"Solange might be right. Or she might be wrong. But we won't know unless we actually try this instead of endlessly analyzing whether it's healthy." I finally let my hands reach for her, frame her face the way I did when we first kissed. "Lana, I'm going to help keep you safe. And we're going to figure out if what's between us survives when crisis isn't the only thing driving contact. Those two things happen simultaneously or not at all."
She leans into my hands, closes her eyes like the contact is something she's been starving for. "Okay."
"Okay you want me to help with security, or okay you want to actually try this?"
"Both. All of it." Her hands come up to cover mine where they're still framing her face. "Everything we've been circling around for weeks."
"Then stop overthinking it." I pull her closer, eliminating the distance we've been maintaining. "Right now you need rest. You've been awake since three AM processing a break-in. I'll coordinate with Blackwood about security upgrades while you sleep."
She nods, exhaustion finally winning over adrenaline. "Will you stay? In the safe house? I don't want to be alone right now."
"I'll stay." I'm already thinking through logistics. "But let me do the assessment I came here for first. Walk the perimeter, identify what security upgrades this place needs."
"You'll actually install everything? Not just design it?"
"I'll install what needs installing. Make sure you're protected properly." I pull out my phone and start making notes. "Get some rest. I'll work while you sleep."
She moves toward the bedroom, pauses at the door. "Jax? Thank you. For coming when I asked for you."
"You don't have to thank me for caring about you."
"I know. But I'm thanking you anyway."
The bedroom door closes, leaving me alone to do the work I'm supposedly here for.
I spend the next two hours conducting a thorough assessment of the safe house. The tenth-floor location is good—no fire escape access, controlled building entry, solid baseline security. But there are vulnerabilities Trask could exploit if he's patient enough. The windows need motion sensors. The door needs a secondary lock system.
The hallway approach requires cameras with backup monitoring. The interior itself wouldn’t need cameras, sincethere will be sensors and security agents on guard around the clock.
I text Brandon a detailed equipment list: motion sensors (window and door), upgraded lock system, three discrete cameras with redundant power supplies, monitoring equipment that feeds to my phone and Blackwood's system simultaneously. Everything that makes penetration impossible rather than just difficult.
His response comes within minutes:Equipment ordered. Arrives tomorrow AM. You staying on-site?
Me:Yes. Installing everything myself. She needs security that actually works.
Brandon:Understood. Marcus will maintain the exterior position. Let us know if you need additional support.
By the time I finish the assessment and coordinate with Brandon, it's past noon. Lana is still sleeping—the combination of sleeping pill residue and adrenaline crash will probably keeping her under for a few more hours.
I settle on the couch with my laptop, already designing the security system I'll install tomorrow, mapping camera angles and sensor placements with the kind of focus that keeps me from thinking about how completely I've abandoned professional distance.
But she's safe. She asked for me specifically. And for the first time in a week, the space between wanting and having feels like something we might actually bridge.
CHAPTER 18: LANA
I wake up disoriented, the bedroom unfamiliar in ways that take three seconds to process. Safe house. The Gateway. Trask broke into my apartment while I was sleeping and left a message on my bathroom mirror. Jax came when I asked for him. Agreed to stop separating protection from attraction and just figure this out together.
The room is dark except for the ambient glow of the city filtering through curtains I don't remember closing. My phone—the burner Blackwood gave me—shows it’s six-forty PM. I slept for more than six hours, my body finally surrendering to exhaustion after running on adrenaline since three this morning when I found Trask's message.
I get up, use the bathroom, stare at my reflection in the mirror and try not to think about the message he left on mine.Professional security isn't enough.Like he knew exactly what would make me feel the most unsafe, the most violated. He was in my bedroom while I was unconscious. Could have touched me, hurt me, done anything. Instead he chose psychological warfare, proving access matters more than action.
The apartment beyond the bedroom door is quiet enough that I wonder if Jax left. Maybe coordinating with Blackwood required going into the city to get things sorted. But when I open the door, he's there—sitting on the couch with his laptop, bathed in blue screen light, focused on whatever security footage he's reviewing.
He looks up as I enter, closes the laptop with the kind of efficiency that suggests he was monitoring something I'm not supposed to see. "You're awake. How do you feel?"
"Like I slept for a hundred hours after discovering someone broke into my apartment." I move into the small kitchen area, find coffee already made in the pot on the counter. "Did you make this?"
"Brandon brought supplies earlier. Coffee, food, clothes, everything you'd need if you're staying here more than a day." He stands, stretches in a way that makes his shirt ride up slightly, exposing a strip of skin above his jeans that I shouldn't be looking at but can't help noticing. "We need to talk about your apartment security."
