Chapter Four Hidden Foundations #4
“I know you’ve already provided initial statements.
” Harrison perched onto a stool and opened his notebook.
“Those were necessary for the initial risk assessment. What I need now is a precise timeline of Miss Fisher’s last known movements, particularly during the final hour of her shift.
Who she spoke to. Who she left with. Anything unusual you noticed, however insignificant it might have seemed at the time. ”
Jake watched him.
Couldn’t seem to stop watching him, actually.
There was nothing showy about the way Harrison took control of the conversation. He didn’t raise his voice or throw his rank around. He simply expected people to listen, and they did. Calm. Certain. Completely at ease with being the person everyone else looked to for answers.
It should have got on Jake’s tits.
Instead, apparently, he found it attractive.
Brilliant.
Harrison looked up from his notebook and caught him staring. For a second, neither of them looked away.
Then Harrison’s expression changed. Barely anything, there and gone so quickly Jake might have imagined it, but he felt the answering hit low in his stomach anyway. Hotter this time. Sharper.
Fuck.
Jake bent and grabbed the stool he’d kicked earlier, shoving it back beneath the bar to give his hands something to do. “You found owt yet?”
Harrison furrowed his brow. “Excuse me?”
“Out there. Fell Edge.” Jake angled his head to the door. “Your officers. They found owt belonging to her?”
Harrison shook his head. “Search is ongoing. Officers are expanding the grid.”
Jake nodded and looked away, watching Pete fight with the coffee machine.
“I’ve been briefed,” Harrison lowered his voice, so it didn’t carry further than the two of them, “on your… history with a previous case.”
Jake’s shoulders tensed.
“I understand your reactions. But I would strongly advise you to let my team do the investigating.”
Jake looked back at him. “And if your team’s wrong?”
Harrison held his gaze. “Then I’ll answer for it.”
That stopped him.
No defensiveness. No we know what we’re doing. No warning Jake to keep his nose out because he was a fucking criminal and they were the police. Harrison said it as though the responsibility belonged to him and he had no intention of ducking it.
Jake studied him for a second longer.
Then he reached into the back pocket of his jeans, pulled out one of his battered business cards and slapped it onto the counter between them. “Case you need me.”
Harrison glanced down at it. “I… already have your card, actually.”
Jake frowned. “You do?”
Christ, he hadn’t fucked him already, had he?
No fucking chance.
He’d remember that.
“I called you earlier.” Harrison caught his bottom lip between his teeth. “About a leaking roof.”
Recognition clicked. “Huh.” Jake scratched his jaw. “Larkspur Lane.”
“Quite the coincidence.”
Jake gave a dry, half-smile. “Small town. And you’ve had a pretty shitty introduction to it.”
“I had a pretty shitty exit from my own. So I suppose I’m in familiar territory.”
Jake cocked his head. There was something in the way he said that.
Too personal for the careful, measured copper who’d walked through the door.
A weight behind the admission that made Jake look at him properly.
Not the suit, or the blond hair, or the mouth he’d already spent far too much time noticing. Him.
So he asked, “What happened?”
Harrison seemed almost surprised by the question. For a second, Jake thought he might actually answer. Then whatever had slipped through disappeared. “Another time, perhaps.”
And there he was again. DI Harrison Black. Controlled. Professional. Closed.
Jake had no fucking idea why he was disappointed.
Pete returned with a takeaway cup. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” As Harrison lifted the cup to his mouth, Jake clocked the wedding band around his ring finger.
Plain. Gold. Worn.
He pulled his gaze away.
“I’ll leave you to it.” He rubbed his hands down his roofing trousers. “Got work.”
Harrison looked up again. Held his eyes for a fraction. Then nodded.
Jake turned before he could overthink it, pushing through the back of the pub and out into the car park.
The cold air hit him. As did the sight of Brodie by the delivery van, ticking off crates as a driver unloaded kegs.
So Jake lingered near his van, waiting for the space to move and get away from him.
From this. From everything that was getting way too far under his skin.
Then Brodie slapped the clipboard against his thigh. “You know who I saw chatting to Emily at closing?” he called across the yard.
Jake narrowed his eyes. “Who?”
“Deacon.”
Jake drew a breath, eyes lifting to Brodie’s face. Irritation still simmered beneath, the jealousy he tried to disguise as sarcasm, but underneath that? There was something else. A hint of regret. Guilt, maybe?
Jake shouldn’t have snapped at him. Brodie hadn’t made the connection because he couldn’t. He hadn’t been there. That wasn’t his history to carry. And Jake forgot that sometimes. Not everyone walked around with it lodged under their ribs, shaping every thought, every reaction. Every. Single. Day.
“Thanks.” Jake raised his chin in gratitude.
Brodie nodded, dropping his gaze before returning to him. “And I’m sorry.”
Jake furrowed his brow. “For what?”
“Your sister.” Brodie tilted his neck. “I forgot. For a minute, I didn’t think.”
Jake’s gut sank. Heavy and familiar.
“Aye,” he said after a beat. “People forget. That’s the fucking problem.”
Because for Jake, he never could. There wasn’t a minute, a day, a version of this town where Robyn wasn’t threaded through it.
So he turned before Brodie could answer, climbed into his van and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame.
Because he needed away. Needed to do something. Anything.
Then he shoved the van into gear and pulled out of the car park too fast, tyres spitting gravel as the back end fishtailed before catching the road, ready to, this time, do what needed doing and do it right.