The Broken Protector Read Online Nicole Snow

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He drops the phone like he’s been burned, glowering. “Next time, one of y’all take it, 'cause fuck that.”

“What’d your girlfriend want, Henri?” Micah grins wickedly.

“She ain’t my—” Henri sputters, dragging a hand over his face. “Noise complaint. Guess the big house is throwing another charity bash and all the Hollywood weirdos and bigwigs are kicking it up. They’re getting damn loud up there, I guess. She wanted us to know it’s indecent and rude, and demanded we put a stop to it.” He quirks a brow. “So, we gonna put a stop to it or what?”

Grant grimaces. “Any other night we could do a quick drop-in, knock and ask them to keep it down politely, but now’s not the best time. They wouldn’t listen, anyway. We cite the Arrendells, they’ll just laugh it off and take it out on us at the next budget session. So forget it. Mrs. McLeary will wear herself out fuming and fall asleep in the next hour, anyway.”

“We’ve got bigger things to worry about than a little racket,” I point out, but I can barely hear my own voice coming out so distant.

Another party.

And Delilah was with Ulysses, wearing that bracelet, wasn’t she?

She told me she was going to solve Emma’s murder, and I—

Fuck!

I have to find her.

Suddenly, I think I have a pretty good idea what she’s planning, and I can’t go through it again.

I can’t let history repeat itself.

Last time I saw Celeste, we fought like alley cats right before she ran out the door into Montero’s devil arms and now it’s happening again.

“Lucas?” Grant frowns. “You’re white as a goddamned sheet. What’s going on?”

“Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.” I push back from the desk.

My intuition jackhammers like a migraine, and there’s pure dread crawling up the back of my neck. “I gotta go check on something real important. I know the plan. If I’m not back in half an hour, I’ll meet you there.”

Folding his arms over his chest, Grant gives me a long, measured look. “Now isn’t the time for personal business, Graves. I need you with me.”

“I will be, I just—” I take a shaky breath. I can’t stand to explain this—especially to him, of all people—only to have him tell me I’m crazy and can’t get over my shit with my sister, so I just shake my head. “This could be life or death, Cap. Please.”

Grant grinds his teeth, considering it, then nods. “Radio if you need backup.”

There’s something knowing in the way he looks at me.

Something heavy.

Fuck, maybe he understands after all.

There’s just no time to explain right now. I only nod sharply and head for the door, stomping out on the sidewalk.

I need to find Delilah now.

I need to stop her before she becomes the next lifeless girl in red.

The Rookery is silent and dark when I show up—a ten-minute walk from the station, five minutes at my ground-eating run.

Looks like Janelle’s already shut down for the night. I try the front door, but no luck.

Dammit.

I circle the building manically, looking for Delilah’s room, hoping she’s staying in the same suite as before. It’s not that hard to remember which one it is when there’s a faint pink echo of the X that was sprayed below her window, now pressure-blasted off and waiting to be painted over.

I peer up at the window, but it’s as dark as the lobby.

“Delilah?” I call softly—then ask myself what the fuck I’m doing. I’ve got a phone and her number.

Snorting at my own dumbassery, I reach into my pocket, turning away.

Then I freeze.

There’s a presence behind me.

Just the faint scuff of a footstep moving real quiet. So close.

I whirl around, my hands coming up defensively.

Right in time to see Culver Jacobin’s broad, toothy grin as a shovel comes slamming at my face.

A big black square of fuck you plows into me.

My head explodes with pain, with darkness, with rattling angry stars mocking me.

Too late.

You’re too late to save her.

The last thing I remember is stretching out a hand like I’m reaching for Delilah as I keel over and knock the fuck out.

Let’s be real.

I wasn’t expecting to wake up again.

Definitely wasn’t expecting to wake up seasick and nauseous with my skull ringing like a church bell and my eyes crusted shut with what I’m pretty sure is blood.

I can’t see a fucking thing.

Everything hurts.

I don’t know if the ground is actually swaying under me or if that’s just the concussion screwing up my vision. I think I hear the faint sound of water, maybe smell it, but it’s hard to smell anything past the scent of my own blood caked in my nostrils.

Groaning, I scrub at my eyes till I can open them, blinking away ugly red shapes.

When I peer up, there’s nothing but the night sky yawning overhead and the distant silhouettes of trees.


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