Chapter 8 — “The Unveiling”

  The precinct was busier than usual when Alexi Shard entered through the glass double doors. Once inside, everything seemed to slow down. Officers, initially tense, paused to glance at her before resuming their tasks. The desk sergeant looked more alert, raising his eyebrows and observing the busy scene with a focused expression.

  Alexi removed her coat and glanced around the room.

  This wasn’t just ordinary morning noise; it was a steady buzz.

  Her partner, Detective Lang, stopped her midway through the bullpen, holding a coffee in one hand and a look that combined curiosity with a hint of concealed amusement.

  “You’re late,” he said.

  “It’s eight-oh-five,” Alexi replied. “And I had to swing by Harrow’s shop last night to cross-check some inscriptions.”

  “Yeah, well…” Lang leaned in. You might want to look in your office.

  “Why?” she asked.

  He smirked. “Because someone important is waiting for you.”

  She frowned. “Important like Internal Affairs? Or important like the mayor’s office wants to yell at us again?”

  Lang shook his head. “Different kind of important.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Define different.”

  “You’ll see.”

  The bullpen moved aside for her, not because they knew who was waiting—no one likely did—but because the news had spread fast. Something about her had attracted an influential person to the precinct. Someone known for making waves wherever they went.

  Alexi entered the hallway that led to the private offices. Her heart skipped a beat—this time out of irritation, not nervousness—when she saw that her office door was open. She moved forward.

  From the doorway, she could only see the back of a man seated in the visitor’s chair—broad shoulders, impeccable posture, a dark coat tailored to flawless lines. He remained perfectly still, resembling a figure carved from stone.

  Alexi pushed the door open.

  The man stood and faced her. Alexi froze in the doorway, breath catching somewhere between shock and disbelief.

  Maxx DeSilva.

  “Ah, Detective Shard,” Maxx said, with a smooth and polite tone. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “Mr. DeSilva,” she managed, finding her voice. “I... I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “No,” he said. “I’m sure you weren’t.”

  She entered, shutting the door behind her. Maxx waited for her to sit before he relaxed in his chair opposite her desk. He appeared calm, wearing an impeccable dark waistcoat, a crisp white shirt, with sleeves tight enough to suggest strength beneath his polite exterior. There was that same aura she couldn’t entirely recognize. It felt ancient and dangerous, and she sensed it more than saw it.

  Maxx reached over and picked up a paper cup from her desk. “I have a question before we begin,” he said, swirling the container and sniffing at it. “What is this?”

  “Um, I believe we call it coffee,” she replied.

  Maxx sniffed it again before setting it back down. “No, my dear, I assure you that is not coffee.” He straightened up and continued. “Anyway, you’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

  “Yes,” she said with a wry smile. “Obviously.”

  He folded his hands. I’d like to extend a one-time opportunity to you, Detective.

  Alexi blinked. “A deal.”

  “In a manner of speaking…yes.”

  “You said yesterday you had nothing else to offer.”

  Maxx tilted his head. “I’ve reconsidered.”

  “Why?” her eyes narrowing. “What changed?”

  His gaze remained steady on hers without flinching. “The landscape. The risks. The need for clarity.”

  “And you’re suddenly prepared to give me clarity?” she asked.

  “Oh, I’m willing to provide you with much more than that, detective. If you seek answers about the subway murders, the pendant, and the links you’ve begun to sense.”

  Alexi’s pulse quickened. She crossed her arms. “Why do I feel like there’s a catch?”

  “Because you’re perceptive,” Maxx said. “And there is a catch. A big one.” He leaned forward. “I will answer your questions. All of them. But only at my company headquarters.”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  She frowned. “Why there?”

  “Because the information I have is not meant for public spaces,” he said. “And not for unsecured environments.”

  Alexi’s breathing slowed. “You want me to leave the precinct with you.”

  “And come of your own free will,” he added. “If you agree, you’ll have the truth. If you don’t…” He lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “…I will simply leave.”

  The silence continued. Alexi studied him—his calmness, confidence, and quiet seriousness. Inside her, one part urged caution, while another whispered ‘opportunity.’

  She exhaled. “If I go with you, you’ll tell me what you know?”

  “Yes.”

  “All of it?”

  A brief pause. “Yes, all of it,” Maxx said. “And more.”

  Her heartbeat echoed in her ears as she paused to think. “All right,” she said. “I’ll go.”

  “Excellent. Well then, shall we?” he said, standing.

  Maxx opened the door for her, and they walked down the hallway together.

  “I need to let Captain Bressler know I’ll be leaving.”

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary,” he replied with a smile. “I took the liberty of clearing this with him earlier. I hope you don’t mind.”

  She put on her jacket as they walked, curious how the man knew her supervisor and why he was so sure she would accept his terms. Still, given her understanding of Maxx DeSilva, he appeared well-informed and precise about almost everything.

  The bullpen grew quiet as they moved through, officers avoiding eye contact while Lang shot Alexi a surprised look, asking, ‘What did you just agree to?’

  She shrugged and kept walking.

  They took the elevator down to the underground garage. As the doors opened, Alexi stepped out with Maxx beside her, their footsteps echoing louder than expected in the large space.

  The garage hummed with the low rumble of engines and distant echoes. Pale fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long, uneven shadows across rows of patrol cars and civilian vehicles. The air was cool, metallic, and tinged with the smells of exhaust and concrete dust.

  “Your car is down here?” Alexi asked.

  “Yes.”

  She expected him to lead her to a sleek SUV, or maybe a luxury sedan. She did not expect what awaited in the far corner. A long, gleaming shape rested in a pool of light.

  An obsidian black, low-slung, and aerodynamic Jaguar. A creature crouched on four wheels, with each line sharp as a razor and polished to a mirror’s shine. Its signature J-blade headlights glowed, giving the front end a predatory stare.

  Maxx seemed to approach it with the relaxed confidence of a man nearing something that belonged to him in every sense. He pressed a small remote, and the Jaguar chirped, unlocking its doors with a quiet metallic sound.

  Alexi slowed without meaning to. She whispered, unable to help herself, “You drive this? It’s beautiful,” she admitted.

  “Thank you, and yes…occasionally,” Maxx replied.

  “Occasionally?” she muttered. “This car looks as if it could eat the road.”

  His smile was slight but genuine. “A fair description.”

  He opened the passenger door for her — polite, old-fashioned manners that stood in stark contrast to the raw power of the machine.

  Alexi slipped inside. The interior wrapped around her like a glove. Black leather seats with red stitching, brushed aluminum trim, a cockpit angled toward the driver’s side like a jet built for speed, not mercy. The faint scent of clean leather and something wild lingered in the cabin.

  Maxx closed her door with careful restraint, then circled the front of the car, his movements fluid and deliberate. When he slid into the driver’s seat, the Jaguar seemed to recognize him as the dashboard lit up. He buckled his seatbelt.

  “Comfortable?” he asked.

  “I’m... something,” she said honestly.

  He pressed the ignition, and the supercharged V8 roared to life, not loud but a deep, throaty rumble that vibrated through the seat, up her spine, and into her teeth. It was the sound of power restrained, not unleashed.

  He eased the Jaguar out of the parking space. As he reached the exit ramp, the predator slipped through the cracks. His foot pressed down on the accelerator, and the vehicle shot forward, forcing Alexi back into the seat with an involuntary gasp. The car surged up the incline in a single, smooth motion, engine roaring like something alive.

  Alexi’s fingers dug into the door handle. “Do you always drive like this?”

  Maxx’s mouth curled into a smirk. “No. I usually don’t drive this slow.”

  “Slow?” she sputtered. “I—this—I’m pretty sure this breaks about seventeen traffic laws.”

  “Well, we’re still in the garage,” he said. “So it doesn’t count.”

  She shot him a look. He didn’t meet it, but guided the car up the final incline with effortless precision. They burst out onto the street, sunlight reflecting off the hood, the engine purring contentedly. He shifted gears again, and the high-performance vehicle surged forward with a grace that was smooth, controlled, and unlike any driver she’d ridden with.

  Maxx guided the car through traffic with ease, maneuvering tight turns and narrow streets as if the Jaguar knew his thoughts.

  Alexi’s pulse pounded, her heartbeat syncing with the engine’s rhythm, rapid and tense.

  Maxx’s expression stayed neutral. If anything, he appeared more relaxed.

  “You’re very comfortable behind the wheel,” she managed.

  “I’ve had a great deal of practice.”

  “How much practice?” she asked, her eyebrows knitting.

  He locked eyes with her for half a second. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

  Her stomach sank at his straightforward tone.

  The Jaguar sliced between taxis with precision, weaving through traffic as if the city bent around it. Pedestrians blurred at the edges of her vision.

  “Maxx,” Alexi said. “I’m a detective. I’ve been through high-speed chases. But this—this is—”

  “Efficient,” he finished.

  “Harrow was right,” she whispered. “You’re not normal.”

  “Few worthwhile things are,” he replied. His voice wasn’t threatening, but it wasn’t comforting either. It was the truth.

  The city swallowed them; steel towers rose around the Jaguar, cliffs closing in as they moved toward the East River.

  Alexi took a deep breath and steadied her breathing.

  “You said you had answers.”

  “Yes. And once we get to my office, you’ll have them.”

  He shifted gears again, causing the vehicle to accelerate once more.

  For just a moment, Alexi felt like she wasn’t riding with a man. She was riding with something older, taking on the shape of a man. And she couldn’t tell if the thrill in her chest was fear… or adrenaline.

  The Jaguar moved along the winding private roads heading for Armonk, its engine humming as if content to be in his company. Alexi sat in the passenger seat, hands clenched, eyes occasionally drifting toward Maxx. He drove with the focused calm of someone born to tame both animals and machines.

  When they arrived at the underground garage at DeSilva Corporate Headquarters, the overhead sensors hummed, and lights flickered on in neat rows. The entire level had the polished, precise sterility of a high-end automotive lab—or a private military facility.

  Barbara Thompson stood near the elevator, holding her tablet under one arm and her gunmetal glasses reflecting the lights above. Her auburn hair, neatly tied back, gave her a poised and efficient look.

  She approached the Jaguar before Maxx even turned off the engine. “Good morning, Mr. DeSilva,” she said with a respectful tilt of her head. “Detective Shard.”

  Alexi nodded in response. Barbara leaned closer, her voice dropping to an almost inaudible whisper. “It’s unusual for people to handle Mr. DeSilva’s driving without getting nauseous. I must say, you handled the drive well.”

  “Barbara,” Maxx asked. “Are we all set?”

  Everything’s ready. They’re waiting upstairs,” Barbara gestured for them to move ahead.

  Maxx offered Alexi a swift, almost imperceptible nod before they both trailed Barbara towards the exclusive elevator.