Chapter 9 JACE
JACE
I draft the text four times before I send it.
Two words. I type them, stare at them, almost delete them, and hit send before I can talk myself out of it.
Me : You home?
Then I set the phone on my desk and check it once. Put it down. Check it again.
It’s a simple question. A simple answer. She’s either home or she isn’t.
My eyes stay on the screen anyway.
It lights up.
Wren : Yes.
Relief hits first. Annoyance follows right behind it.
I look at the message longer than I should, like there’s something else in it if I wait long enough. There isn’t. There’s just the confirmation she’s home and the quiet, immediate awareness that I don’t like how little that gives me.
Me : Long lunch.
A pause.
Wren : I stopped by the shop after. Just got in.
Lunch ended hours ago. The walk from the shop is ten minutes. Which means she either forgot to text me when she left or decided not to.
I don’t like either option.
Me : You were supposed to text me when you left.
Three dots appear immediately.
Wren : Sorry.
Me : Lock the door, Wren.
Wren : Already did.
The corner of my mouth pulls before I can stop it. Doesn’t last.
Next time, I’m not giving her the option to forget.
I set the phone down.
* * *
I get into the office at seven the next morning ready for a normal day.
Two ops directors flag me down in the hallway before I’ve made it twenty feet—one needs a signature on a contractor agreement, the other has a question about a Boston deployment that can’t wait.
I sign. I answer. I keep walking. Nora intercepts me at the corner with a fresh coffee and the morning brief in one hand.
“Cooper at ten. Hartford rescheduled to two. The Erikson team confirmed Thursday.”
“Thanks.”
She’s already gone.
Ryker comes around the corner from the other direction, grinning at his phone in a suit that can’t quite hide the fact that he looks more built for a gunfight than a boardroom.
“Carrington.”
“Vance.”
“You and me. Drinks.”
“No.”
“Come on, brother. It’s been weeks. We’re overdue.”
I know what overdue means in Ryker’s vocabulary. Expensive whiskey, a tab on the company card, and women sent home in cabs before morning.
“Not tonight.”
“Not tonight.” He claps my shoulder, grinning. “Soon.”
I keep walking.
I make it to my office, shut the door behind me, and I exhale for the first time all morning.
I’m barely in my chair when there’s a knock and Garrett’s head appears around the frame.
“Got an update for you.”
“Come in.”
He drops into the chair across from my desk. The grin hasn’t moved—which is unusual, because Garrett doesn’t grin. Ex-Secret Service, twelve years on presidential detail, default expression somewhere between alert and bored. So a grinning Garrett puts me on edge.
“How’s it looking?” I ask.
“Clean. I drove by the shop yesterday around three, swung past the apartment around seven. Nothing unusual.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “I’ve actually been stopping in a couple times a week. Buying flowers, making conversation. Keeps my cover natural.”
“I didn’t ask you to go inside.”
He shrugs. “Keeps it clean.”
Something tightens in my chest. I ignore it.
“So how do you know her, anyway?” he asks.
“Her brother’s a friend.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“She makes it easy to forget you’re working,” he says.
He doesn’t look at me when he says it.
I let the silence stretch.
He shifts in his chair. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the schedule. I think we should increase the check-ins. Daily instead of a couple times a week. I can swing by the shop in the mornings, check in again at night.”
I lean back. My eyes drift past him to the window.
The grin. The flowers. The twice-a-week visits.
I look back at him.
“Wouldn’t be a problem—I don’t mind the —”
“Garrett.”
“I could also start walking her home in the evenings if you want. It’s only ten minutes, and it would cover the gap between closing and —”
“Garrett.”
He stops.
He’s talking about her the wrong way. He thinks proximity doesn’t matter. Access doesn’t matter. That it hasn’t already crossed a line.
It has.
I hold his gaze long enough for the point to land.
“You’re off the detail.”
He sets his coffee down slowly. “What?”
“I’m pulling you because you’re compromised.”
“I’ve been doing check-ins for weeks and I’ve had exactly zero security incidents. I’ve maintained cover and filed every report on time. Where exactly is the compromise?”
“You just sat in my office and volunteered to double your hours and walk her home every night. That’s the compromise.”
He holds my gaze for a second. I hold his right back.
“I like her, Jace. I’m not going to pretend I don’t. But I haven’t crossed a line. I haven’t told her who I am or why I’m there. I’ve been professional and I’ve been careful and I’m telling you this because I thought you should know, not because I’m asking permission.”
“You don’t need permission. You need a new assignment.”
He goes still. Deciding how far to push this.
I already know the answer.
He starts to respond but I cut him off.
“You can’t protect someone you’re thinking about like that.”
He laughs. Short, sharp, with an edge. “That’s interesting.”
“What is?”
“You. Telling me that.” He leans forward. “I’ve been doing periodic check-ins twice a week. You’ve been driving to Brooklyn at seven in the morning to sit in a parked car outside her shop. You sat ten feet from her ex just to watch him watch her. You installed a lock on her door without asking.”
I don’t say anything.
“And you’re firing me because I’m compromised?” He shakes his head. “Come on, Jace.”
The room goes very quiet.
“I’ll go when you tell me the real reason.”
“Wasn’t a question.”
Garrett watches me. Holds it a second.
Then he nods once, stands up, and gathers his things.
“Notes on my desk by noon.” I hold his eyes. “After that, you’re not anywhere near her. Understood?”
He gets to the door and stops with his hand on the frame. Doesn’t turn around.
“For what it’s worth, I wasn’t going to make a move without telling you first. That’s why I brought it up.”
“And now you don’t have to.”
He leaves. The door closes behind him and I don’t move right away. Just sit there, hands flat on the desk, jaw so tight it aches.
This is cleaner.
Starting tomorrow, there’s no buffer between me and her. No one else watching. No one else getting close. Only me.