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“Aye…” Jake raked his gaze the length of him. “Y’are. It’s sort of a problem.”

Harrison swallowed.

Because yeah, it was a massive fucking problem.

And Harrison knew exactly what this was turning into every time Jake looked at him like that. As if he could somehow see straight through the suit and title and grief Harrison kept stitched securely beneath both. And worse still, Harrison was beginning to rely on it.

It terrified him.

So he stepped back, needing distance before he did something reckless in the middle of a scrapyard in broad daylight.

“You need to stop involving yourself in this investigation.”

Jake’s expression changed instantly. Shut down. Hurt. “You really know how to ruin a moment, don’t you?”

“This isn’t a moment.” Harrison heard the sharpness in his own voice and hated it anyway. “It’s a murder enquiry.”

“And you think I don’t know that?” Jake frowned. “What, because I’m some dumbarse roofer you think I can’t understand what’s dangerous?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“No, but it’s what you keep implying.”

Harrison scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. He was too hot. Too tired. Too aware of the evidence bag sitting in his pocket because Jake had once again gone somewhere Harrison had explicitly told him not to.

“You went into a scrapyard connected to a murder investigation and started digging around for evidence.”

“And found some.”

“That isn’t the fucking point.”

“Seems pretty fucking relevant.”

“Jesus Christ, Jake. Do you not understand the severity of this?”

Jake held his gaze for a long moment. Then, with a quietness that almost split Harrison in two, “Did you used to talk to him about things?”

Harrison’s heart gave one hard thump. “Who?”

“Chris.” Jake shrugged as if it was a flippant throwaway rather than a gutting, all-consuming strike to Harrison’s heart, and despite his own pain at the name, he knew what was beneath the question. Jake’s doubt in himself. “About work? Cases and stuff?”

Harrison ruffled a hand through his hair. “Chris was police. A sergeant. He understood operational boundaries. Evidence. Procedure. Risk assessments.”

Jake’s mouth twisted. “Right.”

Harrison heard it then. What Jake had actually been asking. Not whether Chris understood police work. Not whether Harrison believed him capable of understanding it. But whether Harrison had let him in.

“Is that what this is?” Harrison asked him. “You chasing leads? Are you trying to prove something to me?”

Jake frowned. “What? No. I’m trying to help.”

“And you think this helps?”

“I thought the fucking bit of car I handed you might.”

“That isn’t what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”