Chapter 332


    Chapter 332 The Whistler


    Logan


    The air in the room was thick with tension as I strode in, my gaze fixated on the man I had trusted the


    most-James, my chief bodyguard and the one person who I put in charge of keeping an eye on E all


    those weeks ago when I found out about the men who harassed her in the park.


    There were moments in life where words weren’t required to convey the depth of one’s anger, and this


    was one of those moments. My face, I knew, was an open book of seething fury.


    “James.” My voice was colder than the north wind in winter. “I trusted you with one thing. ONE thing. To


    keep an eye on her. How could you let this happen?”


    James, despite his tall frame and muscr build, appeared smaller under my gaze. “I’m sorry, Logan,”


    he muttered, genuine remorse evident in his tone. “They moved faster than we anticipated. I managed


    to trail them a bit though.”


    Material ? of N?velDrama.Org.


    I clenched my fists, taking a deep breath to prevent myself frompletely losing it. E’s safety had


    be more than just a duty; it was personal. “And?” I pressed, my voice dripping with impatience,


    “I got a license te number,” he announced, pulling out a scrap of paper from his pocket and


    extending it toward me.


    I snatched it from his hand, scanning the scribbled digits and letters. This was good, very good. Even a


    single piece of concrete information could be the key to unlocking this puzzle.


    “This is valuable, James,” I conceded with a nod. “I hope you understand the gravity of the situation.”


    “I do,” he said, eyes downcast. “And I’m ready to make amends.”


    I turned away from him, addressing the group of men assembled around. “Gather up. We’ve got a lead.


    Let’s not waste time.”


    After a quick search using my connections, the license te was traced to an owner in the city -a


    certain Daniel Lawson, a name I hadn’t heard of. But names meant little in the city’s underbelly; aliases


    and pseudonyms were moremon than true identities. Before I could leave, though, Mrs.


    Wentworth’s voice caught my attention.


    “Logan. Here. Now.”


    Like an obedient child, I swung around to see the old housekeeper striding toward me. She had been


    working for me for so long that she was like a mother to me. I never ignored her, especially not when


    she sounded so stern.


    She approached me, looking me over as if inspecting a child who hade home after ying in the


    mud. “You’re going out again, aren’t you? With those men of yours?”


    I nodded. “There’s something I need to take care of.”


    She tsked, fussing over me like a mother hen. “You always have something to take care of, Logan. I


    worry about you.”


    I chuckled, bending down to give her a light peck on her cheek. “I’ll be fine, Mrs. Wentworth. I always


    am.”


    She took a step back, her gaze piercing. “That youngdy-E-she’s quite the beauty, isn’t she?”


    Caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic, I replied, “Yes, she is.” I was about to add more when she


    continued.


    “She cares for you deeply, Logan. More than you realize, or perhaps more than you want to admit.”


    I raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement creeping into my voice. “Mrs. Wentworth, I think you’ve been


    reading too many of those romance novels again.”


    She huffed, her expression stern. “I may be old, Logan, but I’m not blind. I’ve seen the way she looks at


    you. The longing, the worry, the love. It’s there, clear as day.”


    Iughed, feeling a bit awkward. “E doesn’t like me in that way. We’re business partners, nothing


    more.”


    Before I knew what was happening, Mrs. Wentworth’s hand shot up, giving me a sharp smack upside


    the head.


    “Ouch!” I eximed, rubbing the spot. “What was that for?”


    She red at me. “For being dense. I was a young girl once, and I remember how it felt to be in love.


    When E looks at you, I see that same emotion in her eyes. Maybe she hasn’t admitted it to you or


    even herself, but it’s there.”


    I stood there, a bit shell-shocked, trying to process her words. Could she be right? My mind was


    swirling with memories of E and our interactions. Had I really missed something so evident? I thought


    that E hated my guts because of what I was. When I had kissed her earlier, she had pushed me


    away and looked at me as though she had been burned.


    Seeing my bewildered expression, Mrs. Wentworth’s demeanor softened. “Promise me you’ll be


    careful, Logan. Not just for your sake, but for E’s too.”


    The weight of her words settled in my chest. “I promise,” I murmured, my voice low.


    Deep within, my wolf stirred, a sense of satisfaction humming through our bond. The idea that E


    could harbor deeper feelings for me ignited a spark of hope and tion.


    Mrs. Wentworth patted my cheek gently.


    “That’s a goodd. Now, off you go and do what you need to do. And remember, sometimes the


    answers we seek are right in front of us.”


    Surrounded by my team, we navigated the city’s twisted alleys and streets, finally arriving at a worn-


    out, gray building, its facade appearing as shady as the information that led us to it.


    The door was unlocked, which was odd in itself. It creaked loudly as we entered, every sound echoing


    ominously in the dimly lit space.


    “Stay sharp,” I whispered to the men, holding up a hand to signal them to spread out.


    The room looked as though its upant had vanished in haste. Chairs were overturned, papers


    scattered everywhere, and a cold gust of wind blew from an open window, fluttering the curtains.


    “This ce is empty,” muttered Alex, one of my trusted men. Cursing under my breath, I began


    searching the room, desperate for a clue. Anything to point us in the right direction.


    “Sir,” called out Michael, another member of my crew, from the far end of the room. He held out a small,


    white piece of fabric. A handkerchief. I walked over, taking it from him. There was something


    embroidered on it: the initials ‘D.L.’


    “D.L.? Who could that be?” Michael mused, ncing around. “Surely not the same Daniel Lawson


    we’re looking for?”


    It seemed too obvious, too simple. “It could be a ploy to lead us astray,” I said, my mind racing. “Or it


    could be legitimate. Right now, everything is a piece of the puzzle.”


    As the men continued tob through the premises, a soft, eerie whistling sound reached my ears. It


    seemed toe from the shadows, drifting closer, ying the tune of an old nursery rhyme: ‘Ring


    around the rosies’.


    My men froze.


    Instinctively, I reached for my gun, its cold metal reassuring against my skin.


    “Who’s there?” I barked, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. The whistling grew louder, echoing


    through the abandoned building, sending shivers down my spine.


    The room was awash in silence except for the unnerving tune, each note clearer than thest. It felt like


    a game-a deadly game of cat and mouse, with the roles yet undetermined.


    Gripping my weapon tighter, I braced myself for whaty ahead, the melody an eerie reminder of how


    swiftly the hunter could be the hunted.