Chapter 5
JACKSON
I watched Elena Peters through the security monitor as she slipped back inside from the parking lot, sliding her phone into her purse.
Her shoulders dropped a fraction, the slight tension in her body visible even on the grainy feed.
That wasn't the posture of someone who'd just had a casual lunch break call.
Pulling up the background check results on my laptop, I scrolled through what our team had compiled.
Basic police record came back clean—not even a parking ticket.
Credit score decent but not stellar. Bachelor's degree in accounting, graduated with honors.
Previous employment at a small firm in another city, but only for a handful of months before she switched to a firm in her hometown, but both had given her positive references.
Standard stuff. Nothing that should have triggered my radar.
Yet something about her didn't sit right.
Maybe it was how her eyes had darted around the office when Roman introduced us, or how she'd glanced at me when I'd passed her office earlier, offering me a tight-lipped smile.
Or maybe it was the way she'd maintained eye contact a beat too long when we shook hands, like she was memorizing my face.
Or maybe I was just making excuses for why my pulse had kicked up when her hand touched mine.
Women always had similar responses when meeting me, and I was probably reading too much into it.
I stepped out of my office to refill my water bottle, catching Elena's gaze as she returned to her office. She gave me a slight smile, and I nodded in acknowledgement, smirking softly when she quickly averted her gaze. Something I was accustomed to.
"You know, Graves, it’s honestly offensive how good your face looks with a rifle in your hands. Like, do you wake up sculpted, or is that part of the training?"
My smirk faltered as Pickering's voice wafted through my mind, and I clutched my water bottle tighter as it finished filling.
I lurched back into my office, locking the door behind me before sinking into my chair, the memory rising to the surface as I closed my eyes.
"It’s genetics. And trauma," I said, smirking as I glanced over at Pickering, who was cleaning his rifle as we waited for the go-ahead for our mission.
“He’s not wrong. Tragedy does something for the jawline.” Raynes touched his own jawline as the rest of my team chuckled and snorted, milling around the rundown kitchen of a house we were using for cover.
“Exactly! Man’s walking around with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and not a ring on his finger. What is this? A Greek tragedy? A missed opportunity? A bad romcom? Man doesn't belong in the field, he belongs in a magazine,” Corr commented, earning a chorus of agreements as I shook my head.
“Maybe he’s secretly married. To vengeance. That’s hot.” Blake mumbled around a mouthful of food.
“Nah, he’s married to the mission. I just think he’s emotionally constipated. Probably cries in Morse code,” Raynes quipped.
"Hey, remember, you gotta fall asleep around me at some point," I warned, causing Raynes to wink.
"Don't threaten me with a good time, Graves," he shot back.
"What is your Tinder bio anyway? It's not still empty, is it?" Pickering asked as he set his cleaned rifle down. He hoisted himself onto the counter, grinning like the overgrown child he was sometimes.
"Nah, man doesn't need no Tinder bio with that face, probably has a slew of women in his messages offering to ride it," Corr scoffed.
“‘Former Special Forces. Dead eyes. Daddy issues. Will kill for you—or near you, depending on mood.’ That’s the whole damn fantasy," Blake said, listing them off his fingers as my team all laughed.
“I’d swipe right. For protection. And probably a chance to get stabbed, let’s be honest.” Raynes blew me a kiss, making me laugh as I shook my head.
“Jesus Christ, we’re about to breach a building and you’re planning Graves' Tinder bio," Turner finally spoke up from where he'd been resting his eyes in the corner, his arm over his face.
“I’m going to pretend this entire conversation never happened.” I glanced out the kitchen window at the setting sun. Our order to move would be coming in any minute now.
“But your cheekbones heard us. And they’re blushing," Raynes added, and I rolled my eyes.
I blinked as I forced the memory down. A memory of a time before my life went to hell, when it had exploded all around me and the world had shifted.
When I'd lost everything.
I drew in a grounding breath, tapping my dog tags absently as I focused on the task at hand and not the haunting laughs of my team in my mind.
I dug deeper into Elena's financial records, making calls and searching, doing exactly what Roman would want me to do as I pushed my past deep down and bottled it away.
It didn't take long for me to find more.
Monthly payments to County Hospital going back just over six months.
A mortgage co-signed with her mother that had been refinanced twice in the past year.
Credit card balances climbing steadily. A second job at some small diner in her hometown whilst already working full-time at her previous job.
A job she was still apparently on the books for part-time, which made me frown.
She was listed as working for them offsite, so I could only imagine that she was planning to do that work around her current hours with us.
Or in her breaks. Whichever way, it was quite the work load.
This wasn't the background of someone financially comfortable. This was someone drowning.
The hospital payments caught my attention. Regular amounts, same day each month. I made a few calls, and it didn't take me long to have what I needed.
Anna Peters, Elena's mother, was dying. Stage four ovarian cancer. My chest tightened as I leaned back in my chair, my mind going over what I'd learned.
She didn't have a good prognosis, and the recommended experimental treatments were not something her insurance was willing to cover. And they weren't cheap at all.
Elena's shift to this workplace was making more and more sense now.
The pieces were falling into place, the need to hold onto her old job alongside a new one.
She'd applied for this job with it's much better pay to try to save her dying mother.
A last scramble for hope, one that was a lost cause ultimately, even with two incomes.
I knew what her pay check was going to be, and it was not going to be enough, not in the timeframe she had for her mother's prognosis.
Even with supplementary income. A quick look at her co-owned property revealed it was being rented, but it wasn't even covering the mortgage repayments.
Maybe she could get more loans, but she was already being stretched thin.
I sighed, massaging my temple, hating the situation surrounding her.
Turning back to the security feed, I watched her at her desk. Macey was explaining something, pointing at the screen, and Elena nodded, her focus absolute. No wasted movements, no distractions. Just pure determination.
I recognized that look. I'd worn it myself. Someone who was desperately trying to find a way when everything was mounted against them.
The memory of smoke and screams tried to surface, but I pushed it back down where it belonged. That was a different life. A different me.
My phone buzzed with a text from Roman.
Anything on the new hire?
Clean record. Financial troubles due to mother's cancer treatment. Nothing suspicious yet.
I sent back.
His response came quickly.
Keep watching. First impressions can be deceiving. We need to be thorough.
Didn't I know it.
Throughout the afternoon, I monitored Elena through the cameras while pretending to work on other projects. At four o'clock, I went to her office as promised to set up her accounts and credentials.
"How's the first day treating you?" I asked, leaning over to access her computer.
"Good. Overwhelming, but good." Her scent hit me as I reached across her—something light and clean, like rain, tinged with something floral. "Macey's been thorough."
"She's the best." I typed in the admin credentials, aware of how close we were. "She's been with the company longer than almost anyone."
"She mentioned that. Said she's worked with the Donatis for almost thirty years."
Something in her tone made me glance at her. "That's right."
"Must be nice, having that kind of job security."
I studied her face for any hint of sarcasm or ulterior motive, but her expression remained masked, professional. Still, the comment registered as odd—like she was fishing.
"The Donatis take care of their own," I said carefully, watching her reaction.
A flicker of something crossed her face, but it was gone just as quick. "That's rare these days."
I finished setting up her access, showing her how to navigate the system and where to find the files she'd need. She was a quick study, asking smart questions and taking minimal notes. When our hands accidentally brushed as I demonstrated the filing system, I noticed her sharp intake.
At least I wasn't the only one affected.
"All set," I said, straightening up. "If you have any questions, you know where to find me. Extension 412 is me as well."
"Thanks." She smiled, and for a second, it reached her eyes—a genuine flash of warmth that made my chest warm in a way it shouldn't have. "I appreciate the help."
I nodded and left, unsettled by my reaction to her. This was a security assignment, not a date. My job was to assess whether she posed any risk to the family, not to notice how her blue eyes brightened when she smiled.
Back in my office, I continued monitoring her through the last hour of the workday. Her work patterns were methodical, focused.
Nothing suspicious. Nothing that threw up any red flags. Nothing that explained why I couldn't stop watching her.
At 5:30, she gathered her things to leave. I watched her say goodbye to Macey, then head to the elevator. Once she was gone, I made my way to Macey's office.
"How'd the new girl do?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Macey looked up from her computer. "Smart as a whip. Picked up in minutes what took others days."
"That's good, right?"
"Could be." Macey removed her reading glasses. "Could also mean she's smart enough to go poking around where she shouldn't."
I nodded. "Any red flags?"
"Not really. Asked about Grayson and Meredith, casual questions, nothing pushy. Wanted to know how often they come in, what their roles are. Standard curiosity for someone new."
"What did you tell her?"
"The basics. That Grayson runs Lion Freight and comes in occasionally for meetings, that Meredith helps with the foundation work part-time. Nothing she couldn't find online if she looked hard enough."
I processed this information, trying to decide if it was significant. "Anything else stand out?"
Macey considered. "She's disciplined. Focused. Said she grew up without a father, just her mother. You can always tell those ones, they've got something to prove." She shrugged. "Her mother must be a good woman, raising a daughter with that kind of work ethic."
The mention of Elena's mother sent a pang through my chest. Anna Peters, room 312, stage four cancer. Fighting for her life while her daughter worked hard trying to save her. Surely she knew that even with the pay rise, getting the treatment her mother needed wouldn't be attainable soon enough.
Then again, we all did irrational things when we were desperate. We did the best thing we could, even if we knew it wasn't enough.
Saving people was never easy.
"Thanks, Macey. See you tomorrow."
I returned to my office and shut the door, troubled by my own reactions. My job was to remain detached, to observe and report. Instead, I found myself wanting to know more about Elena Peters, and not just for security purposes.
I pulled up the footage from earlier, when she'd returned from her lunch break phone call.
Watched again as she tucked her phone away, that momentary slump of her shoulders before she squared them and walked back inside.
The look on her face—I recognized it now.
It was the same look I'd worn after making those calls to my teammates' families.
The weight of responsibility. Of knowing people depended on you, and you couldn't let them down. But also knowing that there was no real way out, that you were running out of options.
Closing the footage, I leaned back in my chair. Something about Elena Peters was off. My instincts were rarely wrong about that. But whether it was because she posed a threat or because I was inventing reasons to justify my interest in her, I couldn't say.
And that uncertainty bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
I needed to maintain professional distance. She was a subject of investigation, nothing more. The fact that my mind kept drifting to the blue of her eyes or the brief warmth of her smile was irrelevant. Dangerous, even.
I'd learned the hard way what happened when you let your guard down. When you failed to see threats until it was too late.
Never again.
I sent my daily report to Roman, keeping it factual and concise. Then I gathered my things to leave, already planning how I'd approach tomorrow's surveillance. I needed to be more careful, more detached.
Because something told me Elena Peters was going to test my professional boundaries in ways I wasn't prepared for.