Protective Secrets (The Protective Series, Book 3)

Chapter Nine

[Asko's P.O.V]

The backstage area was abuzz with movement. Photographers with media passes dangling from their necks scurried about, standing at different points in the room and dropping down on one knee to take photos of us. The sound of shutters snapping was merely one of the many things I'd adapted to over time since becoming a superstar crime fighter, amongst the hysterical screams and cries of fans everywhere we went.

Jarmo stood at the back of the room in front of the set up buffet table, placing fries, bacon and savoury rice on a plastic plate. His jet black hair had been professionally touched up before the show by his own personal hair stylist, but now clung to the sides and nape of his neck with sweat. It had grown a lot since its last cut ten months ago, starting to slowly spill over the top of his shoulders. He whirled around on one foot elegantly, his long fringe falling into his dark eyes as he walked up to me.

"Is everything alright, chief?" He asked with a curious raise of his eyebrow, sliding a spoonful of savoury rice into his mouth.

"I just spoke to Jed," I answered, waving my space grey iPhone 7 around as proof that the call had actually taken place. "He's really upset, the poor guy. He could barely keep it together."

Jarmo looked down at the spork he held between his thumb and index finger, furrowing his thick eyebrows in uncertainty as he chewed the food around quietly.

"Well he did lose the love of his life," he said with his mouth full, swallowing the grains of rice down. "You'd feel the same if Jed died."

My chest rose gradually, before falling as I exhaled a deep sigh. A photographer approached us from the right side of the room, wearing a black cap on top of his head stitched with the words Läns-Savo in white; one of the local newspapers in the area. Grabbing his Nikon SLR by either side of the thick strap around his neck, he wordlessly lifted it up to his face and squinted through the eye piece.

The camera beeped twice before the shutter went off, indicating that the photo had been captured. Thankfully he decided not to use the flash, sparing our eyes from being temporarily blinded.

"Would either of you fine gentlemen like to come on a trip with me?" Izzy's deep American voice sounded from the doorway.

Surely enough, he was leaning his forearms against either side of the wooden doorframe as I turned around with Jarmo, reaching across the front of his chest to retrieve a second plastic plate from the small pile.

"Where are we going first?" Jarmo questioned, flicking thin strips of hair from his face.

"I'm planning on paying Mr Dan Fisher an unexpected visit down at the police station," Izzy lowered his arms from the frame, padding in our direction and stopping a metre from us. He wore a sleeveless black top, emphasising the bulging muscles in his arms and showing off the cross tattoo taking up the entire upside of his right bicep. A pair of dark grey jeans hugged his hips, looking brand new. "I want to find out what he was really doing in that house the other night. The story he fed us just doesn't sit right with me. I think that there's something else entirely he's keeping from you boys."

"That was my initial thought too," I said, scanning my eyes across the various dishes spread out on the long table covered with a blue sheet.

Everything looked appetising, but I knew that if I piled and piled food onto my plate, it would end up being another overestimation of how hungry I actually was and I wouldn't be able to finish it all. I picked up the pair of metal tongs that Jarmo had placed in the salad bowl, dropping a couple of German sausages onto the plate and squeezing some tomato sauce over them from one of the three bottles lined against the wall.