determination in my tone, she stands to her feet to gather her belongings. Once she has everything in order, she joins me in the entryway of my apartment. “Call me once you’ve settled your emotions enough to look at the evidence through the eyes of an agent.”
The anger burning my cheeks doubles when she presses her lips to the corner of my mouth before she saunters out of my apartment. I slam my door closed, clench my hands into fists, then soundlessly scream my frustration into the crisp morning air. I understand Phillipa’s objective. I can see the evidence and comprehend how damning it looks, but she doesn’t see the consequences as readily as I do. If any of this is true, it will destroy Melody’s legacy of her father for the third time in her life.
I won’t let that happen. Even if the universe has sent Melody another undeserved curveball, she won’t be up at the home plate, swinging alone. I’ll be right by her side as I was trained to be and how I want to be.
4
Melody
Butterflies ignite in my stomach when the email Brandon promised in the wee hours of this morning drops into my inbox. I wanted to call him back after Julian disclosed he had called while I was in the shower, washing off the guilt on my face, but Julian said if the matter was urgent enough to contact someone at four in the morning, his private security firm should take care of it.
I don’t know why, but I didn’t want that to happen. The unnamed man’s neck tattoo certainly set my nerves on edge, but it wasn’t enough to seek professional assistance.
I know what you’re thinking, then why reach out to Brandon? Brandon is different. He’s not just an FBI agent. He’s also my friend, so I feel he’d be more honest with me than anyone else.
Do I deserve his righteousness after lying to him?
Not at all, but I hope to still have it.
After scooting my chair in close to my desk, I click on Brandon’s email. Excluding last night, we’ve only communicated via work contacts, so I had to wait until I arrived at the office to discover if he unearthed the identity of the man I snapped a photo of last weekend.
I’m not surprised to find a detailed dossier on the man in question attached to Brandon’s email. His date of birth is missing from the report, but numerous surveillance images of him are attached to it.
I push away my double mocha latte when one of the images shows Kwan Turgenev wearing a white apron covered with blood. Although the butcher shop sign in the corner of the picture reveals the reason for his blood-smeared smocks, it’s too early in the day to act nonchalant to that amount of blood.
I’m not a fan of blood. Haven’t been since I arrived at my parents’ accident barefoot and shrouded with panic.
My brows stitch when I commence reading the first sentence of the last paragraph in Brandon’s email.
I have forwarded my findings onto Julian’s security team, so they can keep watch for Kwan. I will update Grayson’s and my guys by sunrise.
While wondering exactly how many men are watching my every move, my eyes drift to the time stamp on the email. It shows Brandon sent his email a little after five this morning. He must be exhausted. I’m dragging my feet, and I managed to get two solid hours after calling him. The first six were spent tossing and turning while pondering whether I should drag him into my messy life again. If I were a better person, I would have left him out of it.
Unfortunately, I’m only a shell of the woman I used to be.
Everyone thinks I have the ideal life—a dream job, an adorable fiancé who’s stinking rich, and a face that doesn’t require a heavy coat of makeup to be acceptable for public outings. They fail to recall I lost my parents a month before my eighteenth birthday, I have no known living family members, and even years later, I still attend support groups for victims of sexual assault because no matter how slow Julian is willing to go, I still don’t think I’ll ever be ready to take the next big step in our relationship.
In a way, I guess Julian’s patience makes me lucky. He pledged he’d wait an eternity for me to be ready. He was just the second man to make that oath.