Page 30 of The Fixer

“Your father’s password.”

Eliza’s eyes widened and she caught a cry with her hand. I pulled the scrap of paper from her trembling fingers, flipping it over to see what was written there.

J!ng1eB3llR0ck.

“It was his favorite song,” Eliza whispered, blinking away unshed tears. “He used to sing it all the time, even in the middle of summer. How did you know?”

Mateo gave a shrug as I placed the paper on the table before Eliza—she wouldn’t take it from me. “Passwords usually have meaning. They’re something personal. Jet told me about Mr. Jingles, and, well… After a little research, I found out your mother’s maiden name.”

“Bell.”

“From there, it was just a guess.” Mateo scratched at his beard. “Well, that and a password cracking software I wrote years ago.”

“Thank you,” Eliza said, rising and giving Mateo a hug. I rose too, nudging a stack of papers as I waited for her to let go.

“Thank you, brother,” I told my friend as I shook his hand and pulled him into a hug.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, then laughed. “I mean, like, literally. Queenie will fillet me if she finds out. Don’t be a stranger. We’ll talk soon.”

After Mateo saw himself out, I helped Eliza put away the stacks of papers from the drawers we had pulled them from. With my jacket back on and her purse in her hand, I guided her down the stairs and out the office door, through the building and to my car in the parking garage.

None of the words I wanted to say would fall from my tongue. I prodded at the corner of my lips, trying to wipe away the web of secrets and lies that swallowed me.

That owned me.

That made me who I was.

Eliza gazed out the side window. Shadows danced across her face, darkening her skin, making the distance between us feel immeasurable, a chasm that couldn’t be crossed. I steadied her more than once as we got to her building and I walked her inside. And it killed me, to be so close. To know I should have taken her out, gotten her something to eat, taken care of her like I wanted to. It killed me to know I couldn’t tuck her into her bed. That I couldn’t crawl in beside her, do all the things I wanted to do.

She slowed in the hallway, the stretch between the elevator and her door. I matched her gait, unwilling to move from her side in case she needed me. And it was in that sluggish pace that my eyes caught light at the end of the hall.

Not just any light. It was bleeding from around the frame of her door.

Grabbing Eliza’s arm in one hand, I covered her mouth with the other, pushing her into the wall. Those chocolate eyes lit, widening, the gold catching on the yellow light overhead.

“I need you to stay quiet,” I insisted, tone a gruff whisper I hoped she could understand. “I need you to stay behind me, but not too far away. Do you think you can do that?”

Her head shook, her body trying to twist away. I released her arm, and my hand immediately grabbed for her throat.

“Listen to me. Listen!” A whimper pulsed against my hand and I loosened my grip, though didn’t release her. I used my hold to move her, to train her face on the light coming from around her door. “We didn’t leave the door open this morning, did we?”

Her head shook again, another whimper falling loose.

“Can you be quiet? Can you do as I say?”

Her head dipped, the movement slight as her chin hit the meaty flesh of my hand. I released her, slowly, letting go of her neck before carefully, carefully removing my fingers from her lips.

My gaze lingered there, then dropped to the red marks on her throat. I swallowed down disgust, then grabbed my gun from my back.

Eliza gasped, and I shot her a glare. “Where did you get that?”

“Quiet,” I snapped, and she jerked back. I stepped toward the door, rolling on the outsides of my feet, toe to heel to quiet my steps. I searched my memory from the night before for any creak there might have been in the floor. Eliza slid along the wall behind me, and I wanted to snap again, to remind her I asked for silence. To tell her I could hear every movement she made.

With the muzzle of my gun, I pushed the door open a crack, then enough to squeeze through. The hinges creaked and I froze, both at the sound and at the feel of Eliza’s hand gripping my arm. It went against all my training, against all logic in my brain, but I whipped my head around to check on her.

Bulging eyes sat dark in a pale white face. The hand that wasn’t holding me was clutched at her throat, covering the red marks I’d left there. Her breath heaved out of her, but she didn’t make a sound.

“Stay close,” I whispered.