Page 26 of Savage Protector

“She’s handling things well,” I croaked, shaking myself free of that sudden flash of lust. “My guys are working on arranging a new identity for her. She hates the idea, but she’s smart enough to understand there’s no other way.” That didn’t mean she liked it. Whether or not she liked it was not my concern. Certain things had to be done, and this was one of them.

“I know I did the right thing…” I concluded before adding, “… even if it’s torture in some ways. But we can talk more about that when it’s over, and I come back. I need to figure out between now and then what I’m going to do about my Dominic problem. If you have any ideas on that, I would love to hear them.”

Because at the end of the day, it was all well and good to play the hero, but eventually, the time would come to settle up. I wasn’t about to go on the run like Scarlet would. If I couldn’t find some way to placate him, an option that was getting less likely by the day, it might come down to a simple choice—him or me. The last thing I wanted was to take it that far, but the son of a bitch might decide to force my hand. I couldn’t ignore the possibility.

The tension building in my head, making my pulse pound, was a warning sign. I had to bring myself under control. I couldn’t let her see my hatred. Things were difficult enough for her without adding something new to be afraid of.

I would have to revisit the subject of her new identity over breakfast. She had to get used to the idea. The thought inspired me to call Drake for an update on timelines. Most of the documents would be prepared by now, at least according to the rough estimate he’d given me. When I called, he answered right away. “Just the man I was hoping to hear from this morning.”

“I didn’t know you cared so much,” I replied with a chuckle while watching two squirrels chase each other up and down a tree trunk. When was the last time I took a few minutes to observe something like that? “Tell me you have good news. I’ll digest my breakfast much better.”

“Everything's moving along. We should have all of the documents within a day or two. After that, it’ll be a matter of transporting her safely.”

So why did he sound so troubled? “Is there something you’re not telling me? I can hear it in your voice.”

“Have you checked the news from out here?”

“Not this morning.” A cold finger traced the length of my spine. “Why?”

“When I got in, there was an anonymous email in the main inbox with a link to an article published overnight. We’re trying to trace the source now.” Pausing, he added, “There was no message beyond the subject line. It read, A Friend of Grayson’s.”

I touched a hand to my suddenly tight chest as if that would do anything to ease the sensation. Why is he dragging his feet this way? “What’s the article about?”

“A retired detective was discovered northeast of the city, off Las Vegas Boulevard. Shot execution style.”

There were moments with the power to change the path of a person’s life. Like the night I’d decided to follow Dad after he left the dinner table with no explanation. I watched in confusion as he exited the front door of the random house I’d tracked him to, a gas can in one hand. He struck a match, lit it, and tossed it inside before bolting down the front steps.

That moment was when I knew for sure what sort of person he was—a man who would murder his supposed best friend. I could never trust him. I could never be anything like him.

This was another of those moments. The world around me went dark. Cold. Blank. This time, when I touched a hand to my chest, it was to make sure my heart was beating. How could it with so much weight crushing it?

“Grayson?” Drake asked. “You still there?”

“I’m here.” But was I? Physically, maybe. I saw the world around me, the brilliant blue sky and fluffy white clouds piling on the horizon. Scarlet’s whistling inside the house blended with the birds singing, creating a harmony that might have been pleasant at any other time.

“They identified the body,” Drake continued. “His wallet was in his back pocket. The name is⁠—”

“Jack Meadows,” I said. The words were heavy. Full of certainty.

He released a soft groan. “So you did know him.”

Past tense. Somehow, that was the worst of all—hearing Jack spoken of in the past tense. And there I was, assuming he didn’t feel like answering his phone. I had left a voicemail for a dead man. “Did they say how long he’d been out there?” I asked rather than answer Drake’s question. I didn’t need to.

“No, there were no details about that, but I can look into that if it would help.”

What could it help? No amount of digging would bring him back.

Dominic. He killed him. He fucking killed him.

“I’ll be back in touch soon,” I muttered before ending the call, reeling, leaning against the railing on the edge of the porch. I forced myself to breathe as deeply as I could to keep my head clear and from keeling over as shock rolled through me in wave after wave.

He fucking murdered Jack to send a message to me. The man who had been more of a father to me than Dad ever was. Endlessly patient, infuriatingly understanding, and look where it got him. All of his insistence that I could be a better man than I was raised to be, and he had ended up dead in the desert after some heartless bastard had him killed.

Scarlet’s startled gasp when I flung the front door open barely registered in the back of my mind as I headed for the bedroom, where a small notepad full of phone numbers waited in the nightstand drawer. Using burner phones meant I couldn’t keep a single list of electronic contacts. If it had been only me, I would’ve used my cell, but I still had to keep her in mind. I had to take every precaution.

My hands shook hard enough as I punched the number in that it took three tries to dial it correctly. Though the number would have come up with no ID, Dominic answered without a hint of suspicion. “This is Dominic Garibaldi.”

“You mean the soon-to-be-deceased Dominic Garibaldi?” I muttered, closing the bedroom door silently, gritting out every word.