Chapter 50 THE FIRST CRACK

Chapter 50 THE FIRST CRACK
The low growl of the Dodge Charger’s engine was the only thing filling the space between us. 

I stared out the passenger window, watching the drab, faded street signs of the lower districts gradually change into more colourful and optimistic ones of the commercial district. 

Things have been weird between Jax and me. In fact, he hasn’t even been to the garage since that night two days ago. 

I cleared my throat, casting a glance at him. "We got the job," I told him, my voice flat, completely stripped of the victory I should have been flaunting.

Jax glanced at me before returning his attention to the road. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, his expression unreadable. “Leo told me the good news.”

I barely restrained myself from rolling my eyes. The way he practically sneered the words ‘good news’ was very annoying. 

Another block went by in heavy, awkward stillness. 

I crossed my arms and stared out the passenger window, ignoring the way I could feel his gaze flicking to me, measuring the tight line of my mouth, before returning to the road. 

Eventually, he sighed. “So.”

I didn’t look at him. “So what?”

“What exactly do you need from this detective?”

I kept my expression neutral. “What do you mean?”

He shot me a look. “I mean, you’ve had Leo tracking this guy for weeks.”

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I told you, Jax. Miller was the lead investigator on the Cruz case.” I said, keeping my eyes on the side mirror as if I was watching for anyone following us. “I want to know what he knows about the incident. Information is power in this city, and if we are going to work inside the Harbinger network, I need to know where the bodies are buried."

“That answer sounds rehearsed,” he said, his voice tight.

I turned my head slowly, looking at him with raised eyebrows. “What answer would satisfy you?”

“The honest one.”

I held his gaze for a few seconds. Then I looked away because I didn’t have an answer I could actually tell him.

The truth was impossible.

How could I tell him I needed to know why I had been murdered and the truth behind it? 

It was a ridiculous and impossible sentence.

Yet here we were.

Jax cut a glance at me. His jaw was set, his brow knit together in a look of complete disbelief. 

He didn't say a word, but the expression on his face was loud enough to fill the car: he wasn't buying it. 

I kept my head turned away, refusing to let his suspicion break my composure.

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, taking a curve to where the bar Miller was sighted last. “Look. I don’t want it to look like I just want to give you a hard time,” he said finally. “You know I’ll follow your lead.”

I rolled my eyes. “How generous.”

“I’m serious.” He said, frustration and annoyance in his tone. Then he took a deep breath. “I’m just worried. That’s all.” He continued, his voice softer. “This is dangerous territory. Hope you didn't bring this up in your meeting?”

Defensiveness flared hot in my throat. "I can protect myself fine, Jax. I don't need a babysitter."

"I know," he replied smoothly, his voice irritatingly calm. "I never said you couldn't. But you haven't really been yourself lately, and that is just me saying it as a friend. You’re wound up tight enough to snap."

Before I could fire back a snarky response, my phone buzzed in my lap with a text from Leo. 

I looked down, grateful for the interruption.

Leo: Detective Miller has moved from the bar to the Central Square Mall. He is currently at the food court on the southern terrace. 

"Leo says the detective is at the mall’s food court," I muttered, checking the clip in my clutch. 

“That’s weird,” Jax muttered, frowning as he turned the car into the multi-story parking structure. "A man on the run detective doesn't just sit in a public food court unless he thinks he’s entirely safe or has the upper hand. We have to be careful."

We walked through the glass sliding doors of the mall, the bright artificial lights and the ambient chatter of shoppers a bizarre contrast to the dark underworld we had been navigating. 

Leo's directions were precise, guiding us past the clothing stores and up the escalator to the crowded food court.

I spotted him immediately. 

Miller was older than he had looked in the old department files, his hair completely silver, wearing a beige trench coat that looked too heavy for the indoor heating. 

He was sitting alone at a corner table, quietly eating a sandwich. 

Skepticism filled me as I noted the designer shopping bags resting on the chair beside him. A retired man on the run with money to splurge? 

interesting.  

Without hesitation, I walked straight to him and casually dropped into the plastic chair directly across from him. 

Jax calmly folded his large frame into the chair beside me, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any threat.

Miller paused with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. 

He looked up, his faded blue eyes taking in my sharp posture; the tattoos on my arms, which were showing due to the short sleeves of my tank top, and the cold, unblinking stare I leveled at him. 

He didn't panic, but I saw the exact moment he stiffened with caution and alarm. He knew the streets. He knew our appearance meant trouble.

“I’ll admit. It’s not every day a hot chick approaches me at a mall.” He said, dropping his sandwich, then leaned back with a forced casual air. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

I gave him a false soft smile. “It’s up to me to decide if this is pleasure,” I drawled.  “...or not.”

He nodded, his eyes scanning as if looking for a weak point. “I can tell you’re dangerous.” His gaze flickered toward Jax. “And so is your boyfriend. Or is it sidekick?”

Jax merely raised an unaffected brow at his jab, managing to look calm but threatening at the same time. 

In times like these, it hit me just how hot he could be. 

I quickly looked back at the now nervous-looking detective. “I’m surprised to see you back in town.”

The detective shrugged. “I’m surprised you care.” He squinted at my face. "I've seen you before," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. He leaned back, spreading his hands flat on the table. "Let’s cut to the chase. How can I help you?"

I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the table. "You've been on the run, haven't you?"

Miller shrugged, his expression carefully nonchalant. "Yes. But what does that have to do with you?"

As he spoke, his right shoulder dipped slightly, and his hand began to crawl down toward his left leg, probably reaching toward a hidden holster beneath his coat.

I stood up, keeping my movement fluid as I sashayed around the small table, and dropped into the seat directly beside him. 

Then I wrapped my arm around the wandering one, running my fingers down his biceps. 

To anyone watching, we looked like a girl playfully flirting with an older relative.

But beneath the table, I pressed the sharp tip of my slim blade right against his ribs, piercing the fabric of his shirt.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I drawled in his ears. "Whatever gun you think you can pull out, I will cause serious damage before it even clears the leather. Trust me. I am very good with a knife."

Miller went rigid. Then he slowly lifted his hand back to the tabletop, his breathing shallow against the pressure of the steel. 

He let out a dry, nervous cough, though he tried to mask it behind a thin smile. "Ah. I remember where I've seen you now,” he said, glancing at me. “Sienna, isn't it? The underground street fighter from the Madlands turf. I have seen your files."

I didn't answer. I just kept the blade steady against his side.

"Okay," he muttered, looking down at his plate. "What can I really do for you? Cut the bullshit, cut the delay, and just go straight to the point. I just got back into town, and I really want to enjoy my freedom."

"What do you know about the Cruz family massacre?" I asked straight up.