7
Jordan stepped out of the private elevator that opened directly onto the penthouse floor. She carried the faint smell of cold night air and vodka on her clothes.
This floor only had two units. The thick, plush carpet in the wide hallway swallowed the heavy sound of her combat boots.
Just as she pulled her keys out to unlock her door, the phone in her pocket erupted with a shrill, aggressive ringtone.
She pulled it out. The screen flashed with Harrison's name. A deep wave of disgust hit her stomach, but she swiped to answer it anyway.
Harrison's furious voice immediately blasted through the speaker. He screamed at her, demanding to know why she took Julian out of police custody.
He had wanted Julian to sit in a dirty cell for a few days to break his spirit, hoping it would force Jordan to come crawling back to the family for help.
Hearing her father admit to using his own son as a pawn snapped the last thread of Jordan's patience. Her voice spiked with raw anger.
She leaned her shoulder against her doorframe. She ripped into Harrison, calling him a pathetic, hypocritical politician who only cared about control. Despite the alcohol in her system, her iron-clad emotional walls remained perfectly intact. She didn't yell. Instead, her voice dropped to a lethal, whisper-quiet frequency that carried absolute, terrifying composure. Every word was a calculated, ice-cold strike, completely devoid of any vulnerable tremor of rage.
She warned Harrison that if he ever tried to manipulate Julian again, she would personally tank the Whitley family's stock prices into the ground.
Right as she spat out the final, venomous threat, a soft click echoed through the quiet hallway.
Jordan's body went completely rigid. Her agent instincts kicked in instantly. She snapped her head around to look at the massive double doors across the hall.
The door slowly swung open. Blake Berry stood in the doorway, wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a fitted t-shirt.
He held a steaming mug of black coffee in one hand. His deep, dark eyes were locked quietly onto Jordan, taking in her aggressive posture. A dark, calculated gleam flashed in his deep eyes. Securing this specific safe house right next to the little wildcat's apartment was already proving to be a highly tactical decision, he mused internally.
Jordan's pupils dilated. Her brain, slowed down by the vodka and the shock, completely short-circuited for two full seconds.
She couldn't process how the terrifyingly powerful AEGIS Commander from the Brooklyn precinct was standing in the apartment right across from hers.
Harrison was still screaming through the phone, but the sound turned into white noise in Jordan's ears.
She quickly hit the end button and shoved the phone into her pocket, maintaining her flawless, icy facade.
Blake leaned lazily against his doorframe. A slow, dangerous smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, shattering the dead silence in the hallway.
He raised his coffee mug slightly. His voice was authoritative, heavy with the oppressive weight of his office. "Miss Whitley. I trust your troubles ended at the precinct last night. I do not tolerate any out-of-line behavior in my jurisdiction, let alone right outside my door."
Jordan sucked in a sharp breath of air. She forced her heart rate to slow down. She stared back at him and replied coldly, "What a calculated 'coincidence', Commander Berry."
Blake took a half-step out of his doorway, closing the physical distance between them. He easily caught the faint scent of vodka clinging to her jacket.
He raised an eyebrow. He stepped forward, his massive frame radiating an unshakable, interrogative pressure. He noted coldly that her volatile behavior was exactly the kind of liability his agency monitored.
Jordan refused to back down. She met his predatory gaze head-on. She shot back, asking if the Commander's surveillance jurisdiction usually covered residential hallways.
Blake let out a low chuckle. He didn't deny the accusation. He just let his eyes drag slowly down her body, memorizing the sharp lines of her posture.
Because neither of them had moved significantly, the motion-sensor lights in the hallway suddenly clicked off. The corridor plunged into darkness.
In the pitch black, Blake's physical presence became suffocatingly heavy. Jordan could literally feel the heat radiating off his large frame.
She hated being at a tactical disadvantage in the dark. She quickly turned around and jammed her key into the lock.
She twisted the handle. Right before she stepped inside, she threw a cold warning over her shoulder, telling him to stay on his side of the line. She slammed the door shut.
Blake stood alone in the dark hallway. He listened to the heavy deadbolt slide into place. His smile deepened as he whispered to the empty air, "That's not up to you."
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