“I’m calling in favors to get a read on where Pierce’s investigation’s headed,” he finally says. “But they’re keeping it tight.”
“Good. Leaks would only scatter them.” My tone softens, professional instinct kicking in. “When someone comes to me with a self-inflicted disaster, I conduct my own version of discovery. It’s the only way to be ready.”
“Because everyone lies.”
“Everyone lies,” I echo, staring at my reflection in the glass—eyes weary, mouth a practiced line. “But especially the ones closest to implosion.”
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Noah
“Temperature’s dropping,” I say to Jake as we finish tightening the final screw on the motion-activated camera, hidden high in the spindly branches of the tree across from Alicia’s house. This isn’t her property, but we want more angles.
The cold has crept in with that bone-deep stillness unique to DC in late fall—not yet winter but threatening it. My breath fogs faintly in the air as I climb down and check the view on my phone.
It’s just one more layer of protection—a discreet vantage point that won’t trip alerts with every passing squirrel, but might catch something we’d otherwise miss. Anyone casing the perimeter will be looking closer to the house, not skyward.
“You think this is chilly, you should visit Chicago,” Jake says, rubbing his gloved hands together. He spent the weekend back in Chicago with his girlfriend. “The highs were below freezing.”
“Seriously?”
He nods, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Jake flew in earlier this afternoon—straight from the airport to the field. He’s staying at a hotel nearby.
As the last light fades and the shadows deepen along the sidewalk, the street feels quieter than usual—like it’s listening.
“You gonna move to Chicago?” I ask.
“Nah. Still got my place in the Highlands. Daisy and I plan to bounce between our places.”
“It’s nice you can do that. Long distance isn’t easy.”
“Yeah.” He smirks, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head. “Her gig’s flexible. We’re lucky. She’s flying in tomorrow.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep. Hudson’s cool with it. His idea, actually. Said he wanted to make sure we get the work-life balance thing right.”
“That’s good of him.” I close the toolkit, the sound of metal clicking oddly loud in the still air. My car’s parked under the carport, waiting for me to move it before Alicia gets home. “Glad Daisy was there when you got out of the hospital. You needed someone in your corner.”
Jake grins. “I got a bump on the head and some chest pain.”
“Didn’t you need stitches?” I arch a brow. “The answer is yes. I was there—at the hospital. That guy hit you hard.”
He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “A few stitches. Nothing major.”
“Well, you’ve got a thick head of hair—hides the damage.” I let the heart condition slide—he wants to downplay it, I can roll with that.
He chuckles, the sound easy and unguarded. “Daisy says a hard head goes with it. But yeah, she’s been good for me. We’re figuring it out. I upgraded her sofa for better TV viewing, she got me throw pillows for mine. One day we’ll consolidate, but this works for now.”
“Good for you, man,” I say, crossing my arms. I mean it. Jake’s a solid guy. The kind who’s seen too much but somehow still manages to smile.
He studies me for a second. “You seeing anyone?”
I pause. The question lands in murkier territory than he’s aiming to navigate. We’re standing between the sidewalk and Alicia’s brown grass lawn, the sky a flat gray, the air edged with frost. It’s small talk, but it cuts too close.