Chapter Two Forced Partners, Open Wounds #2
The main entrance was closed, but guards stood under the awning. They nodded when Jarvis stepped out.
Nobody looked surprised to see him at two in the morning with Makayla and Auntie Zella.
That bothered Makayla.
Inside, the lounge smelled like polished wood, smoke, citrus, and money.
The lights were low, gold against black walls.
Empty velvet booths curved around the room.
A long bar shined under hanging glass fixtures.
The stage in the far corner sat dark, microphone stand abandoned like somebody had left in a hurry.
Makayla scanned the hallway.
Black walls.
Gold trim.
Tall mirror.
Exactly like the photos she had found online.
The evidence from her post had been wrong. Fully wrong.
Her stomach twisted.
Jarvis noticed her looking. “See it now?”
“Don’t start.”
“You started at midnight.”
Makayla faced him. “And I’m still standing.”
“For now.”
She stepped closer. “You always talk like death owe you money?”
Jarvis looked down at her. “Death paid me in advance.”
That answer shut her up for half a breath.
A man came from the back hallway, tall and lean with smooth dark skin, close-cut hair, and the kind of expression that showed he missed nothing. His suit was charcoal instead of black, but he moved like he belonged to Jarvis’s world.
“This her?” he asked.
Jarvis nodded. “Makayla Serrin. Her aunt, Zella.”
The man looked at Makayla. “Trevon Sykes.”
Makayla folded her arms. “You the right hand?”
“I’m the one who keeps the left from knowing too much.”
Zella smiled a little. “I like him better.”
Makayla pointed at her aunt. “You are not allowed to like anybody here.”
“I said better. That bar low.”
Trevon’s face stayed serious, but his eyes warmed for a second. “We set up the private room.”
“Any movement outside her building?” Jarvis asked.
“Nothing clean. Camera blind spots were used. Whoever took the picture knows surveillance patterns.”
Jarvis’s gaze hardened. “Professional?”
“Or trained by one.”
Makayla did not like that answer. “What does that mean?”
Trevon looked at Jarvis first, then back at her. “It means this person isn’t just messy with a phone. They planned.”
Makayla held her laptop bag tighter.
Jarvis led them upstairs to an office above the lounge. The room had a glass wall overlooking the empty floor below. A black desk sat near the back, neat enough to make Makayla suspicious. No loose papers. No clutter. No pictures. No personal mess.
A room built by a man who refused to be read.
There was a seating area near the glass wall with a low table, three leather chairs, and a sofa. Someone had placed bottled water, coffee, tea, and a small tray of food there.
Zella looked at the tray. “Is that lemon cake?”
Trevon nodded. “From the kitchen.”
Zella set her bag down. “I’ll investigate that.”
Makayla stared at her. “Auntie.”
“What? If I’m in a crime office at two in the morning, I’m eating.”
Jarvis looked at Trevon. “Put Ms. Zella in the east lounge. Two guards outside. Nobody in or out without my okay.”
Zella stopped chewing before she started. “Excuse me?”
Jarvis turned to her with a careful tone. “You’ll be more comfortable there. Television. Private bathroom. Lock on the inside.”
Zella lifted her chin. “And my niece?”
“She stays here.”
“Door open?”
Jarvis glanced at Makayla. “If she wants.”
Makayla hated that he gave her the choice in front of her aunt because it made him look decent.
“Open,” she said.
“Then open,” he said.
Zella studied him for a long moment. “I still got my rolling pin.”
“I saw.”
“I know how to use it.”
“I believe you.”
Zella picked up the lemon cake and her bag. “Makayla, scream if he gets stupid.”
“I will.”
Jarvis looked mildly offended. “You both say that like I’m hard of hearing.”
“You hear too good,” Makayla said. “That’s part of the problem.”
Trevon escorted Zella out. The door stayed open behind them.
For the first time since the sidewalk, Makayla and Jarvis were alone.
Mostly.
The open door helped, but the room still felt smaller with him in it.
Jarvis removed his gloves and placed them on the desk. His hands were broad, clean, steady. Makayla looked away because she hated noticing.
“Laptop,” he said.
Makayla laughed. “You want my password too?”
“Yes.”
“You crazy.”
“Your inbox has the source.”
“My inbox has thousands of private messages from women who trusted me.”
“And one person using them as cover.”
“I’m not handing you my whole page.”
Jarvis came around the desk. “Then open it yourself and search what I tell you.”
Makayla dropped into one of the chairs and pulled out her laptop. “You give orders like you were born annoying.”
“I was born poor.”
She glanced up.
He said it with no drama, no sadness, no invitation. Just a fact.
Then he moved behind the desk and turned on a wall screen. A security dashboard appeared, then a file map full of names, dates, and arrows. Makayla hated how much work he had done already.
She opened her laptop.
The Dirty Little Proof dashboard loaded with a wave of notifications.
Jarvis stood behind her shoulder.
Makayla twisted around. “Back up.”
“I need to see.”
“And I need you out my neck.”
He moved to the side instead of arguing.
She searched the username from the Jarvis tip. Nothing. Dead profile. She searched the email. Nothing. She searched the phrase “handle it before she talks.” Thousands of comments came up now because the city had repeated it everywhere.
Jarvis watched quietly.
Makayla searched the backup inbox. Her stomach sank when she saw how the tip first arrived.
It had been forwarded through Vasha’s admin login.
Jarvis saw the change in her face. “What?”
Makayla clicked the log.
Forwarded by: Vasha Ellery.
Her mouth went dry.
“That your assistant?” Jarvis asked.
“My friend.”
“Same person?”
Makayla slowly looked at him. “Careful.”
“I’m asking.”
“Vasha helps with the page sometimes. Sorting tips. Flagging urgent stuff. She does not plant evidence.”
“You sure?”
Makayla wanted to say yes fast.
The word got stuck.
Vasha’s voice from the phone came back to her.
Don’t go down there.
Scared. Too scared.
Makayla clicked through the admin log. Vasha had forwarded the Jarvis folder at 7:43 p.m. Then she had messaged Makayla to post at 11:18 p.m.
Jarvis leaned closer. “Pull her last ten forwarded tips.”
“I know how to search my own system.”
“Then do it.”
Makayla shot him a look but typed.
Ten forwarded tips appeared. Three were junk. Two were cheating stories. One was a fake boutique scandal Makayla had ignored. The rest made her pause.
A liquor distributor tied to Jarvis.
A contract broker tied to Jarvis.
A restaurant investor tied to Jarvis.
All three had been part of the pattern Jarvis printed.
Makayla sat back.
The room felt like it tilted.
“No,” she whispered.
Jarvis watched her, and for once he said nothing.
Makayla shook her head. “No. Vasha wouldn’t do that.”
“Maybe she didn’t know.”
“That supposed to help?”
“It’s a place to start.”
Makayla stood so fast the chair rolled back. “You don’t know her.”
“I don’t need to know her to read a pattern.”
“She’s been my friend since cosmetology school.”
“You went to cosmetology school?”
“For three months.”
“Why’d you leave?”
Makayla glared. “Because I cut a man’s braid off by accident and realized my gifts were elsewhere.”
A beat passed.
Jarvis almost smiled again.
“Do not,” she said.
He looked away. “I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“You make it hard.”
“To what?”
“Stay angry.”
That should have felt like a line. It should have made her roll her eyes. Instead, it warmed the air between them in a way Makayla did not want.
She turned back to the screen.
“I need to call her.”
Jarvis’s voice sharpened. “No.”
Makayla spun on him. “You don’t get to no me.”
“She could be compromised.”
“She could also be scared.”
“Scared people talk to whoever scares them most.”
“Then maybe I need to scare her back.”
Jarvis stepped closer. “That’s your plan? Call angry and hope she confesses?”
“My plan is to talk to my friend.”
“Your friend may be why someone found your apartment.”
Makayla flinched before she could stop it.
Jarvis saw it. His face shifted slightly, but his voice stayed steady.
“You want the truth or comfort?”
“I want you to stop acting like everybody close to me is trash.”
“I’m acting like somebody close to you opened a door.”
Makayla’s throat burned.
That was the part she could not fight. The person texting her knew Amira. Knew Auntie Zella. Knew her apartment. Knew the page. Knew when she and Jarvis were outside.
The enemy was near enough to smell her life.
She sat down slowly.
Jarvis moved to the opposite chair. He gave her space this time, which made her notice him again.
“I need to know about Amira,” he said.
Makayla’s eyes lifted. “No.”
“If they’re using her, I need context.”
“No.”
“Makayla.”
The way he said her name bothered her. Too low. Too sure. Like her name belonged in his mouth already.
She folded her arms across her chest. “You don’t get my sister’s story because it helps your investigation.”
“This isn’t just mine anymore.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because your phone keeps proving it.”
Makayla looked toward the open door.
Down the hall, she could hear Auntie Zella laughing faintly at something. Probably Trevon. Probably the lemon cake. The sound should have comforted her. Instead, it reminded Makayla that she had brought her aunt into the middle of this.
She rubbed her temple. “Amira was nineteen.”
Jarvis said nothing.
Makayla hated the silence, but it made talking easier.
“She worked at a private event hall. Nothing fancy. Banquets, weddings, campaign dinners, church fundraisers. She was pretty, quiet, always trying to do things right. There was this man who used to host events there. Big name in Morrow Bay. Money. Connections. A smile everybody trusted.”
Her fingers tightened on her sleeve.
“He started bothering her. At first it was compliments. Then touches. Then messages. Then threats when she didn’t play along. Amira told her manager. He told her she misunderstood. She told our mother. Mama got scared. Said men like that don’t lose, they punish.”