I couldn’t let it go.
The photo of Jax and Jimmy shaking hands in that dark alley months ago, combined with the bank records and the mysterious sender’s threats, had shattered the fragile trust I had left. I needed answers. Real answers.
I waited until the next morning when Jax was making coffee in the kitchen. He looked tired but determined, his tattooed arms flexing as he moved.
“Jax,” I said quietly, sitting at the table. “I need to know everything. No more half-truths. Who is the private investigator Jimmy hired? And why does the sender keep mentioning him?”
Jax set the mug down and turned to me, his expression serious. He came over and sat across from me, taking my hands in his.
“The investigator is named Harlan Graves,” he said. “Jimmy hired him two months before New Year’s. Gra
