Page 23 of The Capo

Damn it. My cock was already twitching.

“We’ll work out the details,” Brandon said more in passing.

“How long will you be gone, Father?”

“A week minimum, possibly longer. I assume you’re planning on staying for a couple weeks.”

Now she looked away. “I have photo shoots my agent is insisting I return for.”

Sighing, I knew this was going to be an uphill battle all the way. “We’ll talk about those later after I’ve gone over some additional details and requirements with your father.”

There were few things in my life I considered completely off limits. I wasn’t the kind of man who’d been troubled by rules. I hadn’t needed to be. I broke them. I used them. I molded them to my benefit when it suited me. However, what I valued equally as much as someone always telling me the truth was loyalty.

In my family.

In my employees.

In my soldiers.

I need a favor.

When calls in the middle of the night started off that way, it usually meant a situation that took my expertise to handle. Or a body to get rid of. This particular issue should be no different than any of the others.

Granted, I was no bodyguard but given Brandon Baxter had taken a bullet for me years before, I owed him. However, he had no idea that asking me to look after his daughter would possibly put a strain on our friendship.

If not end it altogether.

Then again, neither had I when I’d accepted his request for assistance.

A half dozen years before, he’d made me promise that I’d never touch her, but if anything happened to him, I’d protect her with my life. That had been at gunpoint, the reason far too personal. Now this.

Jesus Christ.

That had been after he’d had a close call with an enemy of his own, one that I’d later hunted down and eliminated. My reaction wasn’t something he’d wanted to hear about, but he knew exactly what had occurred.

Now his fully grown daughter stood like an innocent fawn, the same long red hair that had been curled to perfection now in a ponytail, the fresh look of her face a far cry from the garishartistry she’d painted prior to entering my club. I studied her eyes carefully. While there was as much surprise in them as likely there was in mine, there was also tremendous fear. The asshole who’d almost taken her life had stripped her of what was left of her innocence.

When I allowed my gaze to fall, I shook my head. Backing out wasn’t an option.

Brandon’s implied urgency and what he’d shared about what little he knew regarding what she’d been through had pulled at the memories, the soft spot he had for his daughter something I’d always hoped to achieve one day. Even if that was a pipe dream.

He’d told me she’d shown up on his doorstep the night before with a small duffle bag in her hand, a stupid story about needing a little space. He’d immediately made a few phone calls, finding out she’d been the victim of a possible stalker turned murderer, the girl losing her life perhaps the one the killer believed he’d met inside an LA club. That had prompted me to look further into the situation. What I’d learned wasn’t something I wanted him to know about.

The stalker had possibly killed another girl as well as her roommate, although the circumstances were sketchy at best. I also couldn’t rule out the possibility Delaney had been the intended target, the killer taking out his anger on the other girl.

When Brandon narrowed his eyes, I glanced away briefly, taking a deep breath.

Delaney Baxter had been little more than a child the last time I’d seen her, a slightly pudgy teenager who’d thought the sun rose and set on her father. She’d taken to calling me Uncle whenshe was five or six since I’d spent so much time at Brandon’s house. She’d grown up before my eyes, tagging along with Dad whenever she could since her mother had given her little attention. I’d heard her giggling about boys and had been here as she and friends ran through the house.

I’d supervised pool time and even helped with her homework on a couple of occasions. When she’d been forced from his house under duress, I’d felt an ache, yet nothing like what Brandon had experienced.

I’d watched his world almost crumble when his bitch of a wife had walked out, taking the teenager with her, the ugly court battle for custody only ending because Brandon had become worried about the tear in his relationship with Delaney, who he’d named after one of his favorite Jimmy Buffett songs. Hell, how many Buffett shows had I attended with him, much to the chagrin of my father who’d laughed at my taste in music.

We were both different men now, hardened by entirely separate yet similar lives. He’d taken the high road where my family had remained embroiled in darkness. Or so he liked to tell me over a game of pool and shots of tequila. Then we’d had a vicious argument that had left us both refusing to back down on our respective sides.

After I’d accused him of crossing the very dark side he’d condemned me for.

Our estrangement had ended only two years before when I’d contacted him with the investment opportunity. By then, his world had changed dramatically, his little girl all grown up and traveling the world. That’s about as much as he’d told me, and I hadn’t pressed him any further given it had become a sore subject.

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