. It has about a dozen of the usual outlets, a couple of furniture stores, a computer shop, a chemist, an electrical store, and a hobby shop. And there, in the centre, a branch of Next whose brand of clothing matches my style and, for me, generally a good fit. We park as close as we can to the clothing store, with Ryan giving verbal complaint about the curious one-way system that makes the car park almost impossible to negotiate around. I grimace in sympathy knowing well what he means. Getting out is relatively straightforward, getting in to find a parking place needs a degree in navigation!

  Eventually, we get parked. Sean stays me with a touch on my arm, and now there’s another short wait as Ryan gets out of the car and evaluates every conceivable potential threat he can see or even imagine. Once he’s happy the car park holds no menace, he takes station by the vehicle and Sean moves to vacate his seat. “I’ll check inside,” is Sean’s parting shot as he leaves the car and makes his way over to Next which I’ve told him is the one I want to go into first. Of course, after clothes I’ll need to stock up on toiletries at the chemist.

  Due to my impatience, it feels like an age before he’s back, but in reality probably no more than a couple of minutes. He opens the car door and leans in, “We’re lucky it’s a weekday so the store’s relatively empty, nothing suspicious in there. I’ve checked the changing rooms. There’s a fire exit out the back, but the assistant told me it’s locked and alarmed. I’ve had a look at it, and it’s all in working order. If the fire alarm does go off, wait for me in the changing rooms and I’ll come in and get you.”

  I nod, though I’m not taking it in, at the moment being infinitely more interested in the display in the store window. That top would suit me.

  I think he knows he’s lost me, as he chuckles and gives me his hand to help me out of the car. “Women and shopping! I’ll be inside with you; Ryan will stay here.”

  “Thanks.” I have to acknowledge him somehow, but my feet are already moving forwards to take a closer look at that top.

  Replacing a whole wardrobe is turning out to be fun, I muse, as I walk around the shop picking up this and that, jeans, trousers, tops, dresses and skirts. I don’t hurry; after my week’s imprisonment I’m just enjoying being out of the safe house. After checking how many items can be taken into the changing room at once, I decide Sean can earn his keep and stand outside with the remainder of the armful I’ve collected but am not allowed to take in. Explaining to the assistant who is standing guard, she agrees to help by swapping out clothes that I’ve tried on with the ones Sean’s holding. That will save me time getting dressed between changes. Sean does make a very kind offer to come into the changing rooms to help me with things like zips, a wide smirk on his face, but I turn him down with a laugh. Men! But before he lets me enter he holds me back, and questions the assistant about who’s in the changing rooms right now. Only when he’s satisfied I’ll be the only one in there, and has another quick look himself, does he allow me to go in. Feeling completely safe and reassured, and, for once, relaxed, I enter the cubicle and start to undress while thinking how conscientious and competent Sean and Ryan are at their jobs.

  Right, where to start with the business of trying on clothes? I look up at the pile I’ve collected, hanging from hangers on the peg. Jeans first, I decide, I’m a jeans sort of girl. Anything to dispense with these baggy sweats! The first pair I try on are no good, but the second feel like they were made for me. I check the price tag, yup, just as I thought, twice as much as the first pair. But hell, I need to have something to wear. So I take them off, and they go into my yes pile. I need more than one pair, so I try the black ones next, deciding they’ll do as well. They’re a bit tight and skinny and I have trouble getting them on and off, but looking in the mirrors to the front, side and rear of me, boy do they make my bum look good—I’m having those! Having difficulty getting them off, I sit on the bench and do a shimmy; that works. As I complete my struggles and put them on the pile to buy, I hear a faint scratching sound from outside the cubicle, and then a soft snick but I ignore it, figuring the assistant must be tidying up or something. Sean’s waiting outside, all’s good.

  Dressed only in bra, knickers and shoes that I’ve put back on so I can get the proper effect, I reach my arm out to take one of the dresses I’d selected off the hanger. Suddenl
y the curtain is whipped back, and I’m grabbed and pulled, so my back is tight up against a very hard masculine chest. I smell a strong and unpleasant odour of stale male sweat. But before I’m able to let out a scream, a hand is put over my mouth. I kick and struggle, but he’s too big and strong. He’s got something in his other hand, and now it’s covering my mouth and nose, forcing me to breathe in the fumes.

  Within seconds, I know nothing at all.

  Chapter 26

  Jon

  Six months ago

  Three long years had taken their toll on Nijad. His physical discomfort—spending thirty-six months fighting in the desert—nothing compared to his mental anguish as he believed himself capable of a hideous act, without understanding how it was possible. Careless of his life, he had been leading the combat in border skirmishes, with no regard for his safety, ending up crashing his helicopter and almost dying. He was lucky his only reminder was a permanent limp. That’s what I did to him.

  Against all odds, it was his new wife who believed in him, believed in the man inside, not what everyone else could see. Unlike me, who didn’t look beneath the surface. He couldn’t have done it, she said, raising doubts, putting forward an alternative version and forcing us to re-examine the evidence. The woman, who had come to love him despite the inauspicious beginnings to their relationship, saw the man he really was.

  And what did Nijad do? He reaffirmed I was his brother; had thanked me profusely for my part in clearing his name. Yeah, I was his brother even though I made the wrong decision, interpreted everything the wrong way and almost got him killed. I had been instrumental in changing his life.

  He needed me, and I wasn’t there. What I’d seen as betrayal had made me hate him. Now I just hated myself.