Page 27 of Jameson’s Salvation

“No.”

“Then what’s with the urgency to get to me?”

“Didn’t say you weren’t in danger. But you sure as fuck aren’t now.”

“I have to go to my mom’s.”

If Jameson thought there’d been the tiniest chance I was in danger, I had to check on my mom. I couldn’t leave her vulnerable.

“Holden went over there.”

“What? She can’t know this is happening.”

“Didn’t say he was gonna waltz up to her front door. He’s just sitting on her house. But I think you need to talk to her so we can put cameras up around her house, too.”

Holy shit.

“Do you think it was Reggie who broke in? I mean, the guy’s a prick, but home invasion isn’t his style.”

“I don’t think anything. Facts are all I care about. The person in your house isn’t Reggie, that’s a fact. The man was slimmer and much younger. But what I can’t rule out is Reggie isn’t behind it. And until we know that, I’m not taking chances. You said your mom can’t get around well, which means if someone breaks into her house, she’s a sitting duck.”

I felt my body shiver at the thought of someone in my mom’s house.

“Babe, that’s not gonna happen. Holden is over there now, and if we need to we can place a man outside twenty-four seven. Cameras would also be good.”

“I can move in with her.”

“You just got done telling me you didn’t want her to know what was going on.”

“I won’t tell her.”

“So you suddenly moving in wouldn’t make her ask questions?”

“No. I’ll…um…my water heater. I’ll tell her I’m moving in because my water heater’s still broken.”

“Jesus.”

Once again, Jameson started pulling me and I waited for him to unlock another door before he ushered me into an open room with the coolest dinged-up hardwood floors I’d ever seen. The far wall was brick and five arched windows allowed light to spill into the room. There were two wingback chairs sitting in the corner with a table set between. There were also two big bookcases shoved full of books. They looked out of place in what would be considered the reception of an office, but what did I know about what the inside of a private investigation firm looked like.

It was clean and masculine.

He pulled me down a hall and I noted a large conference room to my left and another set of stairs at the end of the hall. After we ascended those stairs, he finally spoke.

“Nixon and McKenna’s office.” He pointed to the first door. “Holden’s. Weston’s. Chasin’s.” He tapped each closed door as we passed and he opened the last door, stepping aside so I could enter, then he shut the door behind us.

“I take it this is yours.”

“Don’t be cute.”

I hated when people called me cute. There was nothing cute about me. And I certainly wasn’t trying be cute now. I was trying to be a smartass because I was annoyed at the way he was dragging me around, but more worried about someone being in my house and Weston rushing over there to try to catch them.

If he got hurt because of me, I would never forgive myself for pulling them into this mess.

“Your water heater’s broken?”

“Yeah.” Why was he looking at me like I had a third eyeball in the center of my forehead? “You were there when it broke, remember?”

Under normal circumstances I probably would’ve blushed talking about that day, but right then I was too aggravated to care I’d just reminded him he’d seen me near-naked before he’d given me the brush-off.