Chapter 5 - Blood on the Glass
The blast of icy, sudsy water hit Galen Voss dead in the eyes, blinding him instantly. The contractor sputtered, slipping violently on the wet pavement as the iron pry bar clattered harmlessly against the curb. Jolie didn't back down; she stepped forward, brandishing the heavy aluminum handle of her squeegee pole like a quarterstaff, her eyes flashing with the ferocious fury of a mother defending her territory.
"Take one more step toward him and I'll take your teeth out!" she warned, her voice ringing clear through the empty street.
Voss wiped his stinging eyes with a soaked sleeve, panting heavily. Realizing he had lost the element of surprise, and hearing the distant wail of sirens echoing from downtown—Cullen had pre-programmed a silent security alert to the local precinct before they went inside—Voss turned on his heels and scrambled down the alley, disappearing into the labyrinth of brick corridors.
Beneath Cullen’s knee, Donnie Reeves stopped struggling, sobbing into the cold concrete. "Don't press charges, Mr. Strickland! Please! Galen said it was just an insurance write-off! He said Marcus and my mom already had the payout cleared through the board! I was just following orders!"
"Save it for Detective Miller," Cullen said cold as iron, keeping the younger man pinned until two patrol cruisers screeching around the corner of Sixth Street bathed the storefront in flashing red and blue lights.
Within forty minutes, the scene was swarming with officers. Donnie Reeves was handcuffed and loaded into the back of a cruiser, his duffel bag tagged as criminal evidence containing three jars of hydrofluoric etching paste, matching the exact chemical signature found on the historic storefront.
Jolie stood by the curb, her hands shivering uncontrollably as the adrenaline slowly drained from her system. Cullen walked over, carrying two steaming paper cups of coffee he had retrieved from an officer's thermos. He handed one to her, his fingers brushing against hers.
"You saved my skull back there," Cullen said, his gaze intense and remarkably soft. "I've never seen anyone throw a five-gallon bucket with that kind of precision."
Jolie let out a breathless, trembling laugh, taking a sip of the scalding brew. "When you've carried two fifty-pound buckets up three-story fire escapes five days a week for four years, you develop decent upper-body strength."
Cullen didn't laugh. He looked at the bruised limestone, then at the cloudy blooms on the vintage glass. "The damage on pane two... is it permanent?"
Jolie's expression grew serious. She set her coffee on the hood of her truck and grabbed her tool kit. "He only applied the paste sixty seconds before you kicked the door open. If we neutralize it right now with an alkaline wash and a cerium oxide polishing compound, we might prevent the chemical from biting into the silica. But I need hot water, baking soda, and about three hours of uninterrupted elbow grease."
Cullen took off his heavy coat and rolled up his woolen sleeves. "Tell me what to carry."
For the next three hours, while downtown slept, the billionaire heir and the single mother worked shoulder-to-shoulder under the glow of halogen work lamps. Jolie directed every move, teaching Cullen how to mix the neutralizing slurry, how to apply constant, circular pressure with the rotary buffer, and how to lift the toxic haze from the irreplaceable glass. Sweat dripped down Cullen’s brow despite the freezing wind, but he never complained once. He watched her work—her precision, her absolute mastery of a trade most people looked down upon, her pride in making something broken whole again.
May you like
By 4:30 in the morning, the slurry was rinsed away. Jolie wiped down pane two with a clean micro-fiber cloth and stepped back.
The glass was crystal clear. The streetlamps reflected upon its surface like liquid amber, flawless and unmarred.
