Page 17 of Exhale
Jordan noticed a few women checking Owen out. Owen really was beautiful, and Jordan couldn’t help but smirk at the women.
Keep looking, ladies,he’s mine, he thought with a satisfied smile.
Yeah, okay, Owen wasn’t technically his, but they were together on this job, and that was what counted.
Owen smirked at him with a knowing look, and Jordan felt his face heat.
Damn it…he needed to get a grip.
Owen knew nothing about his past, and he needed to come clean and soon, but not yet.
He wanted to enjoy this while it lasted.
“So, what’s the plan today?”
“Today, we go by Ginny’s apartment and see if we can find anything that will lead us to her killer.”
“Okay, and the cops?” Jordan asked.
“I got a text from Ace this morning, we have the all clear.”
“Sweet. If she had a computer, I could get into that.”
“Whatever you can find. I want this bastard caught.”
Jordan reached out and touched the top of Owen’s hand with his. The next thing he knew, Owen turned his hand over, palm up, and closed fingers around his.
“We’ll get him,” Jordan breathed.
Owen pulled up in front of a shabby-looking apartment building.
The place was rundown, but it was fully occupied—if the number of cars and people coming in and out of the parking lot and building were any indication.
Together, they entered the open main entrance. The walkway into the apartment building was a combination of chipped paint and stained concrete. The hallway’s musky smell only added to the dumpy ambiance.
The unkempt state of the place didn’t bother Jordan because he had lived in far worse. Much, much worse. For months, he’d lived in a cardboard box before he graduated to a tent left to him by old man Carl, who’d died from the weather one cold Oakland night.
“It’s this one,” Owen said, approaching the apartment on the bottom floor.
Jordan shook off the thoughts of the past and followed.
When Owen pulled his gun, Jordan looked quickly around.
An ultra-thin woman in a baggy hoodie and frayed jeans stumbled past them, not even giving Owen’s weapon a second glance. Jordan imagined she was probably used to it.
The open doorway was covered with a stretch of yellow crime tape, and murmurs of voices could be heard within.
The sound of a cop’s radio went off from inside.
Jordan reached out and placed his hand over Owen’s gun arm and pushed it down.
“It’s law enforcement,” he said.
Owen squinted at him and tucked the nine-millimeter away.
Ducking beneath the yellow tape, Owen entered with Jordan on the man’s six. The place smelled of mold and rotten food.
Owen had his Pegasus badge out and ready when both cops turned their way. Jordan’s was hanging on a chain around his neck.
