CHAPTER TWO
Hmm..coffee "she said."
The scent of coffee drifted into her bedroom like a quiet promise. Elena stirred, sheets sliding silkily to her waist. The room remained wrapped in darkness, save for the thin gray ribbon of dawn light sneaking past the edges of the blackout curtains.
She fumbled for her phone on the nightstand: 6:47 a.m. Too early for Manhattan to roar awake, too late for true silence. The city was holding its breath, just like she had been all night.
She sat up slowly, heart still thudding from fragmented dreams of gunshots and shadowed hallways. The silk robe waited on the chair… she slipped it on, tied the belt loosely at her waist, and padded barefoot down the hallway, following the rich, grounding aroma.
Jax was already in the kitchen.
He had changed out of the black suit from last night. Now he wore a plain black T-shirt that stretched taut across his broad shoulders and dark jeans that looked worn in all the right places..nothing flashy, but the simplicity only made the way the fabric clung to muscle more noticeable.
He stood with his back to her, pouring coffee from her overpriced French press into two mugs. No phone in hand. No visible weapon. Just him, moving with the easy economy of someone who belonged exactly where he was.
"Morning," he said without turning around.
"You made coffee."
"You have a machine that costs more than my first car.
Seem.. rude not to use it."
She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed beneath her breasts, watching the play of early light across his back. "Did you sleep?"
"Enough."
She didn't believe him. The sectional couch wasn't designed for a man his size, and the shadows beneath his eyes looked carved deeper than they had been when she closed her bedroom door last night.
He slid one mug across the marble island toward her. Black.. No sugar. Exactly how she liked it.
She stared at the steam curling upward. "How did you know?"
"Priya's file."
Elena lifted the mug; warmth seeped into her palms like medicine. "You read my file."
"Every page."
She took a sip. Strong, bitter, perfect. "That's creepy."
He finally turned, leaning one hip against the counter, arms folded. That steady blue gaze met hers no smile, no apology, just unflinching honesty. "I checked the locks. Walked the perimeter. Standard procedure."
"Standard," she echoed, tasting the word like it might reveal something.
"Right."
He took a drink from his own mug, watching her over the rim.
"Why are you up this early?"
"I couldn't sleep. Kept thinking about the guy in the crowd last night. The one who got too close."
Jax's jaw tightened just a fraction, but she noticed. "I got his face on camera. Sent it to my contact at the precinct. They'll run facial recognition."
She nodded slowly. "And if it's him?"
"Then we deal with it."
Simple and certain…like he already decided how the morning would end.
Elena studied him in the pale light. The thin white scar on his left temple caught the dawn like a pale hook against tanned skin.
She wondered not for the first time…what story it carried..
Knife fight? Shrapnel? Something uglier, more personal?
She opened her mouth to ask.
His phone buzzed sharply on the island.
He glanced at the screen, expression unchanging, and answered on the second ring.
"Harlan."
A pause. The voice on the other end was low, urgent, words too muffled for her to catch.
Jax listened. "When?"
"Copy. I'm on it."
He ended the call, set the phone down with deliberate care.
Elena waited.
His eyes met hers. "We need to move."
"Now?"
"New intel. The letters aren't the only thing. There's a package at your management office. Priya just found it. Same handwriting…Bigger."
Her stomach plummeted. "Bigger how?"
"Photo of you. Taken inside this building. Yesterday."
The coffee turned to acid on her tongue. "Inside?"
"Elevator…hallway? Someone got past the doorman."
The room seemed to tilt. "That's impossible."
"Not if they had help."
She stared at him. "You think someone's already in here?"
"I think we can't wait to find out." He was already in motion
grabbing his jacket from the couch, checking his phone again.
"Pack essentials only. We're leaving by ten."
"Where?"
"Safe house upstate. Better sightlines, fewer entry points."
She didn't move. "I have a shoot tomorrow. Full day. I can't just…"
"You can't walk onto a set if someone's already inside your building." His voice stayed calm, but the edge sharpened.
"This isn't a discussion, Elena."
She hated how he said her name like an order wrapped in velvet And she hated more that he was right.
She turned toward her bedroom, stopped, and looked back.
"You're not telling me everything."
He held her gaze. "I'm telling you what you need to know."
"No. It's not."
She exhaled hard through her nose. "Fine. Ten minutes."
In her room she moved on autopilot…jeans, cashmere sweaters, underwear, charger, the bare minimum thrown into a leather duffel. Her hands shook. She hated that most of all.
When she returned, Jax stood at the window, phone to his ear again.
"…yeah, confirm the perimeter sweep. I want eyes on every camera feed before we roll. And Marc? Tell him to meet us at the secondary location. I need backup I trust."
He hung up.
Elena dropped the bag by the door. "Marc?"
"Old teammate"
"You don't trust your own firm?"
"I trust people. Not companies."
She nodded slowly. "And me? Do you trust me?"
He gave her that "really?" look. Something flickered in his eyes…not ice this time… Heat. "I trust you to stay alive. The rest… we'll figure out."
She almost laughed at the absurdity of it.
Instead she grabbed her coat. "Let's go."
They took the service elevator. Jax first, gun drawn low and steady, checking corners with the muscle memory of someone who had done it a thousand times. The hallway smelled faintly of bleach and yesterday's takeout.
Outside, a different black SUV waited..Jax opened the rear door for her, scanned the street once more, then slid in beside her.
The driver…a stranger with a buzz cut and no expression..pulled away without a word.
Elena watched the city slide past in streaks of steel and glass.
"You think it's someone close?" she asked quietly.
"Always is," Jax said. "That's why it hurts."
She turned to him. "You sound like you know."
"I do."
She waited. He didn't elaborate.
Silence stretched until they crossed the bridge, Manhattan shrinking in the rearview like a memory already fading.
Then Jax's phone buzzed again.
He glanced down. His face went utterly still.
Elena leaned over. "What?"
He hesitated…the first time she seeing him do it.
"Package just got opened."
"And?"
"Photo of you in your robe. This morning…in the Kitchen."
Her blood turned to ice.
He looked at her. "Taken from across the river. High angle. Sniper scope."
The words landed like physical blows. Someone had watched her pour coffee, talk to him, even watched the robe slip off one shoulder when she reached for a mug on the high shelf.
Jax's hand closed around hers…brief, hard, grounding.
"We're ending this today," he said
She squeezed back.
And in that small, desperate grip she realized the real terror wasn't the photo.
It was how much she wanted Jax to be the one who stayed.
Even if it burned everything down.
The SUV merged onto the highway, heading north. Concrete and steel gradually gave way to patches of green.
Her mind raced…replaying every face in the lobby yesterday, every delivery person, every neighbor who lingered too long in the elevator.
Jax's thumb brushed the back of her hand once, almost accidental. Then he let go.
She missed the contact immediately.
"Tell me something real," she said.
He glanced at her.
"About you, not the job,not the rules. Something that isn't in a file."
He was quiet for a long stretch. The highway hummed beneath the tires.
"My last mission," he said finally. "We lost a guy. Ramirez.
Twenty-three. I was supposed to cover the left flank. I didn't see the sniper until it was too late."
"You blame yourself?"
"Every day."
She looked at the scar on his temple again. "Is that where…"
"No. Training accident. The knife slipped." He touched the mark lightly. "But Ramirez… a bullet grazed me here. I still feel it sometimes. Like its a reminder."
She reached out without thinking, fingertips brushing the edge of the scar. He didn't flinch.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Don't be."
She pulled her hand back, but the air between them had thickened, warmed.
The driver's phone rang. He answered the speaker without asking.
"Harlan, it's Marc. Prelim on the photo. The shooter used a long lens, probably from the rooftop across the river. The building has twenty-four-hour security. Guess who has access?"
Jax leaned forward. "Who?"
"Victoria."
Elena's head snapped toward him. "Your ex?"
Jax's face hardened to stone. "She's a silent investor in your father's production company. Has keys to half the high-rises in Midtown for 'site scouting.'"
The revelation hit harder than the photo itself.
Victoria wasn't just suspicious.
She was watching.
And she had the means to do far worse.
Jax's hand found hers again…this time deliberate. Fingers laced tight.
"We're not going upstate," he told the driver. "Change course. Head to the estate in the Hamptons. Production's relocating tomorrow anyway. We'll use the secure perimeter there."
Elena stared at him. "You think she'll follow?"
"I think she already has."
The SUV accelerated.
Outside, the city disappeared completely.
Inside, something else rose…something neither of them could outrun much longer.
Jax's hand stayed laced with hers, warm and steady.
Elena let herself lean into it, just enough to breathe.
Then Jax's phone lit up..silent, no ring.
He glanced down.
His entire body went rigid.
Elena felt the shift before she saw his face.
"What?" she whispered.
He turned the screen toward her.
One new message. One photo.
It was her…right now head resting lightly on his shoulder, fingers tangled with his robe slipping off one shoulder in the kitchen light.
This morning.
Taken from behind them.
Victoria's name glowed at the top of the thread.
Below the photo, four words…
I'm already in the car.
The driver's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.
He smiled…small, cold, satisfied.
"Change of plans," he said softly.
And from the shadowed footwell behind the front seats, a gloved hand rose, holding a syringe.
It moved straight toward Elena's neck.