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“Persephone Jones, but everyone calls me Persy.” She shook his hand. “I’m Casper’s bodyguard.”
Blue eyes widened appreciatively. “Fucking hell, mate, I might be willing to crash a car or two myself if it results in having someone as beautiful as Miss Jones guarding my body.” He spoke to Casper, but his admiring gaze remained on Persy.
“A bodyguard…?” the receptionist repeated breathlessly before turning her gaze on Casper. “Why do you need a bodyguard? Is it—Does that mean your accident wasn’t an accident? Oh my God, does that mean someone tried to kill you? That’s—”
“Rach, take a breath, there’s a love,” Mike advised before introducing her indulgently. “This is my sister Rachel.”
“Miss Somers.” Persy nodded, able to see the similarity between brother and sister in the blond curls and bright blue eyes, although Mike was a couple of inches over six feet tall and his sister was at least a foot shorter. His younger sister, because Persy would take a guess on the other woman’s age being closer to her own than Casper and Mike’s.
“Miss Jones,” Rachel returned distractedly, still staring at Casper.
He released the younger woman to walk over and stand beside Mike, both men now looking at the Jaguar. “So, what do you think?”
Mike grimaced. “I think you’d be better off buying a new car, but as I know that isn’t going to happen, it’s going to take a lot of work to put the old girl back in a roadworthy condition.”
“But you can do it, right?” Casper pushed.
“I can do it,” Mike confirmed. “Gonna take a while, though,” he warned.
The tension in Casper’s shoulders eased. “Take as much time as you like, as long as I get her back sometime.”
“You got it.” Mike slapped the shoulder of Casper’s uninjured arm. “So, someone is trying to kill you, hmm? I warned you to stay away from the combination of bad liquor and loose men and women, but did you listen to me? No, of course you didn’t.”
“I’m not sure anyone actually wants to kill me. Maybe just hurt me a little,” Casper dismissed.
The rest of the visit was taken up with the two men discussing the work to be done on the Jaguar. Persy checked on her emails while Rachel Somers disappeared into the office to answer a call.
Persy waited until the two of them had taken their leave of the Somerses and were seated in the SUV before speaking directly to Casper again. “So is Mr. Somers one of those lovers I need to know about…?”
“What the fu—!”
She sensed Casper slowly turning to look at her to accompany that shocked reaction, but kept her own eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead rather than return his accusing gaze.
“Absolutely not. Never,” he added with a dark scowl. “I don’t fuck my friends.”
“How about Miss So—”
“Or their little sisters,” he snapped.
Persy shrugged. “Just thought I’d ask.”
* * *
“Then I advise you not to ask me anything so fucking insulting again,” Casper advised harshly, feeling uncomfortable at the thought of having Mike or Rachel as a lover. He simply didn’t think of either of them in that way.
“What has your family decided to do about Morozov?”
Casper might have put on a show of being completely recovered, in front of his family earlier, and then again for Mike and Rachel just now. But the truth was he had a broken arm, and it was hurting like the devil right now, telling him he needed a top up on his painkillers. He’d also suffered a concussion just a week ago, and right now, his head was spinning at the rapid way in which Persy kept changing the subject.
Deliberately so? In an effort to catch him off guard?
If so, Casper had no idea what her motive could be for doing so.
“Decided to do what about him?” he now prompted mildly.
“Oh, please!” She snorted. “The police might not have added two and two together as yet, but the moment I saw Morozov enter Sinclair’s office earlier, I was able to join the dots of that with the three Russian men found dead in an alley yesterday, all of them apparently shot in the head.”
“You were, hm?”
