Page 91 of Faded Gray Lines

Shoving both arms into my chest, he knocked me backward. “Don’t ever question my love for Leighton. I’d die for her.”

I shoved him right back. Only mine was harder and came with a warning. “Yeah? I just killed for her. Now clean this shit up. We have work to do.”

Thirty

Leighton

Jackie pacedthe uneven asphalt outside the back door of Caliente, sucking on the end of a thin cigarette. As late as it was, she was still dressed to impress—a smart navy-blue pantsuit over a crisp white shirt and a simple necklace she held like a talisman. I leaned against the back of the building watching her crumble with every step.

“Since when did you take up smoking?”

Stopping, she crossed an arm over her chest and blew a heavy line of smoke. “Since when did you take to summoning me?” Shaking her head, she resumed her pacing. “Make this quick, Leighton. Your mother doesn’t know I’m gone.”

“It’s Saturday night.”

She chuckled. “Your point?” Spinning around, she peered around the corner. “Are you sure it’s safe to talk out here?”

I was way ahead of her. Before texting her to meet me during my break, I’d ensured Emilio was busy and none of his associates were anywhere near the building. I even kept a watch across the street to ensure Swenson and his buddy had taken the night off. I made mistakes, but I didn’t repeat them.

“Yes, everyone else is inside. No one’s listening.”

She rolled her eyes. “Someone’s always listening.”

After the last few days, I’d come to question everyone’s motives. There was no such thing as a selfless deed. While I didn’t want to alienate her, I didn’t have time to stand out here arguing with her.

“You were concerned about me being near Alex Atwood at the fundraiser. Why?”

The orange end of Jackie’s cigarette flickered. “I didn’t like the looks of him.”

“Right. Is that why you played a game of ‘riddle me this’ at my mother’s office? I did what you told me to.” Digging into my apron, I pulled out the picture of Alex from my father’s funeral and held it up. “I found this.”

She exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Yeah?”

Her blasé attitude irritated me. She’d presented the can of worms, and I dumped it out. She was sifting through them with me whether she liked it or not. “Why was Alex at my father’s funeral? You seem to know a lot about both of them, so I was hoping you could shed some light on this for me.”

Dropping her cigarette to the ground, she stomped it out with the toe of her shoe. “I’m sure you have access to a computer,” she mumbled. “Google Detective Alex Atwood and see what pops up.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she turned to walk away.

Moving quickly, I grabbed her arm. “Why are you doing this?”

“I told you, I do a lot of things not in my job description.” Her body tensed, and her shoulders drew toward her ears. “But I didn’t sign on for any of this shit.”

“Shit? What shit? And why do you care so much about my father?”

Jackie glanced over her shoulder, and I had to swallow my reaction. The earlier nervousness etched in her face deepened into a pain I knew all too well. It caused permanent lines carved by rivers of tears only cried by someone whose heart had shattered into a thousand pieces.

“Your father was a good man, Leighton,” she said, her tone hauntingly sad. “He cared about people and saw the good in them. Even people who did things they didn’t want to.” Her voice broke on her last words, her hand reaching for the necklace dangling just above the collar of her shirt. I caught a glimpse of it just before she wrapped it protectively in her hand.

A gold “J” on a dainty gold chain.

Just like mine.

My heart thundered in my chest. “Beautiful necklace.”

“It was a gift.” Her grip tightened, as if my acknowledgment would make it disappear.

I understood her possessiveness—her need to hold tightly to the only thing she had left. It was a lasting testament to the good part in all of us. I should’ve been jealous. It should’ve soiled my most sacred memories, tainting the infallible man I put on a pedestal.

But I wasn’t, and it didn’t.