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Quote by T.G. Campbell

“I was attempting to take the gun,” Mr Locke stated, “in the hope it would prevent it from firing.” “Take it from me, Mr Locke, that don’t work,” Mr Skinner said as he lifted his iron hand.”

Quote by T.G. Campbell

Book:The Case of The Spectral Shot
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The Case of The Spectral Shot

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T.G. Campbell

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“Acting from instinct he angled his body so it would shield Lydia's, sweeping her back into the recession of a doorway that, while closed, would give her shelter. Pressing close, he wrapped himself around her so the blows would strike him first. They did. Repeatedly. A clump of mud and small stones that had missed its target struck and shattered on the doorframe and he felt her jump and start to tremble, so he bent his head and murmured words of reassurance, low and calm over the wailing of the injured man, and all the ugly shouts of his tormentors. Fear, he knew, was mostly in the mind, and he would spare her that. He'd long since learned to channel his own fear to action, so it was surprising to him now to feel it twist within his chest- a fear not for himself, his safety, but for hers. It lingered even when the mob had passed them by, the angry tumult growing fainter down the street, and there was no more danger. Stepping back, he gave them both the space to breathe. Her face was pale, and she appeared to still be shaking but she only drew her cloak a little tighter as though wanting him to think it was the cold, and he had seen enough cadets who did not wish to show him weakness that he recognized her brave attempt to seem more strong in front of him, and though he was not fooled by it he understood her need to make the effort. Having satisfied himself she was unharmed, he wanted for her to collect herself sufficiently to leave the sheltered doorway, then he offered her his arm again, and once again she took it, holding tighter to him this time, and they crossed the street in silence. But the feeling, strange and new, stayed firmly lodged beneath his ribs, as though once having taken hold it was now part of him, and he had no idea what to do with it. We always fear what we don't know, he'd told the young de Joncourt boy. And walking now with Lydia's gloved hand upon his arm, her warmth beside him, Jean-Philippe admitted there was truth in what he'd said. Because in all his twenty-seven years, with all that life had dealt him, he had not known anything like this.”

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“The thing most people don't plan for in my industry is longevity. I try and remind them, this is the business of protection, and as such, we’ve got to think about it like it’s a business. Once you understand business norms and business principles, and then start applying those, that’s where you get that longevity from.”

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“I just want us to be honest with ourselves, what’s our intent when we criticize, is it to make someone else better, or just to announce to the world that we are better, and use someone else’s error to help us shine a little brighter?”

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“I cannot dance with you because I... well..." She cleared her throat. "... That is to say..." "Miss Greene cannot dance with you," a deep, smooth voice rumbled behind her, "because she has already promised the next to me." She swallowed a lurch of dread, instantly recognizing to whom the sultry, lazy drawl belonged. Witherby recoiled from the intrusion. "I say," he replied, looking up at Rothbury with distrust, "no wonder the young lady hesitated over my offer. I know for a fact Miss Greene is not permitted to dance with you." Rothbury only chortled, low and deep. Charlotte could feel it thrum through her spine and down to the soles of her slippered feet. Turning, she stole a sidelong glance at him. He stood with his feet braced firmly on the floor, his hands behind his back. His burnished gold hair was swept back into place but for a thick lock that hung low on one side of his forehead. His hooded eyes stared down Witherby as he gave a lopsided grin that on any other man, she supposed, would appear utterly charming in a boyish sort of way. On Rothbury's handsome face, however, it looked watchful, lethal. Quite like he was silently daring Witherby to touch her just so Rothbury could have the pleasure of breaking his fingers.”

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“Hey, Abdul. How's the baby?" Nisha asked. The burly giant, who could snap your neck with his bare hands and shoot you dead from five hundred feet, went as soft and fuzzy as the teddy bear Yash had brought Abdul's newborn daughter yesterday. After seeing him hold the tiny pink bundle, Yash could not for the life of him stop thinking of the man as cuddly. "She's amazing. Has quite the lungs, just like her ammi." Abdul winked.”

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“You found me a female bodyguard? And you thought that would somehow make the job of bullying me into it easier?" She had the gall to grin. "Bingo. Wait here while I text her. We've made her wait long enough." He sank into a couch off in a private corner of the hospital waiting area. "I really pity poor Neel, you know that?" he said with all the spitefulness of a sibling who'd lost an argument. Her grin widened, a damn whoop of victory if he'd ever seen one. "You're so easy." He narrowed his eyes at her, deploying one of her own favorite strategies for getting her way. "You know Ma loves me more than you, right?" "Sorry, buddy, I'm the favorite by miles. Substantiate your claim by getting her to admit it, or shut up.”

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