The Morreau estate was quiet, too quiet. That old kind of quiet that doesn’t soothe, only lets ugly thoughts echo louder.
Jaxon sat alone in the study, a crystal glass untouched at his elbow, staring at a set of surveillance photos spread across the table. Each one blurred, grainy, but clear enough to make his jaw tighten. Raven, in the wrong part of the city. Raven, meeting someone Jaxon didn’t recognize. Raven, glancing over her shoulder like she knew she shouldn’t be there.
It could’ve been nothing, but nothing didn’t look this secretive.
Marco leaned against the doorway, arms folded. “You gonna ask her about it?”
“No.” Jaxon didn’t look up.
“Why not?”
“Because I want the truth, not a story she thinks I’ll believe.”
Marco watched him a moment, then shrugged. “You’re running hot,
