Page 54 of The Fixer

Her chin raised, then a single eyebrow. “Is Devereux still a threat?”

Shoving my hands in my pockets to still them, I crossed one ankle over the other, trying to feign a calm I didn’t feel. “Possibly. Though he should be too busy with his current troubles with the EPA to be too concerned with Eliza. But we’re keeping an eye on them both, just in case.”

“And it’s your eyes on her.” It wasn’t a question, but the harshest accusation. As if she distrusted me more now than she had when we’d first met.

“The circumstances around our meeting were purely innocent.”

“Yet you’re still here. Two weeks later.”

“I’m protecting her.” It came out a growl, but the woman was unaffected.

“Protecting her from what?”

“There’s a threat,” I told her, voice low, quiet. There were some things that were not meant for others’ ears. “Her cat was poisoned, a dose of arsenic high enough to be lethal to a full-grown man, in food that I can only assume was meant for her. Her apartment was broken into and trashed. Her father’s apartment was also broken into, his safe cracked and emptied.”

“When?” Meg asked, hand clutching the collar of her shirt.

“All in the past week. And this is on top of her father’s death, which I suspect wasn’t an accident.”

She looked away, worry in her features. When she returned her gaze to me, she asked with a shaky voice, “Does he know?”

He.

The man who’d sent me here to speak with Meg about her concerns for the safety of one of her girls. Who set me on the path to taking down Nathan Devereux.

“No,” I forced out through a tight throat. I swallowed, trying to clear away the lump. “No, our ties have been temporarily cut. I’m here on my own, without his knowledge. Because I want to help her.”

“You care for her.”

There was no denying it. No way I could lie, especially not to myself. Not when I looked out the one-way glass and caught sight of the girl who affected me too much. That tumble of red waves. That gorgeous fucking smile on her face. It had everything inside me tightening, clenching hard, as if every piece of my being was reaching out to her. Wanting to hold her.

Wanting to keep her.

There was no denying it, so I didn’t. I let my actions speak for themselves. When Eliza stumbled into the room, smiling, my body moved toward her, arms wrapping around her as she threw her own around me. Pressed a kiss to her head as her cheek pressed into my chest, the girl a bright light shining down on my darkness.

Her hand strung between us, sliding up my stomach, fingers gentle on my chest. Then she turned her face to mine and stole my breath once again. That smile. The dimple caving in the middle of her cheek. The spray of freckles covering her skin, making me want to take a taste.

“What are you two talking about?” she asked, a tease in her voice. “Is Meg giving you the third degree?”

“Just making sure my girl is safe,” Meg retorted as she shot me a glare.

Eliza smiled, not even looking at her boss. “Don’t mind her,” she said, a whisper loud enough for Meg to hear. “She may look mean, but she’s a big old pussy cat.”

“Hmm,” I hummed, the sound coming from deep in my throat.

Poor, sweet, innocent Eliza. If only she knew. Once upon a time, that old pussy cat had demanded blood, had raged against the idea that Devereux was getting away with, as she called it, a slap on the wrist. Had I known then it was this girl Meg was worried about, that it was this girl the man had abused, she would have gotten her wish. He would have burned alive in my uncle’s furnaces.

Now that I knew, that wasn’t out of the question.

“You don’t have to be worried, Meg,” Eliza said, turning her body to the side as her hand slipped around my back. “Jet’s been absolutely amazing. He’s been teaching me to defend myself. And truthfully, that’s part of the reason I wanted to come here today.”

Suspicion gave way to curiosity, as subtle as it was. “What do you mean?”

“Jet had a friend who used to help people. What did you call them?”

“Lost souls,” I murmured, my chest tight at the thought.

“Lost souls.” Eliza squeezed her arm around me, as if she sensed my pain. As if she thought she could support me, hold me up. “He worked with a lot of people like the ladies here at the shelter. Counseling them, but also teaching them self-defense. Jet’s been teaching me,” she said, squeezing once more as she turned that dazzling smile my way. “And it’s helped me so much. I feel stronger. More confident. I feel like, with a little more practice, I could stand a fighting chance.”