Page 5 of Jax
Kane leaned against the scarred desk, his arms folded across his chest, eyes cutting toward me with that steady weight he carried. Always watching, always calculating. The kind of man who didn’t waste words unless they mattered.
He read my face in one look.
“Don’t start with me, Jax,” he muttered, but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Edge already tried to put the ‘no limiter’ car on the card for tonight.”
“Your problem, not mine,” I countered. “I have a different fire.”
His brows went up. “Lark.”
“Hired her fast,” I said, keeping my tone level. “You call the references yourself or delegate?”
“I called.” Kane never bristled at me checking the locks, so there was no offense in his tone.
I stayed where I was, leaning on the doorframe, tablet balanced against my forearm. “And?”
“She’s young, so she doesn’t have a long work history. Last job was assisting in event planning. The woman who answered vouched for her, with no hesitation. Said she was competent and reliable. Didn’t give me a reason to doubt her.” He shifted his weight, the light catching in his green eyes. “She also completed that motorsports course online. Eight weeks, intensive, focused. It’s legit. Qualified her enough for the assistant coordinator spot.”
“So the basics cleared.”
“They did,” he confirmed. He studied me with a steady gaze. “Which is why I green-lit her.”
I flicked my eyes up from the tablet. “References can be faked. Especially if the background itself is built that way.”
Kane didn’t flinch, didn’t bristle. He just held my stare. “That’s why I have you.”
The simplicity of his words landed heavier than anything else could have. He wasn’t blowing me off or dismissing my concern. He was handing me the reins because that’s what I was there for. If Jax Bishop found something rotten, it was gospel. If I told Kane she had to go, Lark would be gone before the ink dried on her hire forms.
“Anything else you clocked?” I asked. “In person?”
He flipped a sheet over and scratched a note, buying himself a second to answer. “Nervous energy that’s not afraid of work. Didn’t fish for access. Eyes tracked details in the tent while she talked—crew badges, staging lists. That kind of awareness plays, as long as it’s not hiding a landmine.”
My lips quirked. “And I’m in the business of finding landmines before they pop.”
“Exactly.” His gaze sharpened. “You got a feeling about something?”
“Maybe.” I kept my voice even, not wanting him to pick up on the emotions rioting around inside me after meeting her. “The paper trail reads…tidy.”
Kane’s mouth flattened. He knew me well enough to get just from my tone that when I said “tidy,” it wasn’t praise. “Do your dig. See if we should be dodging a hit.”
I gave a short nod. “Always.”
“Good.” He clapped my shoulder once, then turned back to the mess of logistics scattered across the desk. For Kane, the conversation was finished.
But for me, the work had just begun.
As I ambled away, he called after me. “Jax.”
I looked back.
He didn’t saybe careful. Kane didn’t waste syllables. He just nodded once, a quiet weight behind it that said everything else. Trust. Leash length. The usual.
I tipped the brim of my cap in return and walked out, the office door whispering shut behind me.
By the time I hit the compound, the heat had that end-of-day shimmer, the clubhouse rippling in the reflection of the late afternoon sun. A couple of prospects were pressure-washing the concrete near the garage, cutting clean paths through the grease. Drift stood with them for a minute, pointing at a hose clamp,then caught my eye and gave a chin lift. I answered with a small one of my own and took the side entrance that kept me out of the lounge traffic.
In my office, I slid into the chair and woke the main rig. The world narrowed in the way it always did when I was where I belonged—my fingers on keys, eyes on moving numbers, and heartbeat finding the tempo that let me move faster than whatever tried to catch me.
Basic checks first, because even though I knew they wouldn’t show anything, I followed my procedures. Public records. County clerks. DMV stubs. Lease agreements. The same boring sprawl I’d skimmed before, but this time I traced every line to its edge.
