Chapter 8 Oorah #2
Jenna raised a hand to her mouth to stifle her laugh.
Jon grinned. “Yes, ma’am, that one’s mine. Feel free to take note of it.”
Diane giggled briefly. “I’m sorry to say I haven’t noticed any other. But I did fall asleep for a bit this afternoon.”
Jenna’s amusement fell. “That’s okay. If you could just keep an eye out for me, I’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll be sure to do that, sweetheart.”
They disconnected and Jenna slumped back. “Well, at least we know she looks periodically.”
“How likely is it that someone got access to your key while you weren’t paying attention?”
Jenna frowned. “I keep my things locked up when I’m at work.
Even my employees don’t have access.” She shrugged.
“Sure, I set my purse down next to me when I go to the diner, like every other woman, but it’s right at my side.
Not hanging off the chair behind me. I’m kind of paranoid about that stuff. ”
“And Diane?”
Nerves twisted Jenna’s insides. “I have no idea what her security habits are. I know she keeps a spare key of everyone’s units, somewhere inside her place. She never invites us that deep in.”
Jon shifted his gaze around. “Checking out the apartment thoroughly would be a good idea,” he said, “but unless doing so clearly reveals the guilty party, that’s still going to leave you with two immediate options.”
Jenna twisted a little sideways. “I don’t follow.”
He met her stare and held up one hand, ticking off fingers. “One, you stay in the comfort of your home and I crash on the sofa.”
Her eyebrows leapt up her forehead.
“Option two,” he continued, “you pack a bag for a minimum of two nights—because it pays to be prepared—and come back with me to the city. We’ll find a hotel or something, you can have your own space, we’ll both have peace of mind.”
Her mouth fell open.
“Either way, you’re not staying here alone until some more security features are installed. Tomorrow I’ll pick up a camera system you can attach to your doorway, and we’ll see if we can arrange for an alarm company to beef everything up.”
“Oh my God, you’re serious.”
Jon scowled. “I told you I don’t joke about your safety, Jen, and I meant it.”
He had said something like that, hadn’t he?
Jenna folded her arms across her chest, suddenly indignant as old and unwanted feelings surged through her. It probably wasn’t his fault. With a clearer head, she might even recognize his logic. In the moment, all she heard was control, control, control. “And what if I just say no?”
His scowl remained. “Jenna, this is not the time to be stubborn.”
She jumped to her feet, putting more distance between them for both their sakes.
“That’s hilarious, because I’m thinking this is precisely the time to be standing my ground.
I’m not a doll you can yank around on a whim, Jon.
I’m not just going to go wherever you want, when you want, for as long as you want.
Been there, done that, and never a-fucking-gain, thank you.
Are we really freaking out over the location of a neglected milkshake right now?
” She smacked herself in the chest. “I’m a grown-ass woman.
So even if some weirdo did happen by and pick my locks—which honestly, I don’t properly remember locking—maybe it was just some stupid, high teenager getting his jollies off.
I’m not going to let that scare me out of my life.
I’ve survived a lot worse. And that ‘worse’ taught me not to cave to the first warning signs when they’re masqueraded as good intentions. ”
Jon’s expression tightened as she spoke and it was plain he did not like what he heard.
That was fair, she didn’t even like saying it.
Except it felt good to release some of the agitated energy …
for a few seconds. Then the guilt rushed in, and she had to clamp her lips shut to keep from apologizing for the entire rant.
She’d let things get too out-of-hand between them in just a few hours.
Boundaries were good. Boundaries were smart.
And she would never apologize for taking control of her life. The people meant to be a part of it would understand and respect that.
After several long seconds, Jon stood. He didn’t look away, his face didn’t darken into a glare, and he didn’t raise his voice when he spoke.
He also didn’t step closer or try to reach for her.
“There’s a difference between someone who genuinely wants to see you safe and someone who only wants to keep you beneath their thumb.
Eventually, you’ll understand which category I’m in. Have a good night, Jenna.”
Her eyes widened as he turned and began striding from the room without further argument. She wasn’t sure if she was more shocked that he wasn’t pushing it or that he hadn’t said anything aggressive.
Her gaze dropped back to the sofa and she winced. The man did have one glaring mental block going on, though. She darted forward, snatched up the letter that seemed half wedged behind the seat cushion, and chased him down the hall. “Jon!”
He stopped and turned halfway. If he felt any kind of curiosity or hopefulness, he hid it well. His face was a mask.
Jenna told herself not to take that personally and held out the worn envelope. “I’m sorry”—she was, though she imagined it didn’t come off as overly sincere—“but you’re going to have to be a big boy and read this on your own after all.”
His jaw tightened for an instant and he reached out, slipping the letter from her grasp. “Don’t worry about it. Just lock up behind me.”
She trailed after him to the door, her throat constricting more with each step.
Had she done the right thing? Was she overthinking?
Had she misread something? It didn’t seem believable that Jon would be the same type of man as her ex, but she needed to remind herself she really hadn’t known him in a very long time.
For as much as he felt familiar, it was entirely possible he’d developed his share of toxic, distasteful traits while he was away as it was that he’d grown stronger and somehow better.
Actually, it was less likely that he’d grown better. He’d always been inherently good.
She just hated to think he might have become … less-so.
She hated watching him walk away again, without so much as turning to look at her. But she had to stick to her guns. She couldn’t throw away everything she’d worked hard to build up inside herself the moment some strong guy showed up at her doorstep and suggested he’d take care of her.
If she’d overreacted, and if what they’d shared earlier was real, then she had to hope he’d be back. And if he isn’t, then I let it go. Again.
Her heart cried as she pushed the door shut and went through the motions of securing each lock.
Not as brokenly as when she’d watched him disappear down the tunnel that led to the airplane taking him away, but the feeling was familiar enough nonetheless to remind her of why she’d warned herself against reconnecting with Jon Johnson.
No matter his intentions, the man was dangerous to her. Perhaps more dangerous than any other.
If he ever met her ex, he was going to kill the fucker. For hurting her, for scaring her, and for leaving such a lasting scar on her soul. That last one in particular.
Jon blew out a hard breath as he put his truck in park. He’d hurt her, too, despite that he’d never meant to. It was why he’d left without a fight when every bone in his body had screamed at him to plant himself beside her.
The only way to appease his conflicting instincts was to make quick work of the tasks that stood in his way. First, he shot off a text to Lance.
Not coming back tonight. Staking out Jenna’s place. Light me up if you need anything.
He took the opportunity to put the device on a charger for a few minutes, then swung out of the truck cab to climb up to the roof.
The sun was low enough that the forest surrounding Misty Glades blocked a lot of it, making the evening hour appear later than it should, but with no other obtrusion, it was enough for Jon to read by.
And it was well past time he read the damn letter.
He brushed his thumb once over his scrawled name before finally slicing the envelope open.
Inside, he found a folded sheet of lined notepaper, and tucked into that, an old index card with a small key taped to one side.
The ink on both was different, and at a glance it was easy to see the handwriting was different, too.
His stomach twisted and he curled his fingers around the card, opting to read the letter first.
Dear Jon,
I don’t know when you’ll come home, or if I’ll still be here, so I’m writing this down to save it for you.
You’d be proud of me, baby. I’ve been keeping a secret from George.
There should be a small, silver key taped to an index card in the envelope where I’ve sealed this letter.
If there’s not, George broke his promise again.
But I’m going to try really hard to make him mean it, so it should be there.
That card, and the key, are for you, Jon.
I don’t know what’s being stored away there, only that your grandpa was so proud of you, and he wanted to make sure you didn’t end up destitute when you came home.
Whatever that key leads to, it’s your inheritance, baby.
It’s all your grandpa, or I, can offer. I’m sorry.
I hope you come home. I miss you, and I’m so sorry I wasn’t better to you. Love you forever, Jon.
She signed it sloppily. Long-dried tear stains crinkled the paper and blurred the ink in multiple places. But it was far more coherent than Jon had honestly expected. And obviously written before his rumored death. Which meant she’d kept it despite believing him gone.
Throat tight, Jon lowered the letter and shifted his attention to the card and the shorter message written there. Final words he’d never expected to receive from his long-departed grandfather.
I am immeasurably proud of you, my boy. I guess you’re a full-fledged Devil Dog now.
What I have left is yours. You’ve earned it, so make use of it.
And when you get in, you’ll need a code. There was only one that was appropriate.
Oorah.
Jon ground his teeth against the burn trying to build up the back of his throat and into his sinuses.
He barely remembered his grandfather’s handwriting, but he was pretty sure it hadn’t been as bad as what presented on the card.
There was an address on the back, but no date, and his instinct insisted this note system had been set up near the end—a final, secretive farewell.
He let his head tip back to stare up toward the sky, his thumb resting over the cool metallic surface of the key.
His mother may have lost it in her final days, but it seemed she’d found some moments of clarity to do one last thing for him.
And while he had no idea what his grandfather could have left behind, Jon wasn’t ungrateful for either gesture.
A drop of rain pulled down from the sky, splashing onto his cheek and seeping into his skin.
Jon’s lips tipped up. “Oorah.”