Page 15 of Fierce Lies
"Not really. Asked about Grayson and Meredith, casual questions, nothing pushy. Wanted to know how often they come in, what their roles are. Standard curiosity for someone new."
"What did you tell her?"
"The basics. That Grayson runs Lion Freight and comes in occasionally for meetings, that Meredith helps with the foundation work part-time. Nothing she couldn't find online if she looked hard enough."
I processed this information, trying to decide if it was significant. "Anything else stand out?"
Macey considered. "She's disciplined. Focused. Said she grew up without a father, just her mother. You can always tell those ones, they've got something to prove." She shrugged. "Her mother must be a good woman, raising a daughter with that kind of work ethic."
The mention of Elena's mother sent a pang through my chest. Anna Peters, room 312, stage four cancer. Fighting for her life while her daughter worked hard trying to save her. Surely she knew that even with the pay rise, getting the treatment her mother needed wouldn't be attainable soon enough.
Then again, we all did irrational things when we were desperate. We did the best thing we could, even if we knew it wasn't enough.
Saving people was never easy.
"Thanks, Macey. See you tomorrow."
I returned to my office and shut the door, troubled by my own reactions. My job was to remain detached, to observe and report. Instead, I found myself wanting to know more about Elena Peters, and not just for security purposes.
I pulled up the footage from earlier, when she'd returned from her lunch break phone call. Watched again as she tucked her phone away, that momentary slump of her shoulders before she squared them and walked back inside. The look on her face—I recognized it now. It was the same look I'd worn after making those calls to my teammates' families.
The weight of responsibility. Of knowing people depended on you, and you couldn't let them down. But also knowing that there was no real way out, that you were running out of options.
Closing the footage, I leaned back in my chair. Something about Elena Peters was off. My instincts were rarely wrong aboutthat. But whether it was because she posed a threat or because I was inventing reasons to justify my interest in her, I couldn't say.
And that uncertainty bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
I needed to maintain professional distance. She was a subject of investigation, nothing more. The fact that my mind kept drifting to the blue of her eyes or the brief warmth of her smile was irrelevant. Dangerous, even.
I'd learned the hard way what happened when you let your guard down. When you failed to see threats until it was too late.
Never again.
I sent my daily report to Roman, keeping it factual and concise. Then I gathered my things to leave, already planning how I'd approach tomorrow's surveillance. I needed to be more careful, more detached.
Because something told me Elena Peters was going to test my professional boundaries in ways I wasn't prepared for.
6
ELENA
The lock on my apartment door stuck as usual, something I'd noticed my first night here just last night. I jiggled the key, shoulder pressed against the weathered wood, and pushed. The door finally gave with a groan that matched my own.
Home sweet home. Sort of.
The one-bedroom apartment was a far cry from the cozy house Mom and I had shared before the medical bills started piling up. But at least it was close enough to Donati Enterprises and, more importantly, affordable enough to let me save for Mom's treatment.
I dropped my purse on the counter, kicking off my heels with a sigh of relief. The neighborhood wasn't great—sirens were a nightly lullaby according to the single mother of three next door I'd met when inspecting the place, and I'd already learned which streets to avoid after dark thanks to her—but beggars couldn't be choosers.
A bottle of red wine and a box of chocolates sat on the kitchen counter, a folded note propped against them. I smiled, recognizing Ivy's looping handwriting immediately.
Hope your first day went well! Can't wait to hear all about it. Love you, bitch. —Ivy
The note made my chest warm. Ivy had been my rock through all of this, insisting on moving with me to keep costs down. "We're family," she'd said when I'd protested. "Family sticks together."
She'd always been that way, ever since we were kids and my mom had taken her under her wing. Ivy's parents had been more interested in their next fix than their daughter, and our house had become her sanctuary. And Mom had loved her like a second daughter, making sure she always felt welcome and like she belonged.
Now Ivy was determined to help save Mom too, even taking a job at some strip club called Velvet here. I hadn't been thrilled about that, especially after she'd told me about the management's "rules" and the customers' "requests" after she'd gone in for an interview. She'd had to send bikini photos too just to secure an in-person meeting. That just felt wrong to me.
