Chapter 9
Kendall
"Don't touch anything," Jax says, his hand on my lower back, steering me away from the worst of the damage. "This is a crime scene now."
Crime scene. My building is a crime scene.
"Ms. Greene!" Mrs. Rodriguez rushes toward me, her two young children clinging to her legs. "Our apartment, the window, it's all gone. Glass everywhere. We can't stay there tonight. The building isn’t secure."
"We'll get you relocated," I promise, already mentally calculating vacant units. "The complex will cover temporary housing."
"But our things—"
"Everything will be secured. I promise."
More residents approach, all with the same fears, the same questions. Where will they go? Is it safe? Who would do this and why?
I know who. But knowing and proving are two different things.
The police presence is overwhelming. Three patrol cars, Captain Ramirez himself, and what looks like someone from the state fire marshal's office. They're taking this seriously now. Too bad it took a gasoline threat to get here.
"Ms. Greene," Captain Ramirez approaches, his expression grim. "We need to evacuate the building while we investigate."
"All forty units?" My mind races. "Captain, that's over a hundred people. Families. Where are they supposed to go?"
"That's not my—"
"I'll coordinate it," I interrupt. "But I need two hours to arrange temporary housing."
He looks like he wants to argue, but Jax steps in. "Two hours, Captain. She knows these residents. Let her help them."
The captain nods grudgingly. "Two hours. Then everyone needs to be out."
I dive into crisis mode, phone pressed to my ear as I coordinate with other properties, hotels, and emergency services. Jax stays close, one hand occasionally touching my elbow or shoulder, grounding me when the chaos threatens to overwhelm.
"Fifteen rooms at the Marriott," I tell him between calls. "Eight units available at Building 2. The rest can go to—"
"Kendall."
I look up from my lists to find Declan holding an evidence bag. Inside is a brick with a note rubber-banded to it.
"This was in your office," he says quietly.
I read the note through the plastic: "YOU'RE NEXT."
The phone slips from my suddenly numb fingers. Jax catches it, his other arm going around my waist.
"That's it," he says. "You're not staying alone. You’re moving, too."
"I have an apartment—"
"With a door anyone can kick in and windows anyone can break." His jaw is tight, fury radiating from every line of his body. "You're staying with someone. Tonight."
"I can stay at Charli’s—"
"Charli's in Miami at that food conference, remember? She mentioned it at breakfast."
Right. The breakfast that feels like a lifetime ago instead of this morning.
"Kate and Hudson—"
"Are also in Miami with Charli."
"Then I'll get a hotel—"
"Like hell you will." He turns me to face him. "Someone just threatened to burn down a building and left a personal threat in your office. You're not staying in some random hotel where anyone can find you."
"Then where—"
"My place. Across the hall. Where I can keep you safe."
The logical part of my brain knows he's right. The emotional part—the part still feeling his lips on mine from earlier—knows this is dangerous for entirely different reasons.
"Jax—"
"This isn't negotiable, Kendall. You’re staying with me."
Captain Ramirez approaches before I can argue further. "Ms. Greene, we found something else. Brad Hutchins' truck was spotted on security footage from the gas station across the street. Right around the time the vandalism would have occurred."
"That's proof…"
"That's circumstantial. But it's enough for a warrant." He looks at Jax. "Keep her safe. This is escalating faster than we could have expected."
The next two hours blur together. I move residents, coordinate with insurance companies, arrange for emergency boarding of the broken windows. Through it all, Jax shadows me, his presence both comforting and distracting.
"Mrs. Buchanan needs her diabetes medication from her apartment," I tell him, adding to my ever-growing list. "And the Johnsons' cat is still hiding somewhere on the third floor."
"I'll get Declan to escort Mrs. Buchanan up. And animal control can help with the cat."
"Animal control?" I laugh bitterly. "After Gertie, I don't trust them with my house plants."
His lips twitch. "Fair point. I'll get the cat myself."
"You hate cats."
"I hate seeing you this stressed more."
By the time we finish, the sun is setting, painting the broken glass in shades of gold and red that look disturbingly like flames. I stand in the parking lot, watching my residents load into cars and shuttle vans, their lives disrupted because someone has a vendetta against me.
"This is my fault," I say quietly.
"No," Jax says firmly. "This is Brad and Valerie's fault. Or whoever's helping them."
"If I just quit—"
"Then they win. And then they do this to the next property manager. And the next." He turns me to face him. "You don't quit, Kendall. You don't run. You stand and fight."
"Easy for you to say. Your residents aren't being terrorized."
"No, but the woman I—" He stops, jaw clenching. "You're being terrorized. And that's worse."
Before I can process what he almost said, my phone rings. It's Mr. Morrison, my boss.
"Kendall, I heard about Building 3. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. All residents are being relocated temporarily."
"Good. Listen, the corporate office is concerned. They're suggesting you take a leave of absence until this is resolved."
"Mr. Morrison—"
"It's not a reflection on your work. But with the threats escalating..."
"I understand." I don't, but what else can I say?
"Take the week. With pay. Let the police handle this and keep yourself safe, too."
He hangs up, and I stand there, phone in hand, feeling like the ground has been pulled out from under me.
"They're putting me on leave," I tell Jax.
"Good."
"Good?"
"You need to be safe. You can't do that if you're running between properties all day."
"My job is all I have," I say, and immediately wish I hadn't.
He steps closer. "That's not true."
"Isn't it? No family, a few wacked-out friends, work is my life—"
"You have friends. The Bad News Babes would take bullets for you. The Walking Ladies adore you. Hudson and Kate, Grace and Kane—they all care about you." He pauses. "You have me."
"Do I?"
"Yes."
The simple certainty in his voice undoes something inside me. But before I can respond, another text comes through. Unknown number again.
Unknown: Enjoy your last night. Tomorrow everything burns.
Jax reads it over my shoulder, his entire body going rigid.
He immediately calls Captain Ramirez, then Declan, then someone from the fire department, I think his name is Chance.
Within minutes, there are plans for overnight surveillance on all my properties, increased patrols, and a trace on the phone number.
"We need to go," he says. "Now. I want you out of sight of this asshole."
The drive to our building is tense. Jax checks the mirrors constantly, taking a circuitous route that I know is meant to lose any tail, if we have one.
This all seems like a movie I’m stuck in.
When we finally arrive, he insists on checking the parking garage, the stairwells, and both our apartments before letting me out of his sight. I just want to pee in peace.
"Clear," he finally says, but his hand stays on his weapon.
We stand in the hallway between our doors, and I realize I have no idea what happens next.
"Pack a bag," he says. "You're staying with me tonight."
"Jax—"
"Someone just threatened to burn everything down tomorrow. You're not staying alone."
I want to argue, but I'm too tired. Too scared. Too overwhelmed by everything that's happened since I woke up this morning expecting a normal day.
I pack mechanically. Clothes, toiletries, laptop, the photo of my grandmother I always take when I travel. When I emerge from my bedroom with my overnight bag, Jax is on the phone again.
"—extra patrols all night. Yes, sir. I understand."
He hangs up and looks at me. "Ready?"
"No."
"Me neither."
His apartment is exactly what I expected—organized, minimal, but with surprising touches of personality. Photos from the Hoopla’s gang on various adventures. A guitar in the corner I didn't know he played. And on the kitchen counter, the coffee maker that's definitely seen better days.
"Still can't make decent coffee?" I ask.
"Some things never change." He sets my bag in the bedroom—his bedroom—then returns. "You can have the bed. I'll take the couch."
"Jax—"
"Shower first. Argue later. You smell like gasoline."
He's right. The acrid smell clings to my clothes, my hair, my skin. I escape to the bathroom, standing under the hot water until it runs cold, trying to wash away the day's horror. When I emerge, wrapped in my fuzzy robe, he's cooking something that smells amazing.
"Pasta," he says without turning around. "Still your comfort food?"
"Yeah."
We eat in comfortable silence, the domesticity of it both foreign and familiar. This could have been our life, if things had been different. If he'd stayed. If I'd forgiven him sooner. If, if, if.
"Stop," he says quietly.
"Stop what?"
"Overthinking. I can hear your brain from here."
"My brain is very quiet."
"Your brain is writing pro and con lists about everything that's happened today."
He's not wrong. But before I can respond, there's a knock at the door. We both tense. Jax immediately goes into cop mode, hand moving to his weapon as he approaches the door.
"Who is it?"
"Your worst nightmare," comes a sickeningly sweet voice.
Valerie.
Jax opens the door but doesn't invite her in. "Mrs. Thornfield."
"Officer Masterson." She peers around him and spots me. "And Ms. Greene. How cozy."
"What do you want?" I ask too tired for politeness.
"Just wanted to see the damage for myself. Building 3 is quite a disaster. All those broken windows. That threatening message." She smiles, and it's all teeth. "Terrible for property values. The board will have to discuss your continued employment, of course."
"The board already cleared me—"
"That was before you got a building destroyed." Her smile widens. "Brad Hutchins is filing a lawsuit, you know. Says you've created a hostile living environment."
"Brad Hutchins is a suspect in the vandalism," Jax says flatly.
"Is he? How interesting. I heard he has an alibi. Multiple witnesses saw him at Hooplas drinking all afternoon." She looks at me again. "Though I wonder what the board will think about you shacking up with a police officer. Conflict of interest, wouldn't you say?"
"The board already knows about the protection detail," I tell her.
"Protection. Is that what we're calling it?" She smirks. "Well, enjoy your protection, Ms. Greene. You're going to need it. Tomorrow's going to be... eventful."
The way she says ‘eventful’ makes my blood run cold.
She leaves, her heels clicking down the hallway like a countdown.
"She's involved," I say. "She knows something."
"Probably. But she's smart. Always has alibis, never directly implicated." Jax locks the door, checks it twice. "We need actual evidence."
My phone buzzes with another text. Unknown number.
Unknown: Nice robe. Pink suits you.
I drop the phone, my blood turning to ice. "They're watching. They can see us."
Jax immediately moves to the windows, pulling all the blinds. Then he picks up my phone, screenshots the message, and forwards it to Captain Ramirez.
"That's it," he says. "You don't leave my sight."
"Jax—"
"No arguments. Someone's watching you, threatening you, escalating every day. I'm not letting you out of my sight until we catch them."
"That's not practical—"
He cups my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. "I lost you once because I wasn't here. I'm not losing you again."
The intensity in his voice, in his eyes, breaks something inside me. The tears I've been holding back all day finally fall.
"I'm scared," I admit.
"I know." He pulls me against him, and I bury my face in his chest. "But I've got you. We're going to catch whoever's doing this."
"What if they really do set a fire? What if people get hurt because of me?"
"Hey." He tilts my chin up. "This isn't your fault. None of it."
"If I just quit—"
"Then what happens? They’ll move on to terrorize someone else." His thumb brushes away a tear. "You don't run, Kendall. It's not who you are."
"Maybe who I am is the problem."
"Who you are is incredible. Strong. Caring. Protective of everyone in your buildings." He presses his forehead to mine. "Who you are is exactly who you should be."
We stand there, holding each other in his kitchen, while somewhere out there, someone is watching and planning their next move.
"We should get some sleep," he says eventually. "Tomorrow's going to be rough."
I follow him to the bedroom, watching as he grabs a pillow and blanket for the couch.
"Jax?"
He pauses in the doorway.
"Stay."
"Kendall—"
"Not... not like that. Just... stay. I don't want to be alone. And you said you wanted to keep me in your sight."
He looks at me for a long moment, then nods. We climb onto opposite sides of the bed, careful not to touch, the space between us feeling like miles and inches simultaneously.
"Thank you," I whisper in the dark. "For everything today. The goat. The protection. All of it."
"Always," he whispers back.
I lie there, listening to his breathing, feeling the warmth of him just inches away. Outside, someone's watching, planning, threatening. But in here, in the dark, with Jax beside me, I feel something I haven't felt in days.
Safe.
Tomorrow, we'll deal with Brad and Valerie and whoever else is involved. Tomorrow, we'll figure out what this thing between us means. Tomorrow, we'll face whatever comes next.
But tonight, for the first time in years, I fall asleep to the sound of Jax breathing beside me.
And despite everything—the threats, the fear, the uncertainty—it feels like coming home.