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Casper wasn’t so sure they hadn’t succeeded where his car was concerned. Which infuriated him.
It was a thirty-year-old Jaguar that had once belonged to his father, then had been given to Casper when his parents retired to live in Florida six years ago.
He was really hoping Mike would be able to save it from having to be sent to the scrap yard. Which was questionable, considering every single panel of the car was damaged, including—damn it, especially—the almost flattened roof.
Casper was lucky he hadn’t been crushed beneath it.
But no matter what his family thought to the contrary, he hadn’t ignored those initial petty acts. He’d checked the feed on all the surveillance cameras in the area where his car had been parked each time the tires had been slashed. Three times, as Adam had aggressively pointed out. He’d done the same when the paintwork had twice been deliberately scratched.
Since leaving hospital he’d also checked the cameras outside the nightclub where he’d been until five o’clock the morning of the accident.
All of them had revealed the same unrecognizable, hunched figure wearing jeans and a dark hoodie. The hood of the latter was pulled low over their face and hair. The images were of such bad quality that even after Casper had tidied them up, it still hadn’t been possible to discern whether the figure wearing the unisex clothing was male or female.
Casper might not want to admit it, but having a team of bodyguards following him around might succeed in deterring this destructive bastard from further attacks.
Nor was there a problem with him buying a new car, a more modern and probably faster one. But Casper wanted the Jaguar back, no matter how long it took to fix it.
He currently wasn’t allowed to drive anyway with a broken arm. Which meant he’d had to suffer the extra indignity of being driven into the offices this morning by one of Kingston Security’s employees.
He’d had no idea that a simple broken bone in his arm would mean he wouldn’t be able to drive himself until the bone had fused back together.
It had also severely slowed down Casper’s ability to type and search for the cyber information so necessary to the cases being worked on at Kingston Security.
He couldn’t even dress himself without feeling extreme pain radiating from his elbow up to his shoulder and down to his wrist. Buttoning a shirt this morning had been absolutely impossible, which was why he was currently wearing a T-shirt beneath the jacket of his suit.
Vadim Morozov could swivel on it if he didn’t like his less-than-businesslike appearance.
As far as Casper was concerned, the Russian was a complete sleazeball anyway.
“Almost killing me isn’t succeeding.” Casper acknowledged Max’s comment distractedly as he continued to look at the woman he’d been informed preferred to be called Persy. “Persephone was the harbinger of the beauty of spring,” he observed. His expensive education hadn’t been wasted after all.
“She also married her uncle Hades,” she returned dryly. “But I suppose incest is quite tame compared to some of the other bullshit that happens in Greek mythology.”
Casper chuckled. He liked her. The way she looked and that delectable mouth. He really liked the way she didn’t immediately take umbrage, but had easily returned his verbal shot with one of her own. No doubt that was due to those years she’d spent in the still mainly male-dominated military.
“Persy it is, then,” he conceded.
“Thank you.”
“Which doesn’t mean”—he turned to include all the other men in the room—“I’m going to meekly accept having a team of bodyguards following me around.”
“I’m sure Persy and her team know how to be discreet,” Sinclair dismissed.
“Besides which, it’s already been decided,” Max stated evenly. “Two members of Persy’s team will be with you twenty-four-seven until we can locate and persuade this person to discontinue what appears to be a personal vendetta against you.”
“That could take weeks!” Casper muttered.
“You won’t be driving again for at least another five weeks, so what difference will it make if your driver is also one of your bodyguards?” Adam reasoned.
He glared his frustration. “You’ve been talking to my doctor.”
Adam snorted. “Someone had to. We all know that if I hadn’t, you would already have dispensed with the sling and been back to working twenty hours a day on your computer.”
“Oh, that’s still going to happen,” he assured. “Maybe not for twenty hours a day,” he conceded. “But I am still capable of working. And I won’t need bodyguards when I fully intend to stay within the walls of our family estate.”
“We disagree.” Sinclair’s comment revealed this subject had been very thoroughly discussed before Casper arrived. “One bodyguard will be inside the house with you at all times, the second one outside patrolling the grounds with the other security guards on duty that day or night.”
Casper glared his frustration, but knew he couldn’t protest further when, for totally different reasons, they’d had a few security breaches at the estate during the past year.
