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She nodded tersely. “While you were all in Sinclair’s office, I did a little checking of my own and discovered Morozov’s wife hasn’t been seen since yesterday afternoon. Am I right in assuming the three dead men were her bodyguards? Has she been kidnapped, or has she finally managed to get away from the bastard?”
Casper studied her through narrowed lids. “How the hell did you work all that out just from Morozov’s visit to the Kingston Security offices this morning?”
She smirked. “Maybe I’m just that good at my job.”
Maybe she was, but Casper sensed there was far more to it than that.
He eyed her consideringly. “Can I call you Persephone?”
She shrugged. “You’re one of my seven bosses, You can call me what the hell you like.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
Casper’s mouth twisted. “That I, Casper, personally would like to call you Persephone, if that’s okay with you.”
She chuckled softly. “I think I can live with that, yes.”
“Thank you,” he accepted dryly.
“You’re welcome.”
“You aren’t going to let me get away with a thing, are you?” he murmured appreciatively.
“Nope.”
Strange how much that knowledge sent a thrill of anticipation coursing down Casper’s spine rather than the irritation he would usually have felt at having anyone deliberately challenging him.
“So, which is it? Has Martyna Morozova been kidnapped, or has she simply managed to get away from her abusive husband?” she pressured now.
“We aren’t sure yet, not until I’ve looked into the situation more thoroughly, which I will do as soon as I’m back home,” Casper answered cautiously. “But whichever it is, we intend offering her our assistance without working for Morozov,” he added with a disgusted curl of his top lip at the thought of the Russian.
“That’s something, I suppose,” she muttered.
“Tell me, Persephone, are you happy working at Kingston Security?”
“Of course.” She looked surprised by the question.
Casper nodded. “Then maybe let us do our job before making any judgment on the subject, yes?”
* * *
Persy realized immediately that she had gone too far in her comments.
The problem was, she felt very passionate about women who were trapped in an abusive relationship, seemingly with no way out. It was one of the reasons she had chosen the Kingston Security company to apply to work for after leaving the military.
Yes, she was aware Martyna Morozova must have walked into her marriage with her eyes wide open concerning the man she was about to marry. But Martyna wouldn’t be the first young woman to marry a much older man simply because he was rich as Croesus. Being several decades older didn’t mean the man was also going to become physically abusive.
A fact many young women married to men their own age had also learned to the detriment of their body and emotions.
“Yes, of course,” she briskly answered Casper as she drove down the country lane leading back to the Kingston estate.
She winced as she sensed Casper’s tension as they approached the spot where there was a distinct gap in the hedge on the left-hand side of the road.
A gap that was the exact length of the badly damaged Jaguar currently sitting outside Mike Somers’s workshop.
“Stop the car,” Casper rasped.
