Page 35 of Dangerous Lies

“Yep. We can make chocolate chip pancakes.” She grabbed a mixing bowl from the drying rack next to the sink. “Nothing soothes the soul like carbs and chocolate, coated in maple syrup. I’m convinced calories don’t count when you’re running for your life from a deranged killer. Or, in our case, a weapon-enhanced drone.”

“Fair enough.”

Jax opened the fridge, pulling out ingredients as Megan listed them off. Despite everything pressing down on him—the case, the danger, the uncertainty—he relaxed as they argued over which recipe to use and fished out egg shells from the batter.

“You definitely didn’t inherit your grandmother’s cooking abilities,” he teased.

Megan tried to scowl but dissolved into laughter. “I know. I’m hopeless. Once, I tried to make brownies and ended up burning them. Nana has practically forbidden me from cooking alone.”

Jax took the whisk from her and nudged her aside with his hip. “Allow me.” He mixed the batter, adjusting the consistency with a splash of buttermilk. Pancakes had been a weekend staple growing up, something he’d made for his brothers when their mom worked double shifts.

Megan watched with admiration. “You’re a pro.”

“I don’t know about that, but at least we won’t end up with burned pancakes.”

She flicked a bit of flour onto his shirt before dancing away, laughing when he reached to retaliate.

A few minutes later, Clay and Rose entered the kitchen, and the space filled with warm chatter and the rich scent of fresh coffee. The easy rhythm of cooking, the jokes, the laughter—it all helped chase away the lingering worries.

For a little while, he let himself enjoy the moment.

Then, just as they sat down to eat, Megan’s phone beeped with an incoming message. She scanned the screen, her smile fading.

She glanced up at Jax, worry tightening her features. “We have a problem.”

TWENTY

Megan’s fingers flew over the keyboard as she transcribed notes from her last client session. The door to her office was open, allowing the background hum of support staff to filter in from the hallway. A quick glance at her watch confirmed it was almost four. The day had flown by.

“I’m almost done,” she murmured, glancing at the loveseat tucked in the corner of her office. Jax sprawled across it, his long legs hanging off one end, his broad frame making the small furniture piece look even more diminutive. A cowboy hat covered his face, shielding his eyes from the overhead lighting. His breathing was deep and steady.

Poor guy had passed out. She couldn’t blame him. Spending hours at Clearview Counseling, shuffling in and out of her office between client sessions, had to be mind-numbing. But Jax had insisted on staying. For her protection. His steady presence had allowed her to focus on clients instead of worrying whether her attacker might strike again, and for that, Megan was grateful.

It’d been a hectic day.

Tess, Megan’s boss, had come down with the flu. Douglas’s mom was still in the ICU. That left the counseling center short-staffed, and although the office manager had rescheduled as many patients as possible, there were still a few appointments that couldn’t be postponed. Megan had fretted about leaving the safety of her property, especially after yesterday’s drone attack, but so far, the day had passed without incident. She prayed it would stay that way.

A knock on the doorframe pulled Megan from her thoughts. She glanced up to find Stacey, the receptionist, wringing her hands. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled back from her narrow face, and a pair of reading glasses hung from a chain around her neck.

“I’m sorry, Megan, but we just had a client walk in. Quinton Jones. I told him Douglas isn’t here today, but he’s insisting on speaking to someone.” Stacey bit her lip. “I can tell him to come back if you need to leave, but… he seems distraught.”

Quinton. Megan mentally grimaced, remembering their last interaction at the coffee shop, where he had asked her—point-blank—if she had killed Oliver. Quinton normally saw Douglas. She could insist he wait until her colleague returned, but if Stacey thought he was upset, could she send him away just because she was uncomfortable?

She accessed his records on the computer, scanning through the notes. “Douglas hasn’t updated anything in Quinton’s file for months.” Megan glanced at Stacey. “Any idea what the issue is?”

“He wouldn’t say, but it looks like he’s been crying.”

That was all Megan needed to hear. “Send him back, Stacey.”

Stacey nodded and disappeared down the hall.

Their conversation had interrupted Jax’s nap. He sat up, rubbing his face, and Megan shot him an apologetic look. “Looks like I’ll be a bit longer.”

“It’s okay.” He stretched as he stood. To preserve their privacy, Jax couldn’t stay in the office while she spoke with her clients. “I’ll be in the hall if you need me.”

Megan grinned, gesturing toward his chin. “You’ve got a little drool there, Detective.”

A faint blush crept across his cheeks as Jax wiped at his face, only to realize a second too late that she was messing with him. He shot her a playful glare.

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