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I looked at Lucas, who lifted a shoulder in a shrug. Chase mirrored his gesture.
“We’ll figure out the details soon,” I said. I didn’t want Brooke to feel like she was a child who needed constant guarding, but I didn’t want a single person with malicious intentions to get within a mile of her.
I’d have some security watch her from afar and have Mac keep an eye out for any changes in his part of the underworld. She’d feel like she had freedom, and I’d have the peace of mind that she was safe.
“Speaking of Trevor and people possibly following Brooke,” Chase said, sitting down adjacent to Brooke and opening up his laptop. “My private investigator found even more on Trevor. And Dane by extension.”
“What’d they find?” Brooke asked, leaning forward to see the screen.
“So this business that Trevor and Dane are running—the deli with shitty reviews—is under investigation for possibly being part of a money laundering ring,” Chase said. “And they’re connected to the crime ring.”
“How long has this been happening?” Brooke asked. “I wonder if Dane ever did anything related to it when we were together.”
“A few years, at least.” Chase scrolled. “We still don’t know if Trevor is actually a part of the mob or if he’s just on the fringes of it, but following and intimidating a woman seems like criminal behavior.”
“Especially a woman who’s alone and might be putting her nose in a place where they feel she shouldn’t,” I said. I rested my hand on the back of her neck, the point of contact calming me down.
“We don’t have proof, though,” Brooke said. “I didn’t get anything on camera. If we went to the cops, they might turn me away because I don’t have evidence. And they’re already investigating Dane and Trevor over this. Do we really have anything new?”
Brooke paused, playing with the ends of her ponytail and frowning. I wanted to let her speak, so I stayed quiet and shot a look at Lucas to get him to stay quiet, too.
“I should go back to my place and dig through my old stuff before I go back to stay with you, Hunter. Maybe he has some kind of receipt or record orsomethingthat we can bring. Something they wouldn’t have,” Brooke said. “Plus, I need a few things.”
“It might be dangerous,” I said.
“They wouldn’t expect me to go home during the middle of the day,” she said.
“I’m coming with you, then,” I said. “And I’m driving.”
“Okay, fine.” The tension in her jaw suggested otherwise, but I wasn’t going to call her out on it. She was already annoyed with me.
I walked Brooke to my car. I kept my hand on her shoulder the whole time, looking around. The strip was always so busy, so there was always an opportunity for someone to get closer than they needed to, even in the lot.
I opened the door for her and got behind the wheel, the doors automatically locking. Brooke was busy looking at her phone most of the drive to her place. Traffic was light, and I was too antsy to go the speed limit, so I made it to her apartment building in record time.
The building wasn’t the nicest, but it didn’t feel overtly unsafe, either. Still, I kept close as Brooke walked up to her place. I wasn’t an expert in security, but even I knew how flimsy the locks on her door were. A solid kick, and the door would have come down, too. The idea that she’d lived here, even before all of this stuff with the crime ring, made me feel fucking sick. Anyone could have hurt her.
“I’ll have your locks replaced,” I said to her once we got inside. I locked the door, anyway, putting on the deadbolt.
“Is there something wrong with them?” she asked, kicking off her shoes.
“They could be sturdier.” I took off my shoes, too, so I didn’t track any dirt through her apartment. “You won’t be here, but Jamie shouldn’t be unsafe, either, in case someone comes around.”
I had dropped Brooke off here once or twice, but I’d never been inside. It was very Brooke, but with touches of her roommate here and there—cozy and feminine, with some kitschy pieces of art and knickknacks on shelves. I followed Brooke over to her bedroom, which was off the one big room that the apartment essentially was.
The now-familiar floral scent of her permeated the room. It had small bursts of chaos, like a crumpled-up quilt on her dresser and an overflowing hamper, but overall, it was neat. I stood in her doorway as she opened her closet. It was tiny and packed to the brim, too.
“You still have things from him?” I asked, an edge to my tone. I wanted that fucker out of her life in every possible way.
“Not a lot. Just stuff that I felt was more mine, even though we were both connected to it.” She put a shoebox onto her bed, then a plastic bin. “Mostly this stuff here. I don’t know if it’ll help, but we might as well try.”
“Need my help?” I asked, coming over, anyway.
“Sure.” She sat on the bed and made space for me to sit, too.
I took the plastic bin, and she took the shoebox. She was right—it was mostly random stuff like movie ticket stubs, souvenirs, knickknacks, and more. A few receipts were in there for gas or groceries, but I set them aside. They had dates on them. Who knew if they’d help?
I hated this. This situation had been simmering for a while, but now it felt like it was coming to a boil.
