Page 11 of My End
Broad strokes. Angled lines. A face born in shadows.
Strong. Unapologetic.
Haunted.
And absolutely unforgettable.
The first line led to the second. Then the third.
I lost track of time.
The only thing that existed in that studio now was me, the paint, and the man who didn’t know he was becoming art.
Jake.
Mystery. Intrigue.
And maybe, just maybe, my muse.
Chapter Five
Stretch
The second I stepped into the kitchen, the smell of pancakes and sausage hit me like a freight train made of butter and syrup.
I wasn’t even halfway across the tile before Adam dropped a plate on the island in front of me, with steam rising in gentle swirls off the golden stacks. I didn’t even sit down before I was smiling. “I’ve been looking forward to breakfast since I finished dinner,” I said and dropped into the same chair I’d used last night.
Adam gave a satisfied grunt and went back to the stove. “Pancakes are best before ten. After that, they’re just a warm apology for not being waffles.”
I grabbed my fork and cut a piece. The syrup oozed down the sides, soaked into the edges, and the sausage on the side looked like it had been cooked to perfection, with edges crisp and their centers juicy. I took a bite of the pancake and let out a low, involuntary groan.
Hot. Buttery. Just the right amount of chew. The edges had the tiniest crisp to them that gave way to a soft, warm center that tasted like vanilla, cinnamon, and everything good in the world.
“Holy shit,” I muttered and nodded at the plate. “You didn’t say you were making gourmet pancakes.”
Adam smirked. “I did two years at Le Cordon Bleu.”
Billy and Jeff were already sitting at the island, with coffee mugs in front of them. I’d passed both of them on my rounds every hour or so through the night.
They were good guys. Easy to talk to. The kind of men who kept their heads down and did their jobs without asking questions.
“Last night go okay for you?” Billy asked and leaned back in his chair.
I nodded and reached for the glass of orange juice Adam had placed in front of me like he was psychic. “Not much going on at all.”
“Yeah, not much does go on,” Jeff said and scratched at the back of his neck. “Especially with Boone gone. I think I heard Jim say he won’t be back until after the weekend.”
I paused with the glass halfway to my mouth, then took a long sip before setting it down. “Then what’s with all the patrolling and whatnot?”
I wasn’t trying to sound like I was complaining. But come on, if Boone wasn’t here, why the hell was I spending eight hours walking laps around a silent mansion?
Jeff and Billy looked at each other.
“There are things in the house that need protecting,” Jeff said finally. His voice was vague as hell.
I nodded slowly and tried not to push. “Well, then I guess it’s good nothing happened last night, huh?”
Billy shrugged. “Good nights are quiet nights.”
