14. Henry
Henry
Emily doesn’t say a word about the man outside Logan’s office.
Not on the drive to the hospital.
Not when I hand her the car keys.
Not even when she glances up at me with that hesitant look—the one that says she knows I have questions but isn’t ready to answer them.
“We’ll talk later tonight,” she promises.
I don’t like waiting.
But I nod anyway, watching as she disappears through the hospital’s sliding doors.
Then I get in the truck, tap my fingers against the wheel, and drive straight back to Logan’s office.
Because if Emily won’t tell me who the hell Dane Jacobs is, then I’ll find out myself.
I swing the car around and head straight back to the Mayor’s office.
The place is quieter now, the usual bustle muted—probably everyone taking their lunch break or hiding from the midday heat.
Logan’s secretary gives me a surprised glance as I stride in, but I don’t stop until I reach his office.
Logan looks up, eyebrows raising as I enter unannounced. “Henry. Didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”
I shut the door behind me, folding my arms. “Got a minute?”
He leans back, crossing his arms in return. “Always. What’s up?”
I cut straight to the point. “The guy outside with Emily. Who is he?”
Logan laughs lightly, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, that’s Dane Jacobs. No need to worry, he’s harmless.”
My jaw tightens. “Didn’t look harmless when he had his hands on her.”
Logan’s expression shifts slightly—more cautious. “Look, Emily said they worked together before. He’s here as the face of some organization sponsoring our hospital’s upgrades. It’s a good thing.”
I’m not convinced. “And you’re sure about that?”
Logan’s smile falters. “Henry, you’re being paranoid.”
“Maybe,” I bite back, voice low. “But I’m rarely wrong.”
Logan sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I vetted him. Checked his organization—it’s legit. They’ve done this kind of thing all over the country.”
I narrow my eyes. “And that’s enough for you?”
He frowns. “What are you getting at?”
I don’t know. Not yet. But my gut is screaming that something’s off.
“Tell me more about this organization,” I press.
Logan hesitates. “Henry—”
“Logan.” My voice sharpens. “I need to know.”
He relents, sighing heavily. “Alright. I’ll pull up the info. But I’m telling you—it’s above board.”
An hour later, I’m sitting in Chief Tom Harrison’s office, with all of the information I’ve gotten from Logan, battling frustration that’s rolling off me in waves.
Tom leans back in his chair, flipping through the sparse information we’ve managed to dig up. “Seems like a regular guy. Medical practitioner, some charity work, decent reputation.”
I huff. “Reputation can be bought.”
Tom raises an eyebrow. “You got a gut feeling?”
I nod. “Stronger than a gut feeling. Something’s not right.”
He sets the papers down, leaning forward. “Then we keep digging.”
We spend the next few hours scouring through every record, every file, every mention of Dane Jacobs.
Nothing. Nothing bad, at least.
It’s infuriating.
Tom glances at me. “You need to go home, Walker. Take a break.”
I check my watch, surprised by how much time has slipped by. It’s late—too late.
I sigh heavily, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”
Tom chuckles softly. “Maybe?”
I force a smirk. “Don’t push it.”
He shakes his head, standing up. “Get out of here. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”
The drive back is quick, my mind racing with unanswered questions.
Who the hell is Dane Jacobs? Why now? Why here?
As I pull into the driveway, my headlights catch the glint of shattered glass.
My stomach drops.
I’m out of the car in an instant, my pulse pounding as I take in the sight—Emily’s car window, smashed.
Then I see him—a shadow slipping into the darkness.
“Hey!” I bellow, breaking into a sprint.
The figure bolts, darting between houses and into a narrow alleyway.
I don’t hesitate. My adrenaline surges, muscles tensing as I close the distance, tackling him from behind.
We hit the ground hard, gravel scraping against my skin as I struggle to pin him down. He twists, swinging wildly, but I’m bigger—stronger.
“Who the hell are you?” I snarl, twisting his arm behind his back. “What do you want?”
He grunts, kicking out, desperate to break free.
And then—
A sharp crack against the back of my head. Pain explodes, vision blurring as I stagger, my grip loosening. The man beneath me scrambles up, joining another shadowy figure. I lunge forward, catching the second guy off guard, twisting the plank from his grip and tossing it aside.
The first guy grabs my arm, and we grapple, bodies crashing against the wall, fists flying. Adrenaline floods my veins, every instinct screaming to protect, to defend. But two against one is harder in a narrow alley, and another blow clips my jaw, sending me reeling.
By the time I catch my breath, they’re gone—vanished into the dark, leaving only the faint echo of hurried footsteps. Pressing a hand to my throbbing head, a warm trickle of blood slides down my temple.
That’s when I see it—a small, round button lying in the alley, glinting faintly under the streetlight. I pick it up, turning it over in my fingers. Pushing myself up, my body sways slightly as the world spins and I can still feel blood trickling from my temple, warm and sticky.
Pocketing the button with a grim sense of purpose, my eyes dart around to see that they are long gone.
This isn’t over. Not by a long shot. Stumbling back toward the house, I try to steady my breathing, forcing the pain to the back of my mind.
Emily is standing outside when I pull into the driveway, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her gaze locked onto the shattered remains of her car window.
The porch light casts a pale glow over her, and I can see the way her body trembles, her weight shifting restlessly from foot to foot.
She shouldn’t be out here.
The second I step out of my truck, her head jerks up. Her eyes widen, and whatever thoughts were running through her mind are replaced with something sharper—something closer to panic.
“Henry—”
Her voice is thin, urgent, and then she’s moving, closing the distance between us faster than I can prepare for.
Her hands grab my arms, then my chest, then my face—her fingers pressing against my jaw, her touch desperate as she searches for the source of the blood.
I try to wave her off. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
Her nostrils flare. “Not as bad—?” She shoves me toward the door, ignoring my grunt of protest. “Get inside. Now.”
A part of me wants to argue. Tell her I need to check the perimeter, make sure whoever did this is long gone, but she’s already dragging me toward the house, her grip firmer than I expected.
And honestly?
There’s another part of me that doesn't want to fight her. Because no one’s ever looked at me the way she is right now—like my pain matters.
Like I matter.
She pushes me onto a chair in the kitchen, then rushes toward the cabinets.
“Where’s the first aid kit?”
My head tilts toward the hallway. “Bathroom.”
She’s gone before I finish the word.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair, wincing when my fingers brush the cut on my temple. The adrenaline from the fight is wearing off, and now the dull ache is creeping in.
When Emily returns, she’s all business—kneeling in front of me, tugging my hand away from the wound so she can inspect it properly.
Her fingers are gentle but firm, and it does something unnerving to me.
I’ve had worse injuries—hell, I’ve treated worse injuries myself. But having her do this?
It’s different. It feels… grounding.
The hardest part is staying still, watching her as she dabs a damp cloth against my skin. Her lips are pressed together, her brows furrowed in concentration.
“You should’ve been more careful,” she mutters.
A little smirk spreads across my lips despite myself. “I had it under control.”
Her glare could melt steel. “Oh, yeah? That’s why you came home covered in blood?”
My sigh is accompanied by closing my eyes for a second. “Next time, stay inside when something like this happens.”
Her hands freeze for a fraction of a second before she resumes cleaning the wound. “Excuse me?”
One eye pops open. “You heard me.”
She scoffs, shaking her head. “And let you handle everything by yourself? Not a chance.”
“This house is secure,” I say, voice steady. “No one’s getting in.”
She exhales sharply, frustration radiating off her. “That’s not the point.”
One of my hands reaches out, curling my fingers around her wrist. “That is the point. You’re safe inside. I need to know that.”
She stares at me, her throat bobbing slightly.
And then she sighs.
“Fine,” she murmurs. “I’ll stay inside next time.”
I don’t fully believe her, but I don’t push it.
She finishes bandaging my wound, then sits back on her heels, her hands resting on her lap. “Did you see who it was?”
Shaking my head a second before I realize the mistake, a strong bout of headache lashes through my skull, making me wince. “No. Too dark.”
She presses her lips together. “Be careful, Henry.”
There’s a rawness in her voice that makes my chest tighten.
Reaching out again, this time with both hands that circle around her waist, pulling her into my lap, cradling her against me. “You don’t have to worry about me, sweetheart.”
She huffs against my shoulder. “Too late.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Let’s get some sleep.”
She doesn’t argue.
She just melts into me, like I’m something she’s been bracing against all night, and within minutes, her breathing evens out.
The feeling of her heat against my side makes me want to hold her even closer. My eyes are staring at the wall, thoughts racing.
Who’s watching her?
And why did they shatter her window?
A warning? A message?
I don’t like either answer. Once I’m sure she’s deep asleep, I ease her onto the couch, tucking a blanket around her before slipping outside to call Chief Tom.
He picks up after the second ring. “Walker?”
“We’ve got a problem.”
I keep my voice low as I explain everything—Emily’s car, the fight, the second guy showing up out of nowhere.
Tom is quiet for a moment. Then, “I’m on my way.”
Fifteen minutes later, he pulls into the driveway.
We inspect the scene together, flashlights sweeping over the area.
“Looks like they were watching the house from the pond,” Tom mutters, crouching near the water’s edge. “Could’ve been waiting for her to come out.”
Or worse—waiting for me to leave.
Tom stands, glancing back at the broken glass. “What’s the theory?”
Exhaling slowly, my bandaged head hurts as I try to think. “Either they were sending a message… or they were trying to warn her.”
Tom raises a brow. “Warn her?”
My fore finger point in the same direction—toward the pond. “Someone tried to open the door to the house. Whoever threw that rock was trying to get their attention or trying to get the attention of someone in the house to the burglary.”
Tom scratches his chin. “Damn. That complicates things.”
Nodding again. “Yeah.”
A heavy silence settles between us.
Finally, Tom sighs. “I’ll look into Dane Jacobs, see if anything sketchy pops up.”
My good hand grips his shoulder briefly. “Appreciate it.”
He tips his hat. “Watch your six, Walker.”
Don’t need to be told twice. By the time I get back inside, the fire in the living room has burned down to glowing embers. Emily is still curled up on the couch, her hair spilling over the pillow, her breathing slow and steady.
For a second, I just watch her.
Then I climb the stairs to check the security cameras one last time.
Everything’s locked. Secure.
I make my way back down, my body aching from the fight, my mind still wired with adrenaline.
As I slip into bed beside her, she stirs slightly, her fingers reaching out in her sleep.
Hesitating for half a second, then my hand takes hers, bringing it to my chest.
She sighs softly, nestling closer. “Don’t go.”
Her voice is groggy, barely above a whisper. I press my lips to her forehead.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
And for the first time in years, I realize—I really don’t want to.