22. Jace Holloway

Chapter 22

Jace Holloway

The restaurant, Highland coupled with my depression and general lack of motivation really meant that my loner streak continued. I didn’t know many people I could go out and have a casual dinner and drinks with.

So this? Yeah, it was nice.

Really fucking nice.

We fell into an easy conversation as the drinks were brought out. Zane spoke to us about how he and his husband, Enzo, were going to take a family vacation to Disneyland next week to celebrate the opening of a new Stonewall branch in Los Angeles. Hearing about him and his family was fun. Made me believe it was something possible for me.

Maybe for me and a particularly handsome and tattooed gentleman who I couldn’t pry out of my head even if I wanted to.

Theo Glass, Theo Glass, Theo motherfucking Glass.

I tried focusing on the conversation, but Theo just kept playing on a loop in my head. How had a man been able to drill himself directly into my skull the way he had? At first, I thought maybe it was just the sex—because holy fuck was the sex good—but now, I began to realize it was way more than that. It was in the way he walked, what we talked about, how he could grin and brood at the same time, how he had a passion for watches and clocks that I found interesting, how he talked about his cat like he was his son.

And yes, also how good his ass felt when I was inside him. How his cock would leak as I pounded him, how my name would fall from his lips like smooth honey from a golden honeycomb.

There was something else, something deeper. He had facets to himself that I’d yet to discover, which made me excited. It made me want to get to know him more and more. Made me want to make him mine, officially. Maybe it was time to have that conversation? I was supposed to see him tonight after dinner. If the drinks were strong enough here, then I could see a serious conversation occurring in my future.

“And how’s your Nevermore case going?” Zane asked, intense gaze turning to me.

I swirled my whiskey sour and tried to hone back in on the conversation. The candle on the table flickered, almost as if even just the mention of Nevermore was enough to cause it to be snuffed out.

“It’s a tough one,” I answered. As much as I’d been obsessing over Theo, I’d also been obsessing over the case. Although—admittedly—Theo was proving to be a difficult distraction to overcome. I liked to think of him as a way to keep me sane, but I also found myself leaning toward him when I was becoming overly frustrated with the empty leads I was getting.

After my meeting with the mayor, he was able to send me a small folder with what he had on Marielle Rodriguez. I had her photo, had an address, a job history, and a decent idea of who she was. I’d tracked down her old landlord, who said that she had lived with her brother, but the guy’s name wasn’t on the lease, and he gave me the flimsiest description of him. Marielle’s previous employer, a manager for a local nonprofit, only had good things to say about her.

“I feel like I’m so close,” I said. “I know Marielle is the key to all of this. I just don’t get how.”

“We need to find her brother,” Zane said. “He could be the missing link.”

“He could,” I said. “And I’m trying. Marielle’s online presence is paper-thin, and the only people who knew her don’t seem to have had much interaction with her brother.”

“What about parents?” Benji asked. He cut into the thick, bloody steak that sat on his plate.

“I think they cut her off. The landlord mentioned that she almost didn’t get the apartment but begged him, saying that her parents kicked them both out.”

“And you think she knew about this blackmail ring?” Mason asked.

I nodded. “She directly brought it up to the mayor about a week before she was found dead.”

Zane leaned back in his seat. “Suicide?”

The word dragged a chill up my spine.

I nodded, avoiding eye contact. “From what it seems like, yeah. She hanged herself. The landlord heard her brother shouting for help. But there were no autopsy reports, which raised a red flag for me.”

Zane made an inquisitive sound. Benji swallowed his steak, his head cocked. “That is weird. And it happened here?”

“It did,” I said. I cut into the tender chicken breast, brought a forkful of it to my mouth. Flavor exploded across my tongue. At least there was good reason for this place to be so expensive. “I’m going to focus on hunting down the brother. He may know something.”

“I agree,” Zane said.

A flash of incompetence flared inside me. I still felt far out of my league on this one. Like I was making critical mistakes. With Zane here, maybe I should unload all of that? I could ask for help? Or even pass the case on? It made my stomach lurch, having to admit to my failures, but if it helped find this sick fuck sooner, then maybe it’d be for the better?

Shit was always bad for me and my self-confidence. It started off in school, where I’d have trouble focusing on any single subject. Then it leeched over to life at home, where I wouldn’t be able to successfully complete any of the chores my parents asked me to do. This would infuriate my mother, who’d berate me for hours, never helping with the inner doubts that fed off her shouting like termites eating through solid wood. My father would try and alleviate the situation, often by quietly coming into my room after all the yelling was done to explain that Mom was frustrated with work and with how sick Grandma and Grandpa were, that she was wrongly taking it out on me.

It didn’t quite help. I internalized all of those fights, all of the shouting. Every failed test, every missed homework assignment, every little mistake I made added fuel to my fire.

It started to diminish once I began working as an officer with my father. I went through the police academy just fine, I went out on patrols just fine, I worked hard to keep innocent people safe and criminals locked up. It all felt like it was beginning to work out. Like I wasn’t the failure I was telling myself I was.

Then, my father was shot. On a call I should have been on.

Maybe I could have saved him? Maybe just by being there, the man wouldn’t have felt confident enough to pull out his gun and take the shot?

I had failed in the most monumental way possible.

Was I on the same track with this case?

The next bite of chicken tasted like dust and cardboard. Like ashes. My heart started to pick up its pace. I should admit it. I was drowning in this case. People were dying, and more would die the longer I continued to be incompetent. I should have already tracked down the brother. Any other detective would have had names, addresses, social security numbers, ex-relationships, dating profiles. I could hardly even get a physical description of the guy.

Just that he was tall and had tattoos.

Great. So basically every guy walking the streets through Bushwick .

“I think, Zane, that maybe I?—”

My phone vibrated against my thigh. It could have been something about the case. I paused, pulled it out.

It was Theo. Odd. He wasn’t usually a phone call kind of guy. He normally sent texts.

“Sorry, I need to take this real quick.”

“Of course,” Zane said.

I stood and walked through the loud restaurant, stepping out onto the cold, busy sidewalk. It was eight o’clock. The street was full of people either leaving their late shifts for dinner and drinks or starting their early shifts at the nearby bars.

“Hello?”

“Jace, I need you. Please. Come over. I’m—bad panic attack.” Theo’s voice shook. My stomach instantly dropped.

“I’ll be right there.”