Chapter Six-In the dark
1187 Words
Lieutenant Kennedy showed up at Jesse’s apartment without warning, dressed down in jeans and a worn leather jacket. He rapped on the door with the back of his knuckles until Jesse finally pulled it open, shirt half-tucked, fatigue plain on his face.
“Jesus, White,” Kennedy muttered, stepping past him without an invitation. “Do you even remember what a weekend is supposed to look like? Or are you trying to marry the precinct?”
Jesse rubbed the back of his neck, shutting the door. “Somebody’s got to keep this city from falling apart.”
Kennedy gave the apartment a quick once-over. The place looked as empty as ever—bare walls, no television, a pile of case files spread across the kitchen table. The air smelled faintly of stale coffee.
“You live like a ghost,” Kennedy said. “No hobbies. No friends. And don’t even get me started on women. You think I don’t notice? The only thing you’ve ever taken home is paperwork.”
Jesse gave a faint smirk. “And a headache or two.”
“Not funny,” Kennedy shot back. He pulled out a chair, sat, and leaned forward with a grunt. “I’m serious, kid. You’re gonna burn out before thirty if you keep this up. Which is why I’m dragging you to dinner with my family tonight. No excuses.”
“I don’t do family dinners,” Jesse said flatly.
“You do tonight,” Kennedy countered. “My wife’s already making extra. She thinks you’re skin and bones. She’s not wrong.”
Jesse sighed, but before he could respond, Kennedy’s eyes narrowed at the cluttered table. Papers, photos, maps—and one object half-tucked under a folder. He reached out before Jesse could stop him.
Rachel Moore’s press badge.
Kennedy lifted it slowly, his expression hardening. “You keeping trophies now?”
Jesse froze, jaw tight.
“Lieutenant—”
Kennedy’s voice dropped. “Talk to me, Jesse. What the hell are you doing with a dead reporter’s badge in your apartment?”
For a moment Jesse said nothing. The hum of the refrigerator filled the silence. Finally, he exhaled, shoulders sagging.
“She wasn’t killed at random,” he said quietly. “Rachel was digging into Kruger. Same as Pike before he disappeared. Two people connected to the same lead don’t just end up dead by coincidence. I think she found something. And I think it got her killed.”
Kennedy’s face darkened, his brows knitting together. “And you’ve been chasing this off the books? Alone?”
“If I bring it upstairs, you know what’ll happen,” Jesse muttered. “It’ll get buried. Red tape. Or worse, someone inside tips Kruger’s people off. The girl deserves better than to be a footnote in a closed file.”
Kennedy swore under his breath, tossed the badge back on the table. “Damn it, Jesse. You’ve got instincts, I’ll give you that, but you don’t have nine lives. You keep this up, you’ll end up the next body on the slab.”
“Maybe,” Jesse said. “But I can’t just let it go.”
Kennedy studied him for a long moment, then shook his head. “Fine. But you’re still coming to dinner. My wife will skin me alive if I show up without you now.”
The Kennedy home was warm, loud, alive—everything Jesse’s life wasn’t. The smell of roast chicken and baked bread filled the dining room, mingling with the soft hum of jazz on an old record player.
Kennedy’s two kids argued over who got the bigger slice of pie, while his wife, Lena, fussed with extra plates. She had kind eyes, the kind that made Jesse feel like he was trespassing in another world.
“So, Jesse,” Lena said brightly once they sat. “Michael tells me you don’t eat properly. You’re lucky I like to feed strays.”
Jesse smiled faintly, unsure how to respond.
Halfway through the meal, Lena leaned forward with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You know, my cousin’s moving back into town. Sweet girl. Single. I could introduce you two—”
Jesse nearly choked on his drink. “Uh—I appreciate it, but I’ve… got a lot going on.”
Kennedy laughed, shaking his head. “Told you he’s hopeless. This one’s married to the badge.”
Jesse tried to smile, but the words landed heavier than he liked. Married to the badge. Married to silence. Married to emptiness.
When dinner was over, he thanked Lena sincerely and slipped out into the cool night. His shoes echoed on the wet pavement as he headed toward his car.
That’s when he saw it.
A power bike—sleek, matte black, whisper-silent—sliding through the rain-damp streets like a shadow. No headlights, no engine roar, just smooth, predatory motion. It moved with purpose, not wandering. Tracking something.
Jesse’s instincts flared.
He slid into his car and followed at a distance, headlights dimmed. The bike weaved through narrow lanes, past shuttered storefronts, and into the decaying bones of Victoria’s old industrial district.
It finally stopped at an abandoned warehouse, its rider dismounting with eerie precision.
The figure wore a hood pulled low, a mask obscuring the face, the edges of dark armor visible beneath the coat. The man didn’t move like a thug. He moved like a soldier.
Jesse killed the engine, stepped out quietly, and edged closer, keeping to the shadows.
The rider stiffened. Then, in one fluid motion, he turned. Jesse froze as the figure stepped into the faint moonlight.
The mask was featureless, dark, the hood casting deeper shadows. A voice came from behind it—low, metallic, distorted.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Jesse’s hand twitched toward his holster. “Who the hell are you?”
The masked man tilted his head slightly, like an animal sizing up prey. “Careful where you walk, detective. This part of the city doesn’t forgive curiosity. And neither do the people who own it.”
Jesse’s pulse hammered, but he held his ground. “You’re following someone. Who?”
The figure took a step closer, and Jesse caught the faint hum of something mechanical under the coat. Not standard gear. Nothing he’d seen before.
“I’ll give you one piece of advice,” the voice said, colder now. “The trail you’re on… it leads somewhere you’re not ready for. Back off before you can’t turn around.”
Then, with no further warning, the man vaulted back onto the bike. The engine whispered to life, and in a blink he was gone—swallowed by the night, leaving only the stench of ozone and rain.
Jesse stood in the empty street, heart pounding, his breath fogging in the cold air.
He didn’t know who was under that hood. A vigilante? A criminal? Something else entirely?
But one thing was certain.
Someone else was hunting in Victoria. And for the first time in years, Jesse White didn’t know if that made him feel safer… or more afraid.
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