Chapter 10
Jake
“Alright, Teddy Bear,” she says slowly while keeping pace at my side, and I recognize her nickname for what it is: more bark.
I’m tempted to warn her that if she keeps walking around the apartment in a short tee, she’s gonna get to see all my sides, but I stick to saying what she needs to hear.
“No, not a teddy bear. But you’ve made it into a small circle I call friends in under a week.
You also happen to be my assignment, which means I’ve got your six. ”
I scan the street as we cross it, our footsteps echoing off the empty asphalt.
The area’s dead on weekends, our voices carrying farther than they should in the urban quiet.
Even the apartment building on this block seems to hold its breath, windows dark except for the occasional blue flicker of a television hanging on a wall.
Quinn said she found a businessman who owned the condo and used it to stay on trips to the area, and I’m wondering if several of the condos in the building are used as business investments for employees traveling to the region.
Most of the street level businesses close early on the weekend, their neon signs dark and silent.
Closed signs behind darkened glass create an eerie tunnel effect.
The bodega’s corrugated metal guard, yanked down with a loud screech I’d heard from the balcony, only adds to it.
The metal surface is cool to the touch when I brush against it, and it bears the scratches and dents of a thousand hurried closings.
Somewhere off in the distance, an ambulance siren sounds. On the side streets, two empty cars claim spots and the slight scent of exhaust tinges the air, as if a city bus or truck traveled past recently.
Daisy pauses outside the apartment building, hesitating before walking into the door I’ve opened for her. “Jake, thanks. I appreciate…you know...” She waves her hand in the air like there’s something tangible she can see. “For all that.”
A summer breeze drifts, ruffling her short strands, and she pushes the flyaways back off her face. It could be the lighting, but I’d swear her eyes are misty, like she’s getting twisted over someone saying something nice.
She might feel like she’s alone, but she’s not, and as we’re standing by the elevator, I remind her of that, because it’s an important thing for people to know they’re not alone. “You know, I’m not the only one standing by you. Your buddy Rhodes, he can’t be here, but he’s making sure someone is.”
“Oh, I remember.” There’s a smile lighting her pale features, but something’s off. “You’re here for the paycheck.”
“Hold up,” I say as she steps in the elevator. “That is not fair. That’s not what I meant at all.”
“It’s okay. I get it.” But her voice has gone flat, like she’s retreating behind walls I’m just now seeing.
“Do you? Because I don’t think you do.” The elevator doors close, trapping us in this moment, and I can see her reflection in the metal doors—arms crossed, chin up, ready for a fight that I don’t want to have.
If there’s one thing that pisses me off, it’s people who will take a job that they don’t believe in, all for the money.
And yeah, I get it. People take jobs all the time they don’t believe in, but in my line of work, it’s different.
In my line of work, shit goes FUBAR, we kill.
You gotta know you’re on the right side.
If you don’t have morals, ethics, well, then what the fuck are you? A stinking storm trooper?
I feel her eyes on me, but I’m not kowtowing…
The elevator dings, and we step into the hallway in silence.
I’ve probably just proved whatever point she was trying to make about people letting her down, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to apologize for having principles.
Still, the way she’s walking—shoulders rigid, keeping distance between us—tells me I hit a nerve I didn’t mean to hit.
If she thinks I’m an ass, that’s fine. I’ll prove to her I’m better than whatever shadows she’s got casting shade on anyone who comes into her life.
It’s not until we’re in the apartment that she speaks.
“I’m sorry,” she says, and that meek, small-sounding voice of hers softens my indignant edges. “I tend to do that.”
She’s not looking at me, instead focusing on setting down her backpack like it requires all her concentration.
“Do what?” I ask, unfolding my arms because suddenly this feels less like a confrontation and more like something fragile.
“Be an ass when people are nice.” She finally looks up, and there’s something raw in those misty dark eyes. “It’s easier to assume the worst, you know? Less disappointing when people prove you right.”
The honesty in her voice hits me square in the chest. This isn’t about the paycheck or the job. This is about someone who’s been let down enough times that kindness feels like a setup.
I study her face—the way she’s chewing her bottom lip, the defensive set of her shoulders that doesn’t quite hide the vulnerability underneath.
I recognize the pattern because I’ve done it myself.
Only I’m usually pushing people away so it doesn’t hurt when I need to leave.
My gut says she pushes people away because she doesn’t want them to hurt her if they leave.
“For what it’s worth,” I say, keeping my voice low, “I meant what I said. You’re not alone in this.”
Those doe eyes look up at me, and I catch the exact moment her expression shifts—from guarded to something softer, more open.
The space between us feels charged, like the air before a thunderstorm.
She takes a half-step closer, close enough that I can smell her shampoo, something clean and citrusy that makes me want to bury my nose in her hair.
Fuck me, this woman is really getting under my skin.
I want to wrap her up in my arms and soothe whatever hurt is pulsing beneath that tough exterior, while simultaneously wanting to press her against the nearest wall and show her exactly how much she affects me by fucking her brains out. That’s not a complimentary combo.
The urge to pull her to me, to find out if those lips taste as good as I’m thinking intensifies, and the way she’s staring me down, arms at her side, shoulders back, breaths coming shallow, tells me she won’t be opposed.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket. Excellent. It’s the interruption we need.
I check the name and it’s Quinn.
I answer with a swipe, hitting the speaker.
“Hey Quinn. I’ve got Jonas here. You’re on speaker.”
I set the phone down on the kitchen counter.
“I got a hit on Jocelyn Faribault. Emergency services were called to a residence she owns in Virginia.”
“Someone found her body?” Daisy asks.
“DOA. Dead on arrival.”
“Anything else?” Daisy asks.
“Fire. No documented suspicion of foul play.”
“Have you seen anything stating when they believe she died?” I ask.
“No,” Quinn answers. “A neighbor called in a fire. One body found. They didn’t have to wait for dental records to identify her, so my guess is her body wasn’t badly burned, but it was burned badly enough they believe the cause of death is smoke inhalation.
Those details will be included in the coroner’s report. ”
“What are they saying started the fire?”
“Gas company was called out, so that leads me to believe they suspect a gas line issue. If they suspect arson, nothing’s been documented to that effect.”
“Interesting. I wonder if the plan was to blow the place. Make it look like a gas leak and ensure her body couldn’t be autopsied.” I’m basically shooting whatever shit comes to my mind.
“Maybe. But if a gas leak is used to cause a house fire, doesn’t the whole house explode? I’m asking,” Quinn says. “Arson isn’t something I’ve studied.”
“Tell you the truth, I don’t have a lot of experience with gas lines,” I admit. “Just a healthy respect for them.” I’d expect an explosion, but there are variables.
“Quinn, can you send me the address?” Daisy asks. “And the reports? Or actually, where is it? Is her place close by?”
“It’s about two hours from you,” Quinn answers. “If this is where Jocelyn lived, then she had a sizable daily commute.”
“And that means someone drove with a dead body for a significant distance.” Daisy snaps her fingers.
“And that means a car passing by the intersection of either end of the office building between the time we found the body and a few hours ago held her body.” She sounds excited, like she’s found a missing clue.
But I deflate. I should’ve done a stake out. Observed everyone who entered and exited the building. Or called Noah so we could have someone on each side of the building.
“I’ll see what we can get from the traffic cams,” Quinn says.
“But all we’ll be getting is a stream of license plates.
It’s not like we could ever know what’s in the trunk or backseat.
But, let me see what we can do. Are you going to report what you found to the police?
If you do, it’ll be easier to get access. ”
“We can’t,” Daisy answers, chewing the corner of her lip. “Not yet. I’ll lose my in at Sterling Financial.”
Quinn says, “Don’t you think reporting a murder—”
“No.” Daisy rushes to the side table where she’s got a laptop charging. “I’ve got to be on the inside. Don’t worry about the traffic cams. I’m on it.”
“What about the lobby?” I ask Quinn and Daisy. “Can you possibly hack into the lobby surveillance footage?”
“If it’s not closed circuit,” Daisy answers. “If it’s closed… I wonder if building security is run by the building or by Sterling Financial.” Her fingers fly over the keys and I get the distinct feeling she’s talking to herself.
“Okay. Well, if you need resources, we’re connected,” Quinn says. “Jake, will you update Hudson?”
To my knowledge, she’s in the same house he’s in right now, but I suppose it’s best if I call in the sitrep. This gig is evolving into more than a basic protection detail. Which speaks well of Rhodes’ gut instinct—and not too well of mine.