Page 64 of Jameson’s Salvation

“Whatever.” McKenna shook her head.

Jameson sat next to Kennedy with his own plate piled high with pizza.

“I don’t want you getting into trouble,” she murmured.

“Babe, me hacking into Reggie Coleman’s cellphone is the least of our concerns. When I get my hands on the fucker who hurt you…now that’s when we need to start worrying.” Kennedy’s eyes widened and Jameson continued. “Eat your dinner. When we’re done, we’ll go upstairs and get you a shower and settled for bed.”

Much to Jameson’s surprise Kennedy didn’t argue. She simply nodded her head and dug into her sandwich.

“I had no idea someone could hack a cellphone and turn on the camera. Here I thought by disabling the GPS on my phone so it couldn’t be tracked, I was doing something,” Kennedy grumbled.

“Not so much,” McKenna returned and smiled.

McKenna chattered on about how much help Kennedy would be in the office. It finally dawned on Jameson what she was doing and Jameson smiled. The woman was brilliant. With Kennedy in the office, she’d be under constant guard and there’d be no argument. And by Kennedy helping, her mind would be occupied and she’d feel useful, leaving less room in her head to think about the attack or that her business had taken a hit. Now that the sheriff’s office had requested Gemini Group’s help, they’d be paying the bills. Tomorrow, Jameson was going to talk to Nix about putting Kennedy on the payroll.

That would be a hard sell, not on Nixon’s part, but getting Kennedy to accept.

Jameson was feeling a little lighter. This would all be over soon and he and Kennedy could get back to their lives.

At her home, in her bed, where they both belonged.

20

Kennedy

What a difference a shower and a good night’s rest did for someone’s disposition.

It may’ve helped that the shower had included Jameson climbing in with me and washing me from head to toe. Then he’d clothed me and put me to bed before he did the same for himself.

After he’d settled me in his favorite position with my head on his chest and my arm resting on his bare stomach, he told me stories about growing up in Eureka, California. Hearing stories about his childhood saddened me, but it also explained a great deal. He’d started working at a salmon factory before he was old enough for a work permit and had been paid under the table. Every weekend for years he put in as many hours as the owner would allow and gave his mother, who worked as a maid in one of the many historic hotels in town, all of his money.

What little he brought home helped, but not enough, and he and his mother moved a lot, either after eviction, or when she missed the first rent payment and knew they’d be kicked out so she’d leave before it happened. The most heartbreaking part was when Jameson had said he’d gotten so good at moving he could have their belongings packed and ready in under two hours.

I couldn’t imagine. I’d lived in the same house my whole life. The more Jameson talked the more I wanted to crawl on top of him and shield him from the memories. I knew it was crazy but I wanted to firmly plant him in my house and lock the door so he could never leave. I wanted him to have a home. A place where he wouldn’t have to keep his stuff packed because the place he was staying was temporary. Even his room at Nixon’s wasn’t permanent. He lived liked he was a guest in that house.

The longest he’d stayed in one place after his dickhead father had bolted was his last year of high school. And that was only because he’d quit playing sports and got a job at a logging company making enough money to pay the rent on a two-bedroom apartment. They’d stayed there for eighteen months. Then he moved his mom into a one-bedroom when he left for the Navy and continued to pay her rent until she could afford it on her own. With Jameson gone, she could afford to live on her own.

Which only made things worse for him—thinking he’d been a burden to her all those years.

It was utter bullshit. A child is not a burden, but when I’d tried to explain that to him all he said was, ‘babe’ and I dropped the subject. It was painful for him to talk about, yet he’d shared it with me. I wouldn’t push him into seeing the truth. Not yet. But one day, I’d convince him his mother didn’t see her beloved son as a hardship or hindrance. They’d both caught a raw deal.

Now I was sitting in Jameson’s office running down a list of properties that Reggie Coleman owned. We’d narrowed it down to the ones that had homes, and McKenna had taught me how to check if there was electricity being delivered.

So far, I’d gone through ten addresses since they’d been gone and five had power hooked up. I still had ten more to go.

How in the hell had Reggie Coleman amassed so many listings? Sure, some of them were junkers and according to mortgage records, he’d bought them each for under thirty thousand dollars, but that added up. Especially when you took into consideration he also had purchased land valued at a million dollars. I hadn’t taken the time to do the actual math, but averaging what Chester River Holdings owned without the rental income, he’d acquired nearly fifteen million dollars in property.

Now that may not be a lot in the city, but for a small town land developer in Kent County, that was a whole hell of a lot. Reggie lived in a nice home, drove a brand-new pick-up, his wife always had a top-of-the-line model of whatever she drove, but I couldn’t imagine him having fifteen million dollars at his disposal. He had to be in debt out his ass, especially because he was sitting on the properties and not flipping them.

And to think the bastard had only offered me half of what my fifty acres was worth, like he was doing me a favor.

What a prick.

I heard beeping from downstairs and I reached for my phone. When Jameson had left, he’d said they would be gone about an hour. It had only been twenty minutes. Footsteps had me pulling up Jameson’s number. My finger was hovering over the call button when Weston yelled if anyone was there.

I shrank back into the seat and tried to calm my racing heart. Nothing like overreacting.

“Hey.” Weston popped his head into the office, both of his hands bracing him in the frame.