by Drew Elyse
Whether they saw I was retreating to my corner, or else just realized it was best if they did so I could stop draining myself, the conversation had dropped there, and eventually, everyone got on the task of escorting me out to the parking lot. I didn’t even bother fighting when Carson insisted on driving me to Park’s since his old school Cadillac was easier for me to get in than Park’s little coupe.
When we got there, it took only a minute to notice the glaring difficulty that would be staying with Park. Namely, the steps up to the front door, and then the two flights that I was just remembering would follow once we got through it. My legs, though sore and bruised, hadn’t had any major damage. Still, just the walk from the side lot to the front door had me winded. Getting up all those stairs might just do me in.
“Keys, boy,” Carson ordered, and Park tossed them his way. Without a word, Carson went up and started testing the couple keys on the ring to see which got the door.
Parker came to me, then knelt down a bit, arms reaching. I knew what he was doing, and yet my lips blurted out, “What’re you doing?”
“Carrying you.”
“I’m sorry?”
Being a man of few words, as usual, he looked from me to the stairs and back again.
“Are you going to drop me?”
He grinned, and I was struck as I had been before by the fact that he was devastatingly handsome in a way that made him seem both cute and dangerous, trustworthy and wicked. His white smile stuck out against his tan skin, making it seem brighter. His dark eyes made it hard to tell if he was actually an angel or the devil under there.
I was leaning toward devil when he scooped me up without answering. He did it slowly, with careful movements meant to keep from hurting me. I held back curses that wanted to leak out at how even the controlled moved jostled my ribs and sent blinding pain through my abdomen. When his grin disappeared entirely, I figured he’d still caught it.
Park took his time taking me up, taking each step as smoothly as possible. By the time we reached each door, Carson had them held open for us. Inside his apartment, Park settled me on the couch, explaining, “I want to change the sheets so everything’s fresh for you.”
Jean, with no hesitation at all, went bustling into the kitchen. I watched as she opened and closed the refrigerator and cabinets, taking stock. I couldn’t even say this was something she did because of my current state, though I’m sure it contributed. On more than one occasion, she’d done the exact same thing at my place when I was perfectly healthy. Jean and Carson had tried for kids for a long time, but it was never in the cards for them. Now, Jean had a tendency to let that mothering instinct leak out on the people in her life. Even when she overstepped a bit, I let her do it. Just those small tastes were still far better than anything I’d ever gotten from my actual mother.
After all, Jean was here. If I picked up the phone right now and called my mother, she’d hang up as soon as she realized it was me.
“I’m just going to make a list so we can make sure you’re all stocked up here,” she called.
Carson, who was more than used to his wife’s antics, grinned her way before focusing on me. “You got prescriptions you need filled while we do that?”
I shook my head. “They filled them at the hospital. Park has them.”
“Good. You need anything, you don’t hesitate to call me. Okay?”
Maybe it was that I was lagging again, feeling like I could fall asleep in moments if I only let myself, but his offer choked me up a little. “Park will take care of me.”
“Jessie, you confirm you get me.”
“I get you, old man.”
He shook his head. “I’ll show you old,” he grumbled, but just focused in on my drooping eyelids. Without a word, he started adjusting the pillows on the couch before helping me lie back on them. When I was settled, he went back toward Park’s room, returning a minute later with a blanket to cover me.
“You just relax. We’ll take care of you,” he promised.
I woke to knocking and my heart was racing immediately.
It took a moment for it to register that I was tucked in on a couch, but not mine.
Park’s. Right.
I forced myself to breathe as I realized that the sound at the door wasn’t the pounding like the police had done. It was calm even though the sound carried. Unless I was mistaken because of the drugs, I was fairly sure I hadn’t been asleep long. The light from the windows seemed about the same.
Park appeared from the second bedroom a minute later, looking my way to check on me, but bustling right to the door. He checked the peephole first, and I noticed his face scrunched as he stepped back just a bit before opening the door. His posture said it all. He was willing to see who it was, but they weren’t getting in unless they took him down.
My heart rate took off again.
“Yes?” Park answered, unmistakably tense.
“I’m here for Jess.”
I knew that voice.
Jackson.
No, that wasn’t even his fucking name.
Not that it mattered.
What mattered was that he was there, right outside Park’s door, saying it was because of me.
Why would he be there for me? How did he even know I was there?
What the hell was happening?
It was all too obvious that he’d given the wrong answer when Park replied in a voice that was all menace. “Try again.”
“My name is Braden Miller. I’m a Hoffman police officer, and I know Jess. Sketch gave me your address and told me you’d brought her here from the hospital. I just need to see her and make sure she’s okay.”
Braden Miller.
Finally, I knew his real name.
I liked it, even if I really did not want to like it.
What I was certain I didn’t like was that he was here, like I somehow mattered when he’d been back for who knew how long. What I didn’t like was that he’d played Sketch somehow into giving up my location. Even if he wasn’t a threat and Sketch knew that, it didn’t mean I wanted to see him. It definitely didn’t mean I wanted Sketch to have any idea about our whole situation.
All I wanted was for him to get gone.
The door snapped closed and I focused fully on Park. “You know him?”
“Yeah. He’s one of Sketch’s clients. And he lived across the hall from me for a while…”
That was some of the answer, and I wasn’t on my game enough to be evasive to the point of Park not knowing that. I’d trailed off in a way that made it plenty clear there was more to the story.
“Is he the one that did that to you?” Park asked point blank.
“No.”
Whoever that was, his voice was different. Unfamiliar. I’d have recognized Jackson’s—no, Braden’s—anywhere.
He nodded, then went on, “Do you want me to let him in?”
His expression was entirely neutral, but not forced. What he did next was entirely up to me, even if it put him at odds with a cop.
“No.”
Park nodded again and turned back to the door. As he did, I found I was holding my breath, unsure if I was ready for what would come next.
Chapter Ten
Braden
The building itself was nondescript. From the outside, there was really no telling if the units were freshly redone and overpriced, if they were older and well kept, or if it all was a complete shithole. If Sketch and the club were cool with Jess staying there, and knowing how busy all the artists at Sailor’s Grave were, I felt comfortable in the assumption it wasn’t the last.
On the way over, I’d phoned Andrews and asked for the full story. It not being my case, it wasn’t entirely mine to know. My personal investment meant I wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near it. For now, I didn’t give him that, even though I figured he was cool enough to tell me what I needed to know anyway. Mostly, I didn’t want to waste time on that shit. I wanted answers, and he offered them up just based on assuming I was concerned
about the proximity to the Coranco case.
“Can’t know everything off of what he said to her, but almost sure this is separate. From the sound of things, it’s a stalker. He repeatedly stated she wasn’t supposed to be back, so he wasn’t there with the intent to hurt her, but there was no burglary even after she lost consciousness. Mentioned knowing the make of her vehicle, even though she didn’t drive it home last night. By the sound of it, he was there because of a fixation on her but went in because he knew she wasn’t there. Only went violent when she surprised him.”
None of that made me feel better. Without the guy in custody, I wouldn’t be feeling all that good in general. But at least if it had been something random, the likelihood she was still at risk was lower. If some sick fuck was obsessed with her, this could only be the beginning. Him just being inside her apartment in the first place was a sign he was escalating.
I got up to the front door and got lucky when someone walked out. I stepped aside holding it for myself, but the guy stopped and kept a hand on it. “You live in the building?” His tone told me he knew I didn’t.
Smart man. Too many people hold open doors like that without a care who is going through them. Those outer doors had locks for a reason. Some person not caring who got into the building was probably part of how that fucker that attacked Jess got in in the first place.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my wallet and flashed my badge. He loosened his hold on the door. “Sorry, man. I’ve got daughters and want to be sure they’re good.”
“No worries, it’s the right move.”
He went on his way, clearing the way while I went in and jogged up the stairs. Coming up to 304, I took a breath to get myself together and knocked.
There was a pause before the door opened to a guy a bit younger than Jess, with full-color tattoos that I recognized from Sailor’s Grave. He didn’t open it all the way, his body blocking the opening entirely.
“Yes?”
“I’m here for Jess,” I said it straight.
“Try again.” The threat wasn’t veiled. He didn’t like that, and if I didn’t backtrack quick, he’d remove me if necessary.
I didn’t feel I owed this guy shit, but he was protecting her. I couldn’t be mad about that. Right now, she could use it. Right now, every person that she’d shown that bright fucking light of hers on that wanted to defend her was an asset, and we were all a lot more valuable as a team than as enemies. Acknowledging that, I gave it to him. My name, my job, and my heart on my sleeve.
He gave me a steady look through it, then the door snapped shut without so much as a reaction. Whatever shit he’d seen in life, it’d given him the ability to be unflappable, that was for sure. Whatever he was deciding about me, I wasn’t going to know unless he wanted me to. I waited, hearing the murmur of voices from inside. This was going to be Jess’s choice, then. That could work out for me or blow up in my face. But it was the confrontation I’d been waiting for.
A couple minutes passed before he opened it again, and I knew just from his face that I wasn’t getting in.
Fuck.
“She doesn’t want to see you.” He didn’t have to say the warning to get the fuck out of there aloud.
I’d go. It fucking killed, but it was what was best for now. Fishing in my pocket, I pulled out a card and a pen, taking a second to scrawl my cell number on it. “Give her this?” I handed it to him, and at least he took it. If he decided to pass it on, I wouldn’t know unless she reached out. “If she needs anything, gets a bad feeling, whatever, I’ll come right away.”
I didn’t wait to head out. Jess was in there having gone through hell. I didn’t need to be crowding her, and I didn’t need to be coming to blows with her friend and temporary roommate when I refused to leave. Space—more fucking space I didn’t want from her—was the only move I had available to me. With no clue how to fix this, I went back to my car, deciding I’d do the only thing I could, make sure her case was getting the attention it should.
Two hours later, I was in the captain’s office, feeling a hell of a lot like I was back in school in front of the principal.
“You want to explain the fixation on this case to me?” he asked.
Mickey Ruxin had been the captain of police in Hoffman for years. I didn’t know if the stereotypical cop mustache came before or after the promotion, but I wondered if it was just a steering into the skid thing. The man just looked like a cop, even if you shaved the ‘stache off. There was gray working its way into his russet hair that was parted at the side and in place any time I’d seen him. He looked like he could still put you on your ass even if he wasn’t as ripped as he probably was when he was younger.
He was also intimidating by nature, which made him good for his job.
He stared me down from across his desk, waiting.
“The girl,” I admitted.
“You know her?” But he already knew the answer.
“Yes.”
“Involved?”
“Trying to be.”
He nodded. “She not interested?” His lips kicked up on one side, making the mustache lopsided.
Knowing I wasn’t going to pull anything over on him, I went with an abbreviated version of the truth. “Hard to make a play undercover and then in hiding.”
“Or after some monster gets in her house and hurts her.” I clenched my jaw to the point that it ached at the thought. “Now you’re hell-bent to make sure we find the bastard.”
“Pretty much.”
He kicked back in his chair, hands together and resting on his stomach. “You know I can’t have you involved in the investigation.”
“I know.”
He nodded, at least assured that he wasn’t going to have to give me the whole speech about why, though I knew he’d be keeping a finger on the pulse of how much I was trying to insert myself in anyway. “You have anything I can pass along that might help us narrow in on this guy?”
That was something I’d been dissecting in my head all day, especially since Andrews gave me the rundown of Jess’s statement. “Whoever he is, I don’t think he’s on the grid. He’s not going to be someone the department knows particularly well.”
“What makes you say that?”
“She’s the receptionist at Sailor’s Grave,” I informed him. “From what we know, it seems like he had eyes on her, probably following her before he went so far as to break in. He did that, he’d know about her job and who she works for. To the average person, Sketch being her boss wouldn’t mean shit. Anyone local that knows a damn thing would know she was off limits from that kind of proximity to the Disciples.”
He mulled that over. “Are we going to have problems with the club?”
“Problems in the form of this asshole disappearing before we can close in on him?”
He gave me a look that said those were the exact kind of problems he was thinking of.
“If they close in first,” I confirmed.
He didn’t need it. He’d been around Hoffman a hell of a lot longer than I had and knew the score. “At least we know she’ll be protected beyond what we can in patrols.”
“Wanted to discuss that with you. She’s staying with a friend for a while rather than going back home.”
“Probably a smart choice. What’s the address? I’ll make sure it’s known to have an eye there, too.”
I gave it to him, thinking that the motherfucker that thought he could lay a hand on Jess had no idea what he was buying into. The target on his back was so fucking huge, and yet I knew that wouldn’t matter. If we were talking a stalker, he’d stick close. And close was exactly where I wanted him. Because I would be, too.
A few minutes later, I was ready to step out when he called after me again.
“Yes, sir?”
“Be careful.”
I blinked, not knowing what he meant. “I’m sorry?”
“When it’s someone close to you, it’s easy to let it consume you. Be careful.”
That w
as it. His head went down, and he opened a folder on his desk. I was dismissed.
I could be careful. Still, I was going to do everything in my power to find him.
Chapter Eleven
Jess
“He’s got to be joking with that line work,” I griped at the TV. “That poor girl’s going to have to get someone to fix that. Or just cover it up entirely.”
Park and I were on the sixth hour of watching tattoo artists compete with one another, in which I’d been liberally offering my somewhat-expert opinion on their performances. Although Park was naturally less chatty than me, he’d gotten into it once he realized it was part of the experience as far as I was concerned.
It was later, after midnight for certain, and I was avoiding sleep. Not that sleep itself was the issue. After Braden came and went earlier, it hadn’t taken long for the combination of the drugs, lack of sleep, and my determination to avoid Park’s questioning looks to have me falling back asleep and staying out most of the day.
But then it got dark.
I’d never been afraid of the dark. Even as a kid, I’d been fine without a nightlight or anything else.
After him, I wasn’t feeling the same.
The idea that at some point Park was going to decide it was time to get to bed and shut off the lights was enough to set me shaking. Worse, there wasn’t a TV in his room that I could claim I wanted to keep on for a bit then just happen to fall asleep.
So I was sticking with avoidance via harsh criticism of reality TV contestants. Though I’d be inclined to defend myself by stating that the critiques might be harsh, but they were also true.
“He’s going to try and defend it by blaming it on her skin,” Park added in.
“What a crock of shit.”
Sure enough, just a minute later, the dick stood in front of the judges claiming just that, not that they were buying it for a damn minute.
“If you can only tattoo on a perfect canvas, you’re not good enough to be doing it at all. Most people aren’t coming in with completely flawless skin that’ll take ink exactly how you want. You have to be able to work with whatever the client needs.”
