He glances down at his rumpled shirt and jeans."I'll shower, shave, make myself presentable."
"Presentable."I let the word hang there."Try forimpressive.We need to wow Marquez tonight."
"We will.”He pushes off the counter, easing into the role the more we play it, and moves closer, so he can whisper in my ear.“Marquez isn’t the only one who likes red.”
Heat tears through my veins, and I have to will myself not to react as he pulls back, grinning.
A knock at the door cuts through the moment.
Hand moving to his back, Jagger moves to the door, looks through the peephole, then pulls it open with more force than necessary.
A stunning blonde wearing a bright orange vest over a polo shirt is outside.She's got a clipboard in one hand and a collection bucket in the other.Her smile is wide, practiced, relentlessly cheerful.
Miles away from the woman I’ve come to know since she joined Hightower.
Samantha Duke is Silas’s latest recruit and former con artist.Now, she’s standing in Jagger's doorway collecting for a drug addiction charity, of all things.
Silas’s way of checking on me and showing off his dry sense of humor.
"Hi there!I'm with New Orleans Mission—we're doing a neighborhood drive today for our recovery programs.Do you have a moment?"
"Not interested."Jagger moves to close the door.
Samantha puts her hand on the frame, still smiling."I totally understand!But we're really trying to help folks who are struggling with addiction right here in the community.Just a dollar or two makes a difference."
"I said no."His voice has an edge now.
She doesn't flinch, just shifts her attention to me."Ma'am?Maybe you'd like to contribute?We provide meals, counseling, job training—help for people who need a way out."
"We're not interested."Jagger's hand tightens on the door.
Samantha's eyes meet mine."We’re located on Baronne Street."Her smile widens."Day or night.Someone's always there."
I give her a tiny nod before Jagger slams the door in her face."They get pushier every year."
I don't answer.I can't, because Sam just handed me a lifeline.
Baronne Street.Day or night.This wasn’t just about giving me an alternative means of contact.
If Marquez pushes too far, if I need out, an extraction team will be there.
I glance at Jagger.He's already back at the window, scanning the street, hand hovering near his weapon.
He’s running on adrenaline, duty, and whatever pieces of himself he hasn’t burned out yet.No one’s watching to make sure he sleeps or eats.No one’s praying for him.No one is standing on any street ready to risk themselves for his sake.
I have people who care about me.Friends.Teammates.
I have a door I can walk through anytime I want.
Jagger doesn’t.
He’s just a sentinel guarding a house that’s already empty, waiting for a war that’s never going to let him go.
Fourteen
Jagger
The Audi hums beneath me as I navigate through the Quarter, but I'm barely registering the route.
