"We've had seventeen new client inquiries today," I say, breaking the silence. "Twenty-four since Monday."
Declan's gaze shifts to me. "Good for business," he says, his voice flat.
"They all mention that they got good references from Gloria."
A muscle in his jaw tightens at the mention of her name. Gloria, who had stood in that living room, confusion and dismay poorly hidden beneath her professional demeanor as Jade dismissed us like unwanted delivery men.
"Should be celebrating," I continue, swirling my drink. "Cross Security's never been in higher demand. We'll need to hire more staff."
"You going to?" Declan asks.
I swallow a mouthful, welcoming the burn. "Don't have much choice if the inquiries keep coming in."
More silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken thoughts. Since that day at Jade's, we've existed in this strange limbo, going through the motions, doing our jobs, never fully addressing the gaping wound she left behind.
"You talk to Kid today?" Declan finally asks.
I shake my head. "Called twice. He didn't pick up. Martinez says he's doing his job, but barely speaking."
"He fell hard."
I meet Declan's eyes. "We all did."
Declan looks down at his glass, then tosses back the remaining liquid in one swallow. He reaches for the bottle, pouring himself a generous second serving. "Still doesn't make sense,"he says.
"Which part?" The bitterness in my voice surprises even me. "The overnight transformation from someone who trusted us to someone who couldn't get us out fast enough?"
"That wasn't who she really is," Declan says, with a conviction that makes me want to punch something. Or someone.
"No?" I lean forward. "Then who was it?"
Declan shakes his head. "The woman who let me in the pool. The woman who chose all of us..." He trails off, his massive shoulders tense. "That wasn't an act."
"How would you know?" I challenge, the alcohol loosening my tongue. "You spent two years surrounded by the best liars in the world."
His eyes flash dangerously, but I don't back down. We've been dancing around this for days, the anger, the hurt, the betrayal. Someone needs to say it out loud.
"She found my record and couldn't handle it," Declan says quietly. "Not the first time, won't be the last."
"Bullshit," I snap. "She used it as an excuse."
"For what?"
"To get rid of us." I drain my glass and set it down hard on the desk. "She got bored. Or scared. Or whatever the hell goes through the mind of someone like her."
Declan's expression darkens. "You don't believe that."
"Don't I?" I challenge, but even as I say it, I know he's right. I don't believe it. Can't bring myself to. The memory of Jade's face when she looked at me, the way she opened herself to us, the vulnerability beneath the strength, none of it could have been fake. But admitting that means admitting I have no idea what really happened. Means admitting I've lost control of the situation entirely.
"If you believed that," Declan says, "you wouldn't be here at 8 PM on a Thursday, staring at that security report like it might suddenly reveal what went wrong."
He gestures to the folder on my desk, surveillance logs from Jade's house that I've reviewed a dozen times, searching for anything we missed.
I grab the folder, flipping it open to the latest report. "You know what pisses me off the most? We're no closer to finding out who's been after her than we were the day we started. That guy at the hotel? Dead end."
Declan frowns. "What do you mean?"
"The day I got called to the station, they told me the guy they detained from the hotel lobby attack couldn't be our stalker. He was in a psychiatric ward during two of the previous incidents. Solid alibi."
