Page 64 of Every Broken Piece
Chapter thirty-four
Gabe
Iexit Tess’s building on a mission to get some healthy food into her and check out the surrounding area. Earlier I asked Jack to send backup. There’s a security firm we use occasionally for just such a job and Jack assured me they were sending their best men to guard Tess.
She’ll hate it if she finds out, but I don’t plan on telling her because I plan on being with her every second of her day. Just like I told her—I’m not going anywhere.
However, it’s good to have another set of eyes for moments like this when I can’t be with her. Amelia is upstairs right now, making sure Tess takes it easy and doesn’t try to get back on her computer. Although I don’t think that’s a worry. TaskGenius has wiped her out of their existence.
I’ll take care of that little problem later. For now, it’s in her best interest to be offline.
Damn but that’d been a difficult conversation. The fear that leapt into her eyes when she discovered she’s unemployed issomething I never want to see again. Right then my mission became simple—erase everything that made my Spitfire afraid.
I’ll make it so she doesn’t have to worry about another thing again, but I’m not stupid enough to tell her that now. It’s too much, too fast. I need to slow my emotions down before she runs. And make no mistake, she’s on the verge of running.
When I step outside, I’m glad to see another big, black SUV parallel parked on the street in front of mine. I don’t want these bodyguards to hide. I want to send a message to Sandra Jansen and her kind that Tess is now protected.
Tess’s new bodyguard, Roger, stands outside the entrance of her building, foot kicked back on the crumbling bricks, smoking a cigarette, narrowed eyes sweeping up and down the street. Ohio is an open carry state and his sidearm is in plain sight.
I drive to the closest grocery store, following the directions on my GPS. The surrounding streets are a replica of Tess’s. At some point this used to be a nice area. The buildings are early twentieth century ornate, but falling apart, boarded up in some places, metal gates covering windows in others. There seems to be a pawn shop on every corner, a few barber shops, and tired looking corner stores. People hanging out at the intersections watch the cars go buy. Angry eyes follow my SUV as I slowly cruise by.
The grocery store is a few miles away, in a nicer section of town. It’s been years since I’ve been inside a grocery store. Pax would laugh if he saw me navigating the aisles, trying to decide what Tess likes to eat. I stick with foods that I think are good for recovery—mainly fruits and vegetables and proteins. Like grocery shopping, I haven’t cooked in years either, but I still remember the days of cooking for Pax and Jack.
Jack was always a better cook than me and for some reason, pushing a rickety cart with a janky wheel and plucking spaghetti sauce off the shelf is making me nostalgic for the past, when Paxwas a little guy, and Jack and I were struggling to make it all work.
Now Pax has one foot out the door, ready to embark on his own adventures. Jack is doing what Jack does. Most of the time it’s a mystery to me what that is. But the three of us are still close. God willing we’ll always be close.
I load more food than we need into my car and head back to Tess.
“Everything good?” I ask Roger after I park in front of her door.
He takes a long pull off his cigarette and blows it out. He lifts his chin toward the corner. “Punk kids came by a little bit ago but stayed over there, watching. They’ll probably try jacking the cars tonight.”
“You have relief coming?”
He nods while taking another drag. “There’s four of us in a rotation. Mr. Sterling requested it.”
Leave it to Jack to think of everything.
“You have my number?”
“Mr. Sterling gave it to us.”
“I’ll be upstairs. Apartment 4B if you need anything. Even to take a piss.”
His lips twitch in what I suppose passes for a grin. He’s what you’d think a bodyguard would look like. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes, built like a freight train. Jack probably requested a certain look to scare the locals and any other punk ass that thought we were fair game. Like the asshole who attacked Tess.
I pull his picture out of my pocket because I carry it with me and show it to him. “You see this guy you call me. Don’t approach. He’s mine.”
Roger studies the picture until he has it memorized, then nods once. “Got it.”
Before grabbing the grocery bags, I make my own assessed study of the street. The kids are gone, a few cars pass through the intersection a block away. Other than that, the neighborhood is eerily quiet. I get the groceries and close the car door with my hip.
As I turn, I see her slipping through the shadows of the building across the street like she knows how to stay invisible. Robert and I lock gazes. I nod to let him know I’ve got this. He nods back, but remains on alert, gun hand free and near his weapon, cigarette crushed beneath his shoe.
She hesitates in the darkened doorway of an abandoned building. Even from across the street I catch the telltale signs of someone coming down from a high. She shifts from one foot to another, rubs at her face, pulls at strands of her hair.
She takes a tentative step forward. Stops. Pauses. Lifts her chin, then marches toward me.
