Jaz. So she went by Jaz. Somehow, that wasn’t surprising.
I tried to act surprised that Marie was not her real name, cocking my head after taking a long sip of coffee. “Why’d you give me a fake name, Jaz?”
Her amber eyes fell to her lap, and she shifted her weight in the seat. She must’ve crossed her legs, because again, she touched me under the table—this time with her foot. God, if I could get away from this girl, keep her at a ten-foot distance…hell, even ten feet might not be enough. I angled my legs away from her, tilting my whole body so I pretty much faced the window.
“I don’t know,” she finally said, meeting my eyes. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I didn’t know who you’d be.”
I gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Anything else you want to tell me, Jaz? Before we continue, that is. Anything you’re hiding from me that I should know going into this?” After taking another sip of coffee, I waited.
She shook her head, parting her lips to say, “No, I didn’t hide anything else.”
At this point, I didn’t know if I believed her, but I had to remember to be calm. To be charming—as charming as I could be, given my past with girls like her. If I was supposed to look into her, I had to act friendlier toward her.
These were the days when I hated my job.
“Let’s discuss why you’re hiring me, then,” I said, running a finger around the rim of the mug. The coffee here wasn’t the best, but it would do. It did just fine.
“My mom and I are new in town,” she said, holding her arms together. “I just…I just want to make sure we’re safe here.” As she spoke, she hardly seemed like the bold, defiant girl who’d literally crawled over me in my car.
And whacked me with that bag and the textbooks inside.
I studied her. She was uneasy before me, but whether she felt so because she was with a stranger or because of what she was asking me to do, I couldn’t say. I understood what she wasn’t saying, though—if she wanted to make sure her mom were safe, it meant she didn’t think she was safe.
Knowing someone out there wanted me to keep an eye on her, investigate her, I couldn’t help but agree with her.
My job, however, wasn’t about keeping people safe. It was about finding the truth, no matter how deeply that truth was hidden.
“And what can I do to help you?” I questioned, staring at her perhaps a bit too hard. Jaz seemed to squirm under my gaze; maybe I was overdoing the gruff, no-nonsense act a bit. It was hard not to though, when she kept accidentally touching me.
“I want you to look into some people,” she said. The tip of her nose was red from the walk in the cold, and the waitress came by to ask if she wanted anything. Jaz waved her off, shaking her head. She’d rather have a cold nose than order a hot chocolate or something. “Oliver Fitzpatrick and the Scott family.”
I was in the process of taking another sip from my coffee when she told me the names, and I nearly choked.
Why in the fucking fuck would she have me look into Oliver Fitzpatrick? I found it almost ironic, given my history with the man and his family.
And the Scotts? They were…well, from what I heard they weren’t the type of family you looked into. You steered clear of them, avoided them, unless you had to—and this girl was basically tossing me to the wolves.
It wasn’t like I could say no. She’d already paid me a deposit, and I had to keep an eye on her anyway. Getting on her bad side would only make things harder, so I had to do my best.
I didn’t want to do anything with her, but that was off the table completely. The money was too good.
“Do you—”
“I know who they are,” I said. What this girl did not need to know was my history with them. It was a long story anyway; I was sure she had homework or something to do. I started to get up, to reach for my wallet to pay for the coffee, but she stretched her arm across the table and grabbed my hand first.
“Wait,” she said, fingers tightening around my hand. “That’s it?” Jaz did not release my hand, even when I sent her a dark glare.
This girl…working with her was going to be hard, if she kept insisting on touching me at every single turn.
I yanked my hand out from under hers, tossing a look around the diner. The waitress was talking to the lone customer sitting near the register on a stool, and the cook was whistling in the back.
“If we’re going to work together, I need you to…” I trailed off, wondering how I should say it without sounding weird. Meeting her eyes, she almost looked hurt, wounded that I’d tear my hand away from hers like that.
Big, wide eyes like hers, warm as chocolate, could get you into trouble. I had to be careful with her.
“To what?” Jaz asked, leaning forward, pushing her chest against the side of the table.
I looked away quickly, chastising myself for even glancing there. “Just…check your email, I’ll be in touch.” Before she could say anything else, before she could stare at me with those honey-colored eyes, I threw down a five on the table and got up, hurrying to my car.
Once I was safely inside, once I had the engine started and heating up, I glanced up. Through the diner’s windows, I could see Jaz still sitting at our booth. I waited until she got up, pretending to be busy in my car as she exited the diner and started walking.
And then, suddenly, it occurred to me, something that should’ve occurred to me before—she was walking. She wasn’t driving. Did she not have a car? And then, my stupid self, realized something else.
Her clothes.
She didn’t seem like the typical Midpark brat.
I waited until she crossed the street to get out of my car, buttoning my jacket as I decided to follow her. A split-second decision, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. I didn’t know any eighteen-year-olds who’d voluntarily walk in Midpark. Like, anywhere. Not even to the base of their driveway.
I kept my distance, turning up my collar. Jaz kept glancing to her phone, as if needing to follow it for directions—which I also found odd. When she’d said her mom and her were new in town, she’d meant it. Shiny and new, oblivious to the way things worked around here.
Deeper into the heart of Midpark we went, where the streets had dividers between lanes and houses had gates and fences around them. It was quite the jaunt—at least a mile or two. I stayed one hundred feet behind her, keeping my head low just in case she turned around.
She didn’t. She was blissfully unaware she was being followed, oblivious to the point where it was laughable. I didn’t know how I could ever take this girl seriously—she needed a wake-up slap. I wasn’t sure how things were where she came from, but in Midpark, you had to be careful. Under the painted faces and the freshly-pressed suits laid monsters of every kind.
Cheaters. White-collar criminals. Frauds and gamblers. Even the worst of the worst—abusers, and those who turned blind eyes to it. Midpark might look like a nice, pretty, rich town, and it was, but underneath it all sat an ugly darkness.
I never would’ve guessed where she was going, but I had to slow my footsteps the moment a familiar house came into view. It sat behind wrought iron gates, a twenty-four-hour guard constantly in the guardhouse just outside it. I watched from across the street as she went up to the guard, smiled, and then…then the guard let her in, and she walked up the long driveway to the house as the gate shut behind her.