I’d never had so many people actually give a shit about me. It was almost unsettling. I’d spent so much of my life only everworrying about myself. Toby was added on later, the only person I’d ever cared about. But now… Now I had an entire room full of people I didn’t want to see hurt.
And the only way I could make sure that happened was to find out who was working with Paul Jeddersen that night.
And let the Murder Squad deal with him from there.
Iwent to Clean Sweep HQ that afternoon, not even sure if Francine would be there. Without Nyah, and with me in the city, she had to be short-staffed. It was entirely possible she would be out on a job herself.
Unless she’d already hired a replacement for Nyah.
The thought left me so freaking cold I rubbed my arms briskly, trying to ward off the chill, and made my way up the steps. Whip and Levi hovered on the street, but X had refused to let me go in alone.
Apparently, they were back to babysitting me twenty-four seven. I had to be in sight of at least one of them at all times.
This time, I hadn’t argued about it though. I no longer found it stifling.
I felt safe. Protected.
And it felt necessary.
I put my hand on X’s before we walked in. “Let me talk to her, okay?”
X pouted. “You don’t want me to interrogate her?”
I shook my head. “Your interrogations usually involve weapons.”
“And bad jokes. Don’t forget the bad jokes.”
“I’m not sure which is scarier.”
He made a face and leaned around me to hold open the door. “Go on. I’ll behave.”
Francine glanced up from behind her desk when we entered.
X was good for exactly three seconds before he slammed his palm down on Francine’s desk. “Tell us who he’s working with!”
Francine jumped a mile, papers spilling over the edge of the desk onto the floor. She glanced between me and X in confusion, eventually settling on me. “Violet? What is this?”
I closed my eyes and grimaced, linking my arm through X’s and pinching his forearm hard.
He yelped like an injured puppy, but I elbowed him, and he shut up. “Please excuse my friend. He has a head injury and apparently thinks he’s in some sort ofDirty Harrymovie.”
X mumbled something about it being more James Bond, and I glared at him silently until he sheepishly pretended to button his lips.
If only it was that easy to keep X quiet.
Francine edged her chair away from him and closer to me. And the door.
I laid the charm on thick. “What we actually wanted to know was if you could have a look at your records for us. Please.”
Francine settled in her seat, some of the fear filtering out of her expression now X wasn’t being psychotic. She adjusted her glasses on her nose and turned to her computer. “What do you want to know?”
“Do you keep a record of who books a job? Like, when they call for the first time, do you record the caller’s name?”
Francine shrugged. “I might ask them their name, or they might offer it when I first take a call. I need someone’s name to put the booking under.”
I nodded. “Paul Jeddersen on Olympic Drive—”
Francine scowled. “You mean the job you lost me after just one clean.”
