Guardian to the Heiress Read Free Page A

Like, the guys Caro dates are our age.”
    Was thirty oldthese days? How depressing. “So you do know her?”
    “Course we do,” the other girl chimed in. She was plain, with an extraordinary hot-pink streak in her dark spiked hairdo, no doubt to shift focus from an over-long nose. “She’s our flatmate. You won’t find her at home. She’s out looking for Trace.”
    “And Trace would be?”
    “One of our mates,” the cheeky one supplied, still eyeing him over. “Trace is always getting herself into trouble. Caro likes to keep an eye on her.”
    “Any idea where she might have headed? I need to discuss a business matter with her. It’s urgent.”
    The two girls looked at each other, before deciding on giving him the information he sought. Evidently he had passed muster. “I’d say Trace’s little hidey-hole,” Cheeky said. “She doesn’t live here; can’t afford it. We can’t either, only for Caro. She helps us out. She’s not in any trouble, is she?” Both girls suddenly looked concerned.
    “Of course not. I only need to speak to her. Where does Trace—I assume that’s Tracey—live?”
    Cheeky supplied the address which was in a less salubrious inner-city suburb. He knew he could find it easily.
    * * *
    A narrow winding street snaked between too many overhanging trees. He didn’t like the idea of a young girl walking down this street at night. He would make a call the next morning to see if he could get those trees loped. He parked behind a car with a personalised number-plate that as good as announced Carol Emmett was inside. She was exactly where her flatmates had said she would be, checking on Trace; he didn’t like it. Whether her name had changed to Emmett or not, everyone knew she was Selwyn Chancellor’s granddaughter, albeit estranged. It was her grandfather’s dying wish she revert to her father’s name. From now on Carol Chancellor would need a bodyguard. Such a man would have to be unobtrusive, very probably with his function kept from his charge.
    He exited his car and locked it, looking up at an old Victorian house that had been converted into flats. It would have been an impressive house in its day. It still was, despite the current owner’s neglect. There was no security. That didn’t surprise him. The front door was even ajar. He pushed it gently, walking into the hallway before scanning the names of the tenants listed on the wall. Not that he needed to. The girls had told him that Trace lived with her boyfriend in flat number six. The tone had indicated they didn’t approve of Trace’s boyfriend, who wasn’t a university student. “Calls himself a chef,” Cheeky had supplied with a snort. “Works in a sandwich bar.”
    “He was a chef, Amanda. Got kicked out. Temper, remember?”
    He was halfway up the stairs when he heard shouting. The language was far from polite. He took the rest of the stairs at a rush. A raised male voice drowned out a young woman’s. The accent was educated, though she wasn’t averse to the odd swear word or two. She didn’t sound afraid, rather she sounded angry, challenging. With the wrong man that tone of voice was courting trouble. He had real reason to be concerned. He didn’t think that voice belonged to Tracey. It belonged to Carol Emmett, soon to be Chancellor again.
    He moved silently to the door and gave it a thump with his fist. The scruffy young man that came to the door was maybe twenty-five or-six, handsome, not tall but heavily muscled. He was wearing a tight T-shirt, no doubt to show off his physique. He looked strong. But depressingly stupid.
    “What d’ya want?”
    “Well, that’s to the point, if nothing else.” The show of aggression did nothing for Damon. “I’d like a word with Ms Emmett, if I may? She’s inside, isn’t she?”
    “Why would she wanna talk to you? Slumming, are yah?” The veins on the young man’s neck were standing out.
    “Can I have your name?” Damon asked crisply.
    That confused the guy.