16. Jensen
— ? —
Jensen
I wake up with Kiara’s head on my chest and her leg thrown over mine.
The bedroom is quiet. Pale light filters through the curtains. I don’t know what time it is, and I don’t care. All I care about is the weight of her against me, the warmth of her skin, the soft rhythm of her breathing.
I could stay here forever. I could lie in this bed with this woman and never move again.
But I can’t.
I brush the hair back from her face gently, trying not to wake her. It doesn’t work. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, then sharpening when she sees me looking at her.
“Hi,” she says, her voice rough with sleep.
“Hi.”
“What time is it?”
“Early. Go back to sleep.”
She shifts closer, pressing her face into my neck. “You’re warm.”
“You’re beautiful.”
She snorts. “I have bedhead and morning breath.”
“Still beautiful.”
She tilts her head up and kisses my jaw. I feel myself stirring, wanting her again, always wanting her. But I can’t. Not right now.
“I have to go,” I say.
She pulls back, frowning. “Go where?”
“There’s something I need to take care of. It might take a few days.”
“What kind of something?”
I hesitate. I don’t want to lie to her. But I also don’t want to worry her until I have answers.
“Garrett found a lead. On the threat. On who was behind it.” I brush my thumb across her cheekbone. “I need to follow it.”
Her expression shifts. The sleepiness disappears. “You found them?”
“Maybe. I won’t know until I get there.”
“Where?”
“It’s better if you don’t know. Not yet. Not until I’m sure.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, searching my face. I can see her wanting to argue, wanting to demand answers. But she doesn’t.
“Be careful,” she says finally.
“I will.”
“Call me. Every day. I need to know you’re okay.”
“I’ll call you.” I lean down and kiss her forehead. “I promise.”
“And come back to me.” Her hand comes up to grip my shirt. Her eyes are fierce. “Whatever you find out there, whatever happens, you come back to me. To us.”
“Always.” I kiss her properly this time, slow and deep. “Always, Kiara. You couldn’t get rid of me now if you tried.”
I slip out of bed and get dressed while she watches me from the pillows. At the door, I turn back. “Tell Kieran I’ll see him soon.”
“I will.”
“Tell him...” I swallow hard. “Tell him I’m thinking about him.”
“He knows, Jensen.” Her voice is soft. “He knows.”
I stop at Kieran’s door on my way out. He’s still asleep, Victor tucked under his arm. I promised I’d be here when he woke, and I won’t be. I press the thought down. This time leaving is how I keep him safe, not how I lose him, and I will be back before it can mean anything to him.
I leave before I can change my mind.
The warehouse sits at the edge of the industrial district, where the streetlights grow sparse and the buildings squat low against the skyline.
I’ve been watching it for a while now. The information Garrett gave me was sparse but sufficient. A payment traced through three shell companies. A name attached to one of them. An address tied to that name.
Ray Doyle.
The man who sent the texts. The man who photographed Kiara in her wedding dress. The man who typed those four words that destroyed my life.
He enters the warehouse alone. I wait until the door closes behind him.
Then I follow.
The interior is dim, cluttered with old machinery and stacked pallets. Doyle is at a workbench in the corner, sorting through papers. He doesn’t hear me approach.
“Doyle.”
He spins. His hand goes to his waist, but I’m faster. I step into the light where he can see me clearly.
“I wouldn’t,” I say. “You know who I am. You know what I can do.”
Recognition flickers across his face. Then something else. Fear, maybe. Or resignation.
“Cole,” he says.
“You know my name. Good. That saves time.”
“What do you want?”
“The truth.” I take another step toward him. “About who hired you. Five years ago. To threaten me on my wedding day.”
He laughs. The sound is hollow, echoing off the concrete walls. “That’s old business.”
“Not to me.” I keep my voice calm, controlled. “To me, it’s the only business that matters.”
“What makes you think I’ll tell you anything?”
“Because I know who you are now. I know where you work. I know where you live.” I pull a folded paper from my pocket and hold it up.
“I know the names of the people you owe money to and the amounts you owe them. I know about the gambling debts. The loan sharks. The ex-wife who’s been trying to collect child support for three years. ”
His face goes pale.
“I can make your life very difficult, Doyle. I can make sure every person you owe money to knows exactly where to find you. I can make sure you never work in this city again.” I tuck the paper back into my pocket.
“Or I can make your life very easy. Pay off your debts. Give you enough to disappear somewhere comfortable. Start fresh.”
“And all I have to do is give you a name.”
“All you have to do is tell me who paid you to destroy my life.”
He studies me for a long moment. I can see the calculation happening behind his eyes. Loyalty to his employer versus survival. Self-preservation versus silence.
Self-preservation wins. It always does with men like him.
“It was your mother,” he says.
I expected this. I knew, on some level, that this was where the trail would lead. But hearing it spoken aloud is different. Hearing it confirmed by the man who sent those texts, who took that photo, who typed those four words.
“Say it again.”
“Vivienne Cole.” He shrugs, like we’re discussing the weather. “She hired me. She paid for everything. The surveillance on your girl. The photographer who got the shot of her in her dress. The burner phone I used to send the messages.”
“The photo of the gun?”
“Staged. Wasn’t even loaded.” He almost smiles. “But it looked real enough in the picture, didn’t it?”
I feel sick. The gun wasn’t even loaded. The threat that kept me away from Kiara for five years, the threat that cost me my son’s childhood, was built on a prop and a bluff.
“She was very specific about what she wanted,” Doyle continues. “No contact with you directly. No physical harm. Just enough to scare you into staying away.”
“And the photo of Kiara? In her dress?”
“I had a guy on the inside. Catering staff. He got access to the bridal suite, took the shot while she was looking in the mirror.” Doyle shakes his head. “She never even knew he was there.”
“My mother told you to do that? To photograph her on her wedding day?”
“Your mother planned the whole thing.” He leans back against the workbench, crossing his arms. “She said you wouldn’t stay away unless you thought the girl would die.
She said you were stubborn, that you’d need to see proof that we could get to her anytime we wanted.
” He tilts his head. “She was right, wasn’t she?
You saw that photo of your girl in her dress, you saw the gun, and you believed every word. ”
“I believed you’d kill her.”
“That was the point.”
I stare at him. This man who took five years from me. Who took my son’s childhood. Who served my mother’s cruelty for a paycheck.
“She knew me,” I say quietly. “She knew exactly how I’d react.”
“She knows everyone. That’s what makes her dangerous.”
“Is she still paying you?”
“Job ended five years ago. I got my money, I moved on.” He shrugs. “I haven’t heard from her since.”
“Would you testify against her? Tell someone what you just told me?”
He laughs again, louder this time. “Against Vivienne Cole? I’d be dead before the words left my mouth. Besides, there’s no evidence. Everything was cash, untraceable. Burner phones, all destroyed. She made sure of that.”
“Then how do I prove it?”
“You don’t.” He spreads his hands. “That’s the point. She’s untouchable.”
He’s right, and that’s the worst part. I can’t drag her into a courtroom. There’s nothing to hand a prosecutor, no thread that won’t snap the moment anyone pulls it.
But a courtroom isn’t the only room that matters. My mother has spent her entire life in another one, full of the people whose regard she lives and dies by. I can’t prove what she did. I can make certain every last one of them knows it anyway.
I stare at him for a long moment. Then I reach into my jacket and pull out an envelope. I toss it onto the workbench beside him.
“What’s this?”
“Enough to clear your debts. Enough to disappear somewhere far away and never come back.”
He picks up the envelope, thumbs through the bills inside. His eyebrows rise.
“This is more than generous.”
“It’s a one-time offer. Take it and leave the city tonight. Don’t contact my mother. Don’t contact anyone. Just disappear.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I make that other call. The one to all the people you owe money to. The one that tells them exactly where to find you.”
He tucks the envelope into his jacket. “I’ll be gone by morning.”
“Good.” I turn to leave. Then I stop. “Doyle.”
“What?”
“Was it worth it? The money she paid you?”
He’s quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is different. Softer. Almost regretful.
“At the time, yes. I needed the money. I didn’t ask questions.” He shakes his head. “Now? I’ve done a lot of things I regret. That job isn’t the worst of them. But it’s close.”
I leave the warehouse. I get in my car. I sit in the silence for a long time.
My mother.
My own mother.
She orchestrated everything. She watched me grieve, and she said nothing. She held the truth in her hands and kept it from me, because keeping me alone was more important than keeping me happy.
I think of Kieran. His gray eyes. His obsession with dinosaurs. The way he calls me the tall man because he doesn’t know he can call me anything else.
My mother stole him from me. She stole his first word, his first steps, his first day of school. She stole every bedtime story and every scraped knee and every moment of watching him grow.
And she did it because I fell in love with the wrong woman.
***
I’m back at my hotel when my phone buzzes with an incoming video call.
Kiara’s name flashes on the screen. I accept it, and Kieran’s face fills the frame.
“Tall man!” His grin is enormous, taking up half the screen. “Mama said I could call you!”
My chest tightens. I didn’t know how much I needed to see his face until this moment.
“Hey, buddy. How are you feeling?”
“Better! My fever is all gone. Victor and I had a battle and the herbivores won.”
“That’s great news. On both counts.”
“Tall man.” His expression turns serious. “Do you know what day it is?”
“I don’t, actually. What day is it?”
“It’s breakfast taco day.” He says it like he’s announcing a national holiday. “Mama makes them every week. With eggs and cheese and sometimes bacon if I’ve been good.”
“Have you been good?”
“Mostly.” He tilts his head. “Will you come? For breakfast taco day?”
My throat closes. I have to swallow twice before I can speak. “Yeah, buddy. I’ll be there.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
His face lights up. “Good. You can sit next to me. I’ll show you how to put the salsa on. You have to do it in the right order or it gets soggy.”
I laugh. The sound surprises me. After everything I’ve learned tonight, I didn’t think I could laugh.
“I’ll see you soon, okay? For breakfast tacos.”
“Okay.” He yawns suddenly, hugely, his whole face stretching. “I’m going to sleep now. Victor is tired.”
“Tell Victor goodnight for me.”
“I will.” He waves at the screen. “Goodnight, tall man.”
“Goodnight, Kieran.”
His face disappears from the frame, and then Kiara is there. She’s wearing a t-shirt that’s too big for her, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looks tired and beautiful and like everything I’ve ever wanted.
“He’s been asking about you all day,” she says quietly. “Wanted to know when you were coming back.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Yes.” I lean back against the headboard. “I found him. I got the answers.”
“And?”
“It was her.”
Kiara is quiet for a moment. Her jaw tightens. “Are you okay?”
“No. But I’ll be.” I look at her through the screen. “We’ll talk about it when I get back. Figure out what to do next. Together.”
“Together,” she echoes.
“Now.” I let my voice drop lower. “Is Kieran asleep?”
“Just put him down. Why?”
“Go to your room.”
Her eyebrows rise. “What?”
“Go to your room.” I keep my voice steady, controlled. “And get naked. I’ll call you in twenty minutes.”
A flush spreads across her cheeks. “Jensen.”
“And make sure your vibrator is charged, baby.”
Her blush deepens. I can see it even through the phone screen. She bites her lip, and I love her so much it hurts.
“Twenty minutes,” she says.
She ends the call. I sit there in my hotel room, staring at the dark screen, and for the second time since I walked into that warehouse, I smile.
My mother took five years from me. She took my son’s childhood. She took the woman I love.
But she didn’t win.
I have Kiara. I have Kieran. I have a family.
And soon, very soon, my mother is going to learn exactly what it costs to cross me.