Page 24 of Jesse
“So it’s useless?” I asked, heart sinking.
“For now. But I’m not giving up,” he added, spinning back to one of the monitors. “There might be residual frames I can reconstruct. It’s slow work, though.”
“It’s urgent,” I said, my tone sharper than I meant. “Whoever killed that man is dangerous. I want this solved, fast.”
Anthony’s fingers paused over his keyboard. “I know. I’m trying.”
I blew out a breath and ran a hand through my hair. “Sorry. I just can’t let anything happen to Beck.”
Anthony raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Which was generous of him.
I hesitated, then added, “Actually, that’s the other thing I wanted to talk about.”
“Go on.”
“I want to install security cameras. In and around the truck. Hidden ones, if possible.”
Anthony tilted his head, thoughtful.
“That’s doable. You’ll want something discreet but with night vision and high-resolution recording. Battery backup too. I’ve got a few spare Wyze Cams and a stealth unit. They link up to an app. Motion alerts, remote viewing, the works,” he said.
“Perfect. Show me how to use it?” I asked.
He reached under the desk, rummaged in a drawer, and pulled out two palm-sized black cameras and a small wireless hub.
“These are your best bet. One goes inside, mounted high, angled toward the back kitchen area. The other goes outside, near the serving window. Download the app. It’s called SynCam, and I’ll give you access credentials. Make sure you arm them before every shift,” he explained.
I nodded, already reaching for my phone. “Thanks, man. I’ll owe you for this.”
“You already do,” he said dryly.
I checked the time and cursed out loud. “Dang, I’m running late. Beck’s gonna murder me.”
Anthony snorted as I grabbed the cameras and sprinted for the door. “Tell him it’s for his safety. That should soften the blow,” Anthony added.
I didn’t stop running until I hit the parking lot, the cool air burning my lungs.
As I jumped into my truck and gunned the engine, a tight, coiling anxiety curled low in my stomach. Not because I was late. But because I cared what Beck thought.
Because I could still picture him, frowning at his watch, arms crossed, that impatient tilt to his head, and I wanted to be there.
Not just to work together. Not just to solve this murder.
I wanted to be near him. To protect him. And that realization hit me harder than anything Anthony had said.
My wolf stirred deep inside, quiet but alert, and I didn’t fight it this time.
Beck wasn’t just a teammate. He was becoming something else. And I didn’t know what that meant, but I was about to find out.
Beck was already waiting outside the supermarket, arms crossed, back leaning against the brick wall beside the automatic doors.
His expression could’ve curdled milk.
The moment he spotted my truck, he looked down at his watch with the over-exaggerated patience of someone fighting the urge to throw it at me.
I parked and jogged toward him, the strap of the canvas grocery bag slung over my shoulder thumping against my back. “Beck?—”
“You’re twenty-six minutes late,” he snapped before I could say anything.
