Page 13 of Unseen Danger
“Will do.” Branson forced the pleasant words through clenched teeth. He spun away and stalked to the door midway along the room.
“Hey, B.” D-Chop’s voice stopped Branson with his hand on the sliding door.
“Don’t wake the chick in my room.”
Branson hid a cringe. Of course, he’d have brought home some groupie, as usual. Hopefully, she was at least legal age.
“She couldn’t handle—”
Branson held up a hand, palm out, to stop any graphic descriptions he didn’t want to hear. “I got it. I’ll be quiet.”
He went through to the hallway where D-Chop’s bedroom suite was. Branson headed for his own room next to D-Chop’s. As the rapper’s head personal protection specialist, the proximity was a precaution in case of overnight threats.
But he couldn’t be happier that the security system in place at the estate and D-Chop’s preference for independence and privacy meant Branson didn’t need to be on active duty right now. He couldn’t wait to shed the baggy hip-hop clothes D-Chop liked his security personnel to wear for public appearances.
More than that, he wanted to shed the dirty, slimy feeling that crept along his skin every time he had to live in such close proximity to the lifestyles of the celebrities he protected.
Not exactly the wholesome, Christian family environment he was raised in. And had wanted for himself someday.
He locked his door, a precaution he took whenever women visited the house, and pulled the loose-fitting sweater off, leaving on the black T-shirt he wore underneath. Fatigue from more than the evening’s events weighed him down, heavier than the sweater.
Why was he so tired lately? It wasn’t exactly a physical fatigue. He still had energy for his intense workouts, felt strong and healthy. But weariness seemed to rest on his shoulders like a weighted barbell he could never set down.
He checked his watch. 12:15. No wonder he felt tired tonight. He usually tried to be in bed by nine thirty. Ten at the latest. Staying up beyond that made it more challenging to arise at four thirty a.m. Maybe he’d let himself sleep in till four forty-five.
But sleep wasn’t going to make this situation look any better. The fact that Darren was still watching D-Chop right now meant the rapper must have told him to stay. The PM routine at the estate was for Darren and Branson to retire while Louis monitored the cameras and security system from the security room overnight. Despite his bravado, D-Chop must have been a little shaken by the fire.
Branson hated to think it, but what if D-Chop wanted the Phoenix K-9 women to provide security for another reason beyond his desire for eye candy? What if he really was questioning Branson’s abilities as the head of his security and his personal protector?
Branson could not lose this job. Not now, with so much at stake.
He’d have to call Phoenix K-9 in the morning to hire Nevaeh and another woman. Probably the redhead he’d seen last night, since she also fit D-Chop’s superficial criteria of beauty.
It meant he’d see Nevaeh again. He wouldn’t mind that a bit under different circumstances. But though D-Chop was a nice guy, he was also a habitual womanizer. His behavior toward women was disrespectful, though most females Branson had seen with the rapper didn’t seem to mind. Would Nevaeh be like that?
Not that it mattered. He should be more concerned about the possibility that if the strange incidents around D-Chop continued to escalate, the Phoenix K-9 Agency could take over his security position permanently.
The consequences of that would be too great. He couldn’t let his family down. Not in that way.
No matter how lovely and competent the Phoenix K-9 women were, he’d have to make sure they didn’t charm their way into stealing his job.
Five
Nevaeh sucked in a deep breath as she followed Jazz into the breakroom at PK-9 headquarters. The smell of coffee filled her nostrils and traveled down to her belly—the precursor enjoyment of the energizing brew. Her droopy eyelids opened farther already.
“Bless you, Cora.” Jazz smiled at the blonde as she took the offered mug.
Flash swished his tail at her side like he was also anticipating the coffee.
Cora’s sweet smile beamed, mirrored by Jana, her golden retriever who wagged her tail as she greeted the newcomers. “It’s the least I can do after your hard night.”
“Hard night?” Sofia cast them a glance from the sofa where she sat with Gaston, her chocolate Newfoundland. The water rescue dog rested his head on her lap and hogged the other cushions with his sprawled body. “If that was hard, this team is getting soft. Maybe we need to do some more drills.”
“Shh.” Nevaeh aimed an exaggerated look at the doorway where Phoenix would enter when the meeting was going to start. “The boss might hear you.”
Sof snorted. “She might hear you call her ‘the boss,’ too.”
Nevaeh wrinkled her nose at Sof.