Chapter 37 ETHAN
ETHAN
The office is quiet except for the soft clink of ice against glass and the occasional creak of leather as Declan shifts his massive frame in the chair across from me.
Outside my window, the city lights have come on, blurring through the rain that's been falling steadily since morning. Appropriate weather for my mood.
Three days. It's been three days since Jade tore everything apart with surgical precision.
I pour another finger of Macallan into my glass, watching it catch the light from my desk lamp. My second of the night. Declan's still nursing his first, those massive hands dwarfing the tumbler, his eyes unfocused as he stares at some point beyond my shoulder.
"We've had seventeen new client inquiries today," I say, breaking the silence. "Twenty-four since Monday."
Declan's gaze shifts to me. "Good for business," he says, his voice flat.
"They all mention that they got good references from Gloria."
A muscle in his jaw tightens at the mention of her name. Gloria, who had stood in that living room, confusion and dismay poorly hidden beneath her professional demeanor as Jade dismissed us like unwanted delivery men.
"Should be celebrating," I continue, swirling my drink. "Cross Security's never been in higher demand. We'll need to hire more staff."
"You going to?" Declan asks.
I swallow a mouthful, welcoming the burn. "Don't have much choice if the inquiries keep coming in."
More silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken thoughts. Since that day at Jade's, we've existed in this strange limbo, going through the motions, doing our jobs, never fully addressing the gaping wound she left behind.
"You talk to Kid today?" Declan finally asks.
I shake my head. "Called twice. He didn't pick up. Martinez says he's doing his job, but barely speaking."
"He fell hard."
I meet Declan's eyes. "We all did."
Declan looks down at his glass, then tosses back the remaining liquid in one swallow. He reaches for the bottle, pouring himself a generous second serving. "Still doesn't make sense," he says.
"Which part?" The bitterness in my voice surprises even me. "The overnight transformation from someone who trusted us to someone who couldn't get us out fast enough?"
"That wasn't who she really is," Declan says, with a conviction that makes me want to punch something. Or someone.
"No?" I lean forward. "Then who was it?"
Declan shakes his head. "The woman who let me in the pool. The woman who chose all of us..." He trails off, his massive shoulders tense. "That wasn't an act."
"How would you know?" I challenge, the alcohol loosening my tongue. "You spent two years surrounded by the best liars in the world."
His eyes flash dangerously, but I don't back down. We've been dancing around this for days, the anger, the hurt, the betrayal. Someone needs to say it out loud.
"She found my record and couldn't handle it," Declan says quietly. "Not the first time, won't be the last."
"Bullshit," I snap. "She used it as an excuse."
"For what?"
"To get rid of us." I drain my glass and set it down hard on the desk. "She got bored. Or scared. Or whatever the hell goes through the mind of someone like her."
Declan's expression darkens. "You don't believe that."
"Don't I?" I challenge, but even as I say it, I know he's right.
I don't believe it. Can't bring myself to.
The memory of Jade's face when she looked at me, the way she opened herself to us, the vulnerability beneath the strength, none of it could have been fake.
But admitting that means admitting I have no idea what really happened.
Means admitting I've lost control of the situation entirely.
"If you believed that," Declan says, "you wouldn't be here at 8 PM on a Thursday, staring at that security report like it might suddenly reveal what went wrong."
He gestures to the folder on my desk, surveillance logs from Jade's house that I've reviewed a dozen times, searching for anything we missed.
I grab the folder, flipping it open to the latest report. "You know what pisses me off the most? We're no closer to finding out who's been after her than we were the day we started. That guy at the hotel? Dead end."
Declan frowns. "What do you mean?"
"The day I got called to the station, they told me the guy they detained from the hotel lobby attack couldn't be our stalker. He was in a psychiatric ward during two of the previous incidents. Solid alibi."
"You never mentioned that," Declan says, leaning forward.
"Didn't get a chance, did I? By the time I got back to the house the next day, we were.
.." I trail off, not needing to finish. We both remember exactly what happened next.
"Anyway, it means whoever's been after her is still out there.
And she just sent away the only people who gave a damn about protecting her. "
Declan's eyes narrow thoughtfully. "Timing's interesting."
"What do you mean?"
"You find out the real threat is still out there, and suddenly she can't get rid of us fast enough."
I hadn't thought about it that way. Had been too consumed by the personal betrayal to connect those dots. "You think they're related?"
Declan shrugs his massive shoulders. "Don't know. Just seems convenient."
"Mateo thinks there's more to it," I say, the wheels in my mind starting to turn.
"And what do you think?"
I consider the question, turning it over in my mind like a puzzle with missing pieces.
"I think..." I begin, then stop, wrestling with the conflicting emotions warring inside me.
"I think we're doing exactly what she wants us to do.
Speculating. Questioning. Driving ourselves crazy trying to make sense of it. "
"So what's the alternative? We just walk away? Pretend none of it happened?"
The question hangs in the air between us. Can we just walk away? Can I forget the way she felt in my arms, the way she trusted me enough to show me her darkest fears, the way she fit so perfectly against me, as if she'd been made to be there?
"Maybe we should," I say, the words tasting like ash. "God knows we've all been here before. You, me, Mateo. We've all had someone choose to walk away."
"Not like this," Declan says. "Not overnight. Not without reason."
I lean forward, frustration building. "What's your theory, then? What's the grand explanation for why she flipped?"
Declan is quiet for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable. "Don't know," he finally says. "But Kid's right. There's something we're missing."
"We checked everything," I remind him. "The house. The security system. Her staff. Nothing explains why she flipped."
"Something has to."
I rub a hand over my face, exhaustion making my thoughts fuzzy around the edges. "Or maybe we just don't want to accept that we got played."
Declan's expression turns grim. "Wouldn't be the first time."
No, it wouldn't. My ex-wife's betrayal. His time in prison for defending a woman who then refused to testify on his behalf. Mateo's string of women who broke his heart. We've all been burned before. All learned the hard way that trusting someone is the quickest route to getting gutted.
Yet we'd trusted Jade. All of us. Despite our better judgment. Despite our history. Despite everything.
"Speaking of Mateo," I say, changing the subject, "what's he doing tonight?"
Declan's mouth quirks in a humorless smile. "Same thing we are, I guess. Except he's probably on his second bottle, not his second glass."
"He fell hard," I repeat Declan's earlier assessment.
"We all did," Declan says, the words not a question but a statement of fact.
We sit in silence again, the rain tapping against the window, the distant sounds of the city a muted backdrop to our shared misery.
"The question is," Declan finally says, "what are we going to do about it?"
I look up, meeting his gaze. "About what?"
"About Jade. About whatever the hell happened. About the fact that none of us believes this is really over."
The challenge in his eyes is clear. We've been partners too long, friends even longer. He knows me better than almost anyone. Knows I don't give up easily. Knows I can't stand loose ends or unsolved puzzles.
Knows I'm still thinking about her every waking moment.
"We have a business to run," I hedge, not ready to commit to what he's suggesting. "New clients who are expecting us to be professionals."
"We can be professionals and still get answers."
I consider his words, my emotions sharpening even as exhaustion clouds my judgment. The hurt she caused. The betrayal I felt. The confusion that still lingers.
But beneath it all, a nagging suspicion that Declan and Mateo are right. A fragment of memory that doesn't fit: Jade's eyes as she gave her final dismissal, the way they didn't quite match the coldness of her words. The slight tremor in her hand as she slid the mugshot across the table.
"It would be a mistake," I say, but there's no conviction behind the words.
"Probably," Declan agrees. "Question is, are we willing to make it?"
I stare at the security report, thinking of all the ways this could go wrong. All the ways she could hurt us again. All the reasons we should walk away.
"Yeah," I finally admit, the word rough in my throat. "I'm willing."
Declan nods once, satisfaction and determination replacing the resignation in his eyes.
"And if we're wrong?" he asks. "If she meant every word?"
I close the folder with a decisive snap. "Then at least we'll know for sure. And this time, when I walk away, I won't look back."