Home > The Protector(8)

The Protector(8)
Author: Jodi Ellen Malpas

Short and to the point.

“That came via courier yesterday,” Logan says. “It’s probably just some fool who’s come out on the bad side of a deal. Threats are part of the job. I upset a lot of people.” He indicates his security men. “But never has a threat been directed at my daughter. Like I said, you’re a precautionary measure. You’re the best.”

I nod, dubious, running a thumb over the paper thoughtfully. “Yesterday, you say?” I ask casually as I chuck the paper on the desk with the file. That paper is too crisp and clean to have been handled much. There are no creases, no folded edges, no crumpling. It’s pristine. You’d expect something somewhere, even if it’s a tiny curl of a corner, given that it’s been stuffed in an envelope, delivered, and removed. God knows how many people must have handled it on its journey to the fiftieth floor of Logan Tower. Nothing?

“Yes, yesterday.”

I play it cool. “The name of the courier?”

He waves a dismissive hand in the air. “We have endless couriers delivering here. We don’t keep records. They come, someone signs, and it gets sent up to the right floor.”

I accept his answer. At least, I appear to. “No demand for any money?”


“No demand for anything?”


“So they just want to scare you?”

“Many people want to scare me, Mr. Sharp.”

“I’d rather take your money.” I shrug nonchalantly, getting more suspicious by the second. Something definitely isn’t sitting right.

“Everyone’s motivation is different.” He gives me a knowing look that I don’t like at all. “I guess yours right now is the handsome fee I’m paying you.”

I force my eyes not to narrow and smile instead. Logan doesn’t need to know what my motivation is. “I’ll look into it. I’m sure you want to know who’s making these threats on your daughter’s life.” I revert back to the reason I’m here.

“Of course.” Logan’s face twists a bit in anger, throwing me a little. He looks genuinely disturbed. Could even be mentally plotting the demise of whoever’s threatening his daughter. “I’ve given your colleague access to my e-mail and records.”

“Good.” I make a note to call Lucinda at my first opportunity as I pick up the file on Camille Logan and flick through it briefly again. “There’s nothing in the file about a boyfriend. Does she have one?”

“Not at the moment.” He looks relieved about that. “Camille’s choice in men is historically bad. Though I plan on rectifying that.”

“Oh, really?”

“My friend has a son. It’s time for Camille to start settling down, and she will marry sensibly. The union of the two families would be…beneficial to all of us.”

“Except Camille,” I point out. What is this, an arranged marriage out of the 1800s?

“Mr. Sharp, you are not here to question my business decisions.” He glances down at his watch, and I growl on the inside. His daughter is a business decision? The fucking prick. “She’s due momentarily. Probably best you’re not here when I tell her what’s happening. She can be fiery.” He looks up at me, almost fondly. “Has her own mind. You know young girls.”

Actually, no, I don’t know young girls. “You haven’t told her about any of this?” I’m shocked and I sound it. “She’s out there unprotected?”

“I want everything in place first.”

I’m not surprised very often. It takes a lot to throw me after all the shit I’ve dealt with. But I’m thrown now. “The girl’s life could be at risk and she doesn’t even know? She’s out there now, running around the streets of London in that flash Mercedes cabriolet, and you allowed that?”

“She’s headstrong,” Logan mutters, almost regretfully. “I tried to get her to stay with her mother, but she was having none of it. And I can tell you right now that she’s not going to be happy about you shadowing her.”

I blow out a long stream of air. “I’m hardly concealable,” I mumble under my breath as I stand. You can only protect someone if they want to be protected. I thought she wanted to be protected.

I wander away from the three men, astounded, my gun burning a hole in my back, itching for me to draw, aim, and fire at Trevor Logan’s forehead—punishment for being such a narcissistic prick and producing such a brat of a woman. “You have a half hour before I leave,” I say over my shoulder as I let myself out. I’ll keep the upfront 100K. Payment for my inconvenience and for misleading me. I’ll have to get Lucinda to source me another contract pronto. Anywhere in the world. I don’t care. Just keep me busy.

As I wander down the corridor, I pull my phone from my pocket and set the stopwatch. “Time starts now, Logan,” I say under my breath.



Chapter 4



Logan Tower. The place fills me with dread, because when I’m summoned to Dad’s office it usually means that I’m not going to like what he’s going to tell me. Whatever it is, I will see it as an intrusion. Dad, however, will see it as business. That’s why I’m at his headquarters. His workplace. The center of his business dealings. If the call this morning was regarding genuine father/daughter quality time, I’d be at his sprawling country mansion on the outskirts of the city, gritting my teeth while I endure his overbearing current wife, Chloe, and listening while he fills my head with details of men suitable by his standards. Not mine. His. Which means they’re rich, but also insanely boring and lacking a personality beyond business.

I hate that I still find a need to work up some bravery each time I’m here. I’ll never bow down to his unreasonable demands and insistences, whatever they may be—like when he tried to force me into studying law instead of fashion, or when he tried to sign me up for The University of London and I defied him and signed myself up for London College. Or like his attempt to fix me up with an associate when I started dating Sebastian. All of his wives have fallen into line, no questions asked, including my mother. I won’t, and he can’t divorce me for it either. He’s my dad, and I love him, but he’s a bully, too.

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