Quiet Protector- Brandon's Story

by Shandi Boyes

  Phillipa’s scoff is louder than Grayson’s. “You’re talking about a woman who allegedly distributed fertility drugs, scalpels, and medical equipment to a cartel organization without asking a single question. All she sees is money signs, Melody. She isn’t a good person.”

  “Then, we’ll use that to convince her.” When unease flares through both Phillipa and Grayson’s eyes, I talk faster, “If Bobby is BJ’s biological son, he has a fundamental right to see him. Family law won’t allow Ophelia to repress his rights.”

  My eyes snap to Grayson when he grumbles, “They can if Ophelia proves Brandon is unstable.”

  “He’s depressed, Grayson,” I snap back, even though I’m confident the old Brandon is emerging quicker than anyone could have predicted. “That doesn’t make him incapable of being a parent. He just needs some extra help and understanding. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

  “Grayson wasn’t referencing Brandon’s stability now. He’s talking about the charges Ophelia ignored once she had a new target hooked.” Phillipa opens a case file I haven’t seen in years before spinning it around to face me. “If we push too hard to prove what we all believe is true, Ophelia will shove back harder.”

  “He’s his son, Phillipa. You can’t expect him to give him up because he’s being threatened with false charges. If you are, you clearly don’t know who BJ really is.” I push the file back to her side of the desk before dropping my eyes to my watch. “You need to leave. BJ is due home at any moment.”

  Phillipa is reluctant to leave, but Grayson jumps straight up to his feet. “What are you going to tell him?”

  I want to say nothing. I want to pretend this is a problem for another day, but since that will make me just as bad as Ophelia, I shrug instead. “Give me a second to catch my breath before asking again.”

  For the first time since I’ve known him, a serious mask slips over Grayson’s face. “Do you want me to be here when you tell him?”

  “No,” I answer without pause for thought. “But, can you leave that?” I nudge my head to the file Phillipa is in the process of putting away. “If we want to beat Ophelia at her game, we need to get one step ahead of her. BJ is the best agent to do that.”

  Grayson nods, fully agreeing with me. “All right.” He shifts on his feet to face Phillipa when a disbelieving huff leaves her mouth. “Come on, Pip. It’s the least you can give the guy after how much he helped you.” He yanks her the rest of the way over the fence when he adds, “If it weren’t for him, you would have never gotten Castro.”

  Phillipa folds her arms in front of her chest. “Castro is dead.”

  “Now,” Grayson fires back with a chuckle. “Henry waited for you to pry a lifetime of secrets out of him before he tied off the loose end.”

  Having no plausible defense, Phillipa huffs out, “Fine,” before dumping the file onto the dining table and hightailing it out of Brandon’s apartment. Grayson is nipping at her heels two seconds later. I can’t hear what he riles her about during their fourteen-floor descent, but I’m grateful that their cars disappear from Brandon’s street just as his Hellcat pulls into his assigned parking bay.

  Needing a few minutes to get my headspace right, I slot Ophelia’s file between two magazines in the rack in the living room before heading for the shower. A relieved breath vibrates my lips when I remove the sound processors from behind my ears. You know the pain you get when sunglasses dig into the back of your ears from prolonged usage? It’s the same for cochlear implants, just more painful.

  When I first got them done, I asked Julian to place me onto a candidate list to trial the new fully implantable implants. That’s how much I hated the feeling of constant heaviness behind my ears. Mercifully, the processors shrunk each time they were updated, so I declined the trial when I was approved.

  Although I’m reconsidering my decision now. Not because I’m too lazy to remove the processors before swimming, showering, and going to bed, but because the conference for the trial is being held in San Francisco. That’s only miles from the pharmacy Ophelia is running her black-market drug scheme from, making it the ideal location for a long weekend visit.

  Twenty minutes later, a grin tugs on my lips when the stomp of my name tickles the bottom of my bare feet. With the shower being recently switched off, Brandon is aware I can’t hear him, but instead of startling me, he reverted to an old method of communicating.

  I kind of love it.

  “Hey,” I sign when I spot him leaning on the doorjamb of his room. I don’t talk when I don’t have my implants on. I hate my voice in general, so I don’t want to consider how cringeworthy it is when I have no idea of the depth and pitch of my tone. “How was your session with Dr. Avery?”

  After dragging his eyes up my legs barely covered by a teeny pair of shorts, they land on my face. The heat in them makes me squirm in a good way. “It was good. She is…” I smile when he pauses, incapable of describing Dr. Avery’s uncanny knack for getting people to open up. “I told her what you said last night. How I am Madden’s victim as well.”

  “And?” I beg, hating that he’s leaving me hanging. I’m not a suspense type of girl. I like to know the news as it’s happening.

  His smile has me craving another shower. I’m hot and sticky all over. “She asked if you wanted a job.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “Let us hope she was serious because if I stay cooped up in this apartment for much longer, I will go crazy.” I could smack myself for sliding our conversation into uncomfortable territory remarkably quick. “Not that I want to be anywhere else.”

  Brandon steps closer to me, his eyes nurturing. “You should accept Leo’s offer. It is not at the District Attorney’s Office, but it will keep you in the know until their investigation is finalized.”

  “No.” I shake my head to authenticate my short reply while moving for the tube of moisturizer on the bedside table. It’s next to Brandon’s jar of consumed peanut butter like it’s always belonged there. “Leo’s offer is in New York. You are nowhere near New York, so I am not interested.”

  I stop rubbing moisturizer into my legs when Brandon signs, “I will come to New York with you.”

  “You want to go to New York?”

  The honesty in his eyes when he replies makes my heart flutter extra fast. “It is not my favorite city, but I am sure I will enjoy it with you.”

  I take a few minutes to consider his objective before asking, “Is this a ploy to get out of counseling sessions? Because if it is, I hate to tell you, Dr. Avery does phone consultations.”

  Brandon smiles like I am joking. I’m not, but I can still admire his grin. “This has nothing to do with that.” His lips twists as his eyes brighten. “Dr. Avery agrees a change in location could be good for us.”

  I wish I had my hearing aids connected so I could have heard the way he expressed ‘us.’ If it sounded anything like the way he signed it, my hopes would be skyrocketing. It was possessive and protective—very much on par with the Brandon I used to know.

  “Us?”

  As he bridges the gap between us, my heart breaks out a new tune. “Yes, us. I cannot do this without you, Melody. I would have never made it this far without you.” His shirt gathers the moisture sliding down my face I’m pretending is leftover residue from the shower when he pulls me into his chest. It wouldn’t matter if we were standing in the middle of a snowfield, his hugs forever warm me up.

  After giving me a few moments to relish the healthy vibrations of his heart, Brandon kisses my temple, my cheek, then my mouth before inching back. It’s the simplest gesture, but it has the biggest impact on my heart.

  As does what he signs next, “Will you come on this new adventure with me, Mellowy? Test the limits of our relationship in a place that is both exciting and scary.”

  “Are you sure this is what you want, BJ?” I can see the confirmation in his eyes, smell it on his skin, but I still need vocal confirmation. This is a huge step for both of us. New York is the o
nly city we don’t control. There are ghosts there, but there are also good memories—many of them.

  When Brandon nods without pause for thought, my skin mists with sweat like I didn’t dry off after my shower. “Then I guess we better get packing.” I’d give anything to be able to kiss the living hell out of him when he grins a smile I haven’t seen in weeks, but since I’m seconds away from killing his happiness, I can’t. “After we have talked. There is something really important I need to tell you.”

  40

  Brandon

  Several long months later…

  “What time did she say she was coming again?” Brandon’s nervous voice is cute as hell, but I’d rather him not be worried. I’m not in any danger. Over a dozen FBI agents are in the room next to ours, and he’s in the bedroom of our master suite watching my every move. I’m safer than I’ve ever been. “I still can’t believe I agreed to let you do this. Clearly, I need my head re-examined.”

  “Do you want to see your son, BJ?” I hate that we’re required to have this conversation with Brandon’s work colleagues listening in, but I don’t have much choice. With my ears clogged up with implants, I can’t wear the standard earpieces most Honey Pots use during a sting, so Brandon’s voice has to be relayed to me via the speakers in the ceiling of the New York hotel we’re luring Ophelia to.

  Brandon took the news he may be a father better than I expected. He cursed, ranted, and called Ophelia more than a few names, but within minutes, his focus shifted to me. He was worried I’d be upset, and that I wouldn’t be able to forgive him for having a child without me. It was only when we reached a mutual understanding of our dislikes did he calm down.

  I wanted to hurt Ophelia. I wanted her to suffer for the anguish she had and was about to put Brandon through, but then I realized anything I did to her, I did to Bobby. That wasn’t fair. He’s an innocent child. I couldn’t hurt him any more than I wanted Mrs. McGee punished for what Madden had done to me.

  When I explained that to Brandon, it was like a lightbulb switched on inside of his head. He finally understood why Grayson stopped him from killing Madden all those months ago. As much as Madden hurt us, killing him would have hurt Mrs. McGee even more. Neither Brandon nor I wanted that. So, instead of plotting ways to take Madden down illegally, Brandon transfixed his attention on serving justice to both Madden and Ophelia legally.

  We worked side by side for months, filing motions and scouring through stacks of evidence for hours at a time.

  Some days we had wins.

  Others, we didn’t.

  Our bid to make Madden serve time for his crimes failed. I was railroaded on the witness stand by Mr. McGee. He based his entire defense on the fact I never said ‘no.’ He made out that I had a fascination with his family and used my friendship with his ‘less attributed child’ to get closer to his ‘astute son.’ My financial records were splashed across the tabloids, and my sex life was scrutinized. Not even Brandon pretending to side with the defense in the hope of turning the knife on his father worked.

  Mr. McGee did what he had done his entire life. He used his charm to have the jury side with him. In all honesty, I was pissed. When the verdict was handed down, I almost spiraled as deeply as Brandon did months earlier. But, out of nowhere, little rays of sunshine broke through the dark clouds swarming us.

  My courage to fight for justice saw other women step forward. The first person was Gemma Calderon-Levesque. After Brandon reached out to her, she risked a multi-million- dollar settlement with the McGees to speak out with me. Then, one by one, more women came forward. Some were from Madden’s past, and others were as recent as last year.

  While Leo and I sorted through a sickening number of victim accounts to have Madden charged with multiple counts of rape, sexual harassment, and workplace bullying, Brandon returned to his position in the Bureau under Grayson’s branch. For the most part, it was both healing and painful for him. He lived for the adrenaline a hard and seemingly impossible race to win gave him, but every contest has speedbumps.

  Isaac Holt is Brandon’s.

  How was Brandon to know the payments Isaac set up for Bobby weren’t as Ophelia stated. She made out the money Isaac was placing in her account every month was to help her fight Brandon’s bid for custody of Bobby.

  Could you imagine how much that hurt Brandon to hear? He’d been fighting Ophelia in the courts for months just to get proof Bobby was his son, then when he finally had DNA evidence he was, Ophelia not only reopened the rape case she had ‘forgotten’ she’d instigated when it wasn’t of use to her, she also supposedly sought help from a man she knew didn’t like Brandon.

  Her accusation switched Brandon’s custody agreement from being every second weekend to one supervised hourly visit a month. As you can imagine, that made Brandon agitated, and unfortunately, he sometimes took it out on the wrong people.

  Brandon didn’t tell me exactly what he said to Isabelle the day he wired her up to be interviewed by Kirill Bobrov, but I could tell it was harsh. His eyes were tainted with as much remorse as they held the day Madden’s verdict was returned not guilty for my rape.

  Although we’ve yet to achieve justice for me, with every day bringing us closer to achieving our combined goals, the weight on Brandon’s shoulders grows weaker as the months move on, and our relationship is blossoming.

  We still spend a majority of our weekends holed up in my loft, eating takeaway and watching corny 90s movies, but instead of our time together being doused by awkward unease, it’s fueled by mutual passion, heart-soaring murmurs, and faint brushes of fingertips under a blanket. We’ve even managed to sneak in the occasional heated kiss.

  We’re not close to the level of intimacy we had before Madden tried to snuff it, but since our friendship is more important than anything, I’m not worried. We’re closer than we’ve ever been, so I’m confident even if the intimacy side never returns, we’ll still be okay. Brandon is my best friend, and I’d pick for him to have that title over lover any day of the week.

  Brandon loses the chance to answer my question when a gruff voice over the speaker advises me Ophelia is on her way up. I never thought this meeting would occur. Why would a known mafia princess meet with a previously-appointed ADA in another state? She wouldn’t, and that’s why Ophelia has no idea about my job descriptions, former or current.

  To her, I’m Melody Gottle, wannabee founder of the baby-making ring the Castros and Petrettis let fold when Col Petretti was killed during a sting days before I arrived in Ravenshoe many months ago.

  I’ll give it to Ophelia, she’s smarter than she looks. She didn’t take my claims of being mafia royalty at face value. She researched my family and me. Fortunately for the Bureau, Henry was willing to play along. He sees no shame in his name, so he was more than happy for me to use it however I saw fit. It is, after all, my real name.

  When a heavy knock sounds at the door of my suite, I spin to face the entryway mirror. “I am fine,” I sign into my reflection, knowing only one man on the other end of the surveillance is capable of deciphering what I say. “It is time to get your son back.”

  The frantic beat of my heart drops several inches lower when Brandon’s eyes swing my way. They’re full of pride, although it’s barely seen through the lust clouding them. He’s hardly taken his eyes off me since our joint FBI-CIA sting.

  Our ruse worked. It wasn’t easy. It took me living up to my namesake to have Ophelia convinced I had what it would take to harvest children as if they’re cobs of corn, but I did it. I played the role, and I played it well.

  We have enough evidence to put Ophelia away for life and to have her husband charged with criminal conspiracy, larceny, and attempted murder. Neither he nor Ophelia killed the women found at the Shroud’s ranch, but they knew what was happening, and they didn’t alert authorities. That’s a convictable offense.

  My inflated chest sinks a little when Brandon asks, “What about Bobby? What happens to him?”

  “At the mo
ment, he’s under the care of the couple from the pharmacy.” When Phillipa’s reply fills Brandon’s eyes with panic, she talks faster, “They had no idea what Ophelia and Louis were doing. They’re innocent in this.” She waits for him to absorb the truth in her eyes before adding, “I’ve also requested an emergency hearing with the judge who presided over your family court hearings.” The happiness stretching across her face burns my eyes with tears, much less what she says next, “With Ophelia willing to cooperate for a reduced sentence, and Dr. Avery giving your mental stability a glowing review, you could be taking Bobby home as early as next week.”

  “Next week?” I squeeze Brandon’s hand so hard, I’m afraid I am about to break it. This is everything we’ve been working toward for months.

  Laughing at our shocked silence, Phillipa nods before she stands to her feet to gather her belongings. While Brandon walks her to the door, I breathe out the excited butterflies in my stomach. I only got to meet Bobby once before Brandon’s visits were switched to supervised, but now there’s a high possibility he’ll get to live with us in New York. Jesus. This turned out better than we were hoping.

  “We need a bigger apartment,” I jest with a laugh when Brandon closes the door with Phillipa on the other side. “And another bed. You know how much I love to hog. Poor Bobby will get squashed—”

  My words stop when my eyes collide with Brandon’s across the room. His eyes are holding the same amount of excitement as mine. It just isn’t giddy, kiddy-like enthusiasm brightening his. He’s in awe, and every inch of his admiration is directed at me.

  “Grayson…” I don’t know what Grayson replies in the earpiece in Brandon’s ear, but I hear cords being yanked out through the speakers above our heads before the room falls into resolute silence. A few seconds after that, Brandon says, “Thank you. I will.”