Page 166 of Too Close To Home

More than was appropriate, or fair, standing there in the middle of a live scene, officers moving around them, the echo of sirens still hanging in the air. When Jake had his own demons. His own life to live, one that had been ripped from him more than once.

But Jake stopped short.

The moment caught, held, then fractured as he darted his gaze away, drawn back to the world around them. The movement, voices, the reality of where they were and what this was. He pulled himself back. But didn’t step away.

He… held the line.

Close. Too close.

But not close enough.

Then Jake tugged lightly on the lapel of Harrison’s coat. Not to pull him nearer, but to keep hold of something. Touch something that was his. An unconscious motion of saying that, yeah, he was feeling everything Harrison was, too.

However inappropriate. However ill-timed. However unwanted.

“Will you… check the house?” Jake’s breath brushed warm against Harrison’s cheek, close enough to unsettle, to distract. “Properly. In case…”

Harrison nodded. “Scenes of Crime will go through it top to bottom. We’ll find everything that’s been done.”

Jake looked up at him again, searching. As if he needed more than process. More than procedure. What he needed was certainty. Something he could believe in.

“You did your part.” Harrison dipped to catch his eye. “You got her out. But maybe next time…you could leave my job—”

“—to you. Aye, be happy to if this is your regular.”

Harrison breathed through a smile. “And I’ll leave your job to you. If this is your regular.”

Jake snorted.

Harrison peered over to the elderly woman deep in conversation with a uniformed officer, pressing mugs of tea into hands as if running a café instead of standing in the middle of a crime scene. “Though I can see the recommendations will be on the rise.” He looked back at Jake. “I should probably get you booked in before your diary fills up, eh? You might even get a tip for this one. Could up your call-out rates?”

For a moment, Jake said nothing. Then he finally let go of Harrison’s coat and leaned away. “She pays in brew.”

“Ah. Well, maybe a five-star review then?”

“Not online.”

“Maybe you should be.”

Jake snorted at that, but it didn’t quite hold. “Not worth it. People love a comment section. And to leave one-star reviews saying I left my dead sister hanging from a rope in their loft.”

That hit a bit too close to home.

And Harrison felt it catch somewhere deeper than he was ready for, that same sharp, familiar edge of grief had a way of finding him, no matter how well it was buried. But it made sense then, why Jake kept his business simple. No website. No profile. A number on a card and a reputation travelling by word of mouth, person to person, without scrutiny or comment boxes to tear it apart.

There were a lot of things about Jake Whitton that made Harrison want to pull him close and keep him there. Safe, steady, out of reach of everything that kept trying to take from him. An instinct he hadn’t been able to act on before. Not when it mattered.

Not for Chris.

Maybe that’s what this was. A second chance to save someone.

An approaching uniform tore the moment apart. “Sir?”

Harrison blinked. “Yes.”

“Scenes of Crime have arrived. They’re asking for authority to enter and want a quick briefing on access and preservation.”

Harrison nodded. “Right. Hold them at the door. I’ll come now.”