Page 113 of Too Close To Home

He could also hear the change in the officers’ tone. That careful, practiced firmness they used when someone became a problem. Jake was a problem. Harrison had dealt with enough vigilantes over the years to recognise the type: men who arrived at police stations convinced they knew more than the investigators, convinced they could force answers out of the system by sheer force of will.

Usually, Harrison had no patience for them.

Usually, he hadn’t kissed them.

He pushed through the exit and stepped straight into the middle of it.

“I’ve got it.” Harrison kept his eyes fixed on Jake as he gestured to the officers. “You can head back inside.”

Jake’s head snapped towards him, but the fury in his face didn’t lessen. If anything, it sharpened.

The officers held their positions. “He’s refusing to leave the premises, sir.”

Jake scoffed. Violently. “Wouldn’t be here at all if you lot had done your jobs first time around, would I?”

“Jake,” Harrison snapped in warning, then spun to face the officer. “I said I’ve got this. Go inside.”

The officer hesitated. “Sir—”

“That’s not a request.”

The uniform swallowed. Then he finally backed off, though reluctantly, retreating back to the doors without taking his eyes off Jake.

“Move.” Harrison jutted his chin at Jake.

Jake’s breath came hard through flared nostrils, and he turned his gaze on the officers still hovering inside the entrance. “They won’t tell me what’s going on.”

“No. They’re not allowed to.” Harrison angled his head again, keeping his voice even. “Move.”

“Sir…?” one officer tried again. “We can deal with him.”

Harrison sighed heavily. He could see exactly where this was heading. Two uniforms squaring up to Jake Whitton outside the station doors was only going to make the situation worse. Jake wouldn’t calm down while they stood there treating him as a threat. If anything, they’d push him closer to the edge.

“This is a repeat order, officer,” Harrison said, voice flat with warning. “Go back inside. I will handle it myself.”

This time they went.

Harrison stepped forward and placed a palm on Jake’s chest, lowering his voice to barely a soft whisper. “Move.”

Jake rocked back half a step. Harrison didn’t push him, but Jake stumbled back anyway. As if the sound of his voice had done the job better than a shove would’ve. So Harrison went with him, guiding him away from the entrance, from the windows, until the station disappeared behind the bend of the car park, where a line of trees shielded them from view.

Only then did Harrison stop. “Hey, calm down.”

“Have you got him?” Jake held Harrison there with those stern eyes. “Is he in there? Did he do it?”

Harrison could feel the violent thud of Jake’s heartbeat beneath his palm. Fast. Hard. Erratic. A man ready to run straight through the station doors if Harrison moved aside for even a second. He was coiled with it, tension humming through him, barely contained. And Harrison realised with a strange, disturbing clarity that there was only one thing standing between Jake Whitton and a very bad decision.

Him.

The knowledge should have made him step back. Instead, without quite deciding to, Harrison slid his hand upward. From Jake’s chest. To his neck. Then higher. And he stroked his fingers along the rough line of Jake’s jaw, brushing his thumb through the stubble there.

“Breathe.” He dipped his forehead to rest on Jake’s.

It was instinct.

Not thought through.

Certainly not professional.