Page 25 of The Fixer

But as I watched him unlock my father’s desk with nothing more than some thin contraption he’d pulled from his pocket, as the muscles in his arms rippling beneath his rolled-up sleeves, I forgot to care.

He’d saved me twice.

He’d helped me with poor Mr. Jingles’ death.

He’d gotten me into the locked-up files in my father’s desk.

We’d pulled folders from the drawers and spread them out on the table near the window, and we were slowly perusing them when there was a quiet knock at the door. Jet had been standing over me, his muscular arms and that pointed corner of a blue tattoo peeking out from under his left sleeve, boxing me in and distracting me all the same. He rose at the sound, and the heady mix of his scent and his presence faded slightly, bringing fresh air and clarity to my muddled brain.

“Eliza? You’re back again?”

“Uncle Niles!” I pushed out of the chair, thankful for the breakfast Jet had insisted I eat to keep me on my feet, and met the man halfway. He wrapped me in a fatherly hug, though he felt stiff.

“Who’s this?”

Looking over my shoulder, I found Jet standing behind me, his silver eyes dark and dangerous as he watched Niles pull me closer against his side.

“Niles, this is—”

“I’m Jet,” he said, extending his hand toward Niles.

Niles had to release me so they could shake, and I swear I saw satisfaction flicker across Jet’s face.

“Niles Murphy,” my uncle said. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

“Jet’s the man I ran into at the funeral home,” I told him. “He’s the one who caught me when I stumbled and almost fell.”

Niles tipped his head and dragged his gaze to the floor and back, making sure Jet knew he was judging every inch of him. All I saw was the rise and fall of a muscled chest, thick shoulders and a narrowed waist. The tight muscles of his arm bulging, blue veins popping out. Jet released Niles’s hand before shoving both his hands in his pockets.

“You’re from the funeral home. And you’re here because...?” Niles asked, flexing his right hand before kneading it with his left.

Jet’s lips twitched. His tongue swept out, prodding the corner of his mouth as silver danced before my eyes. I was drawn to him, to the safety he provided, to the comfort he’d given me from the moment we first met.

I wrapped both my hands around Jet’s forearm and his muscles flexed under my grip. “Jet brought me Dad’s ashes and a box of his things I’d left at the funeral home. And he…” Heat rose to my cheeks and Jet’s smile grew. “He’s been helping me out.”

“He’s helping…” Niles looked around me, to the table covered in papers we’d been at a minute before.

“There were some keys in the box I brought her,” Jet told him, his eyes narrowing on me before he turned to the table, untucking his hand from his pocket before snagging mine from my side. He tugged me behind him. Led me back to my chair. Hovered over me, talking to Niles with his hands smoothing over my shoulders and arms. “We thought maybe it’d open the drawers. And after Mr. Jingles…”

There was something in the way he moved me, as if commanding me to follow his lead. It brought back potent memories, but not the kind I expected. Not the kind that had reduced me to nothing, but instead the kind that had me standing strong on my own.

Jet’s fingers curled around my throat as his hand rose up my shoulder, and a tightness that had nothing to do with the dead cat clenched at my windpipe. I sucked in a breath and he smoothed his hand down my shoulder before Niles turned my way.

“What about Mr. Jingles?”

“She…” I blinked. Swallowed and tried again. “She died.”

“No. Oh, Eliza. What happened?” Niles dropped to the seat beside me and reached for my hand.

“When I got home last night, she was just… gone.”

Jet’s hands squeezed my biceps and it felt like approval in the curl of every finger against my flesh.

I was doing this.

I was lying to my uncle.

And I knew there was only one reason I ever would.