Page 13 of Not This Place

"Or simple resolutions," Jasper countered, meeting her stare. He swung the club again, the ball launching into the distance, a tiny white speck against the canvas of the sky.

Jasper retrieved another ball from the polished leather pouch at his hip. The sun glinted off the metal of the club as he positioned it with a precision that left no room for error. Rachel observed the man, noting the meticulous way he prepared for each swing. His demeanor was as impeccable and guarded as the manicured lawns surrounding them.

"Cheryl's family's company," Rachel ventured, her words deliberate, "they're quite influential. That must have put a strain on your relationship."

Jasper's swing followed through, uninterrupted by the question. The ball arced into the blue expanse, disappearing from sight. He turned to face her, his expression unchanging, "Business is business, Ranger Blackwood. Personal matters remain personal."

"Even when the lines blur?"

"Especially then."

Rachel watched him. No tremble in his hands. No shift in posture. She cataloged these observations silently. Jasper placed the club on the grass, wiping his palm on the fabric of his pants—a dark, expensive material that didn't show a hint of dirt or sweat.

"Lines seem clear to you, then," she said, her voice level.

"Crystal." Jasper's eyes met hers, revealing nothing but the reflection of a man who knew how to keep his world ordered, his secrets locked tight.

Rachel Blackwood stood a measured distance from Jasper, her boots firm on the ground, her eyes intent.

"Where were you last night, Jasper?" Her question sliced through the silence that followed a golf ball's flight.

Jasper lined up another shot, his back to her for a moment. "Here," he answered, voice steady. "I practice my swing at night. Helps me think."

"Alone?"

"Always." The club swung. Another ball took flight, soaring over the vast field.

"Security cameras would have this?" Rachel's words were deliberate, each one carefully plucked and presented.

She’d noticed the cameras, of course. She had a habit for picking them out. Seventeen, she’d counted so far. And that wasn’t including the door cam on the garage.

"Of course." He glanced over his shoulder, a half-smirk playing on his lips. "Not much escapes their gaze."

"Then you won't mind if I take a look." Her request hung between them, a challenge wrapped in courtesy.

"Be my guest." Jasper nodded toward a guard stationed nearby. "Rick, show Ranger Blackwood to the security office."

The guard, a tall figure in a crisp uniform, nodded curtly. Rachel gave Jasper a nod of thanks, her face unreadable, her mind racing. She turned, following the guard's lead towards the grand house, away from the chill of Jasper's indifference.

Why had he agreed to meet?

But then, the answer hit her.

To size her up. Same as why she’d come.

They were both playing a game.

The corridor stretched long and sterile, punctuated by closed doors with frosted glass panels. Rachel's steps echoed against the linoleum, her gaze fixed on the guard's broad back as he led the way. They stopped at a door marked "Security" in stark black letters.

"Here we are," Bruno said, his voice a low rumble. He pushed the door open and stepped aside for Rachel to enter.

The room was cramped, filled with screens that cast a flickering glow over stacks of monitors and recording equipment. A desk sat in the center, cluttered with papers and a keyboard gleaming under the harsh fluorescent light. Bruno slid into the chair and woke the computer with practiced ease.

“What was your name again?” she asked.

“Rick,” he said.

“I thought it was Hank.”

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