For the first time all day, I actually felt safe.
Chapter Nine
~ Braham ~
I stepped into Jai’s apartment and found the air thick with other people’s decisions. Cherry blossom and old paper layered under the warm sugar-yeast drift from downstairs. Books scattered. A laptop in Jai’s hand. His jaw locked at that angle I’d come to recognize: cold fury, swallowed. Not hurt. Fury.
I counted occupants without moving my head. Three. Gerald Flynn I’d filed away from a museum gala—standard donor type, medium build, the kind of man who gave exactly enough to get his name on the right plaque.
His wife Gladys beside him, neat and small, hands folded at her waist like she’d rehearsed the pose.
And a woman on the couch I’d never seen, legs crossed, filing a nail with the focus of someone who had nowhere better to be. She straightened when I entered, adjusted her posture in that practiced way people did when they’d decided to be noticed.
I dismissed her before she finished.
My eyes went back to Jai. Uninjured. Tight across the shoulders. The duffel was packed and sitting at his feet. The box under his arm held manuscripts.
“What do you need?” I said.
The room went still. My voice carried its own weight—low, rough, built for rooms that needed quieting. Ashe had positioned himself at the door, two more men behind him. The hallway was full of my people. I didn’t need to turn to know that.
Jai nodded at the three of them without looking. “Them gone. And my apartment packed and moved to your penthouse.” His voice was flat, stripped. “I don’t trust them not to come back and try something.”
I didn’t hesitate. “You two,” I said to the men by the door, “pack. Everything. Systematic.” I gestured to the other two. “Escort them out.”
Ashe nodded once and the room filled with motion. Drawers opening. Boxes unfolding from flat stacks. Books pulled from shelves and stacked spine-out, the way Jai kept them. My men worked with the precision of people who’d done this before.
They had.
Gerald Flynn stepped forward. His hand came up, extended, chin high in that particular way men who expected deference carried themselves. “Mr. Wolfe, I don’t know if you remember me. Gerald Flynn. We met at the gala at the history museum last summer.”
I looked at his hand.
I did not take it.
Silence did the work. His hand dropped. His face didn’t change, but something behind his eyes recalibrated. “I just need a few more minutes with my son,” he said. “This is a family matter. I’m sure you can understand—”
I watched Jai’s face while Gerald talked. Jai watched a spot on the wall with blank focus, the kind of look I’d seen on men standing post in the rain. Present, but gone.
“Five minutes,” Gerald said. “That’s all I’m asking.”
I cut him off. “This isn’t a family matter. This is my mate’s apartment. He’s asked you to leave.”
The word landed like something thrown. Gerald blinked. Gladys made a small sound, the kind that didn’t mean anything but took up space.
The woman on the couch halted her nail file mid-stroke and recalibrated. Her eyes moved from me to Jai and back, and I watched the math happen behind her face.
She smiled. Slow. Deliberate. The kind of smile that said I’ve decided you’re worth impressing. “Mr. Wolfe. I’m DeniseJenkins. I’ve heard so much about you.” She uncrossed her legs, leaned forward. “Jai’s mentioned you, actually. We’re old friends.”
Jai’s disbelief was audible. “We have never met before today.”
Denise kept talking, aimed at me like Jai had become scenery. “We have so much in common. I’d love to hear more about Wolfe Global sometime.” Her voice went professional, polished. “I have some thoughts about Pacific Rim shipping.”
Jai said flatly, “No, you don’t.”
I gave her the patient attention I reserved for time-wasters and people who thought their business cards were worth the paper they were printed on. “My assistant handles meeting requests.” I didn’t look at Ashe. “He’ll lose yours.”
Her smile held. Barely.
