Page 60 of Nyx

"The little fucker is staring at me like I owe back child support or something."

"Get control of yourself," I command. "Keep the comms clear."

I spend the next hour watching the front yard as the sun rises and listening to Recon try to negotiate with a fucking rodent. When Holler shows up, I feel a sense of relief. I've worked with him before, and other than wanting to trade places when they have outside groups, he's a pretty solid guy.

"Get here early?" he asks as he walks up, putting his earpiece in his ear just in time to catch Recon bitching about the chipmunk. He points to his ear. "What's he going on about?"

"A fucking chipmunk," I mutter.

Holler reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bag of peanuts still in the shell. "He's a cute little guy. I brought more today because he ate all I had the other day. It’s so fun to watch him open the shells to get the nut out."

A smile threatens to appear on my face.

"You've been feeding it?" Recon snaps through the mic. "No wonder the damn thing has been staring at me for hours and trying to run up my leg."

Holler chuckles, dipping his head at me before walking around the far corner of the house.

Recon leaves, glaring at me for a long second before getting into his SUV and driving away. I knew I wanted to be here when Juliet arrived, but I'll be damned if having to deal with the squawking about a wild animal didn't have me doubting myself.

Half an hour before her shift begins, I see Juliet's car pull up. Just like every other time she has arrived when I have been here, she looks all around her while still inside her vehicle.

It's prey behavior, the same way a mouse will stick its nose out of a hole and dart back out of fear, even feeling the wind on its face.

It seems more than simple diligence, and her still behaving this way makes me wonder whether this is how she has always been since running away from her hometown or if something more recent has activated these behaviors.

Trauma and fear stick to a person long after they're safe, but maybe she has never considered herself safe. As much as I hate it, with what I know about Graham Whitmore's behavior since his incarceration, the vigilance is needed. Until that bastard is either six feet under the ground or rotting in some drainage pipe, she may never be truly safe. Even then, there's no telling what his family might do to avenge him.

I make a mental note to ask Max to dig a little deeper into his family and try to get a read on what they seem willing to do to help Graham. I know they put up money for his defense, but did they visit him in jail often? Did he go right back to work for them after his release? Has he been shoved to a dark corner in shame? Is he right back in the spotlight?

All these things factor into how he should be handled if he shows up here looking for her.

I watch as Juliet decides it's safe to get out of her car, but before she can fully open her door, another car comes up, the front tire popping over the curb, the front end blocking the driveway.

"We've got a bogie," I say into my mic, moving in the direction of the car.

"No," I growl when Juliet straightens, looking as if she's ready to go to battle with this man.

She stays locked in place, eyes wide as the man exits the vehicle.

"Red Honda Civic," I say, knowing Max is in his office this time of day.

"Niner-three-six, Delta-Tango-Victor," Holler says, having a better view of the front plate than I have from my vantage point.

"Are my fucking kids in there?" the man growls as he comes around the front end of his car, barely wincing when he cracks his knee on the front bumper.

He's a little thing, something I've seen people online call a pocket man, but if he has a weapon, it doesn't matter what size he is. He can still be deadly.

I reach into my jeans, grabbing the gun in my appendix-carry holster.

"Wait," Holler warns, making me wonder if the guys have been debriefed on me.

"Travis Shaw," Max says through the mic. "Five-four, one-seventy-five. Brown hair and eyes. Father of Dean and Daisy, ex-husband of Dana, who all reside at Juniper."

"Sir, you can't be here," Holler says, his voice calm.

"Are my fucking kids inside that house?" the man rages.

"Mr. Shaw," Holler says, his own hand close to the gun on his hip. "It's advised that you leave this property."