He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Hold on.”
Papers rustle, and he drops the phone then curses. Someone asks him something in the background. I can’t tell if it’s male or female, to be honest. He grumbles and tells them he’ll be there in a sec, then he picks up the phone again.
“I got nothing.”
“You sure?”
“No, let me fucking check again; of course, I’m fucking sure.”
Smart ass. Shit. “Okay, listen, if you hear anything about Flint, the kid, the cops…”
“Yeah, yeah. We never had this conversation, though, you feel me?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer before he hangs up. And that’s it. I’ve got zilch. I toss the phone onto the couch and drag both hands through my hair, trying to think.
“No luck?” Green offers.
“Nope.” I close my eyes and try to come up with where someone like Stix might go if he were in trouble. I doubt he’d go to my office if he’s trying to distance himself from me. That’s assuming he’s still alive.
He needs to be the fuck alive.
“Stiles.”
“Yeah?”
“Who is he?”
There it is.
Spilling Stix’s identity to Green is probably not the best idea. I typically like to keep all information on any case I may or may not be working from pretty much everyone.
In this case, my gut tells me otherwise.
Maybe because of the way she handled herself with Dice yesterday. Or how she knew I needed to get the hell away from the bullshit with my family tonight. Or maybe that voodoo she does on me every once in a while. Purposely or not.
Or maybe because it’s apparent that someone knows about him already. Whether they were tracking me because I’m nosing around too much, or because they already knew he was out there.
I don’t know.
Despite any of it, I should probably keep my mouth shut.
“He’s no one.”
“You’re lying.” I can hear it in her tone. She’s pissed. Not that I should give a flying fuck.
“I’m not.”
“You’re a lying liar who lies very badly, Stiles. Who is he?”
I don’t budge, but she’s got this look. Like the wheels are turning and there’s a puzzle she’s putting together inside that head of hers.
“Don’t go stringing shit together that doesn’t want to be, Green.”
“Holy. Wait.”
And there it is. The lightbulb.
“Why didn’t this make sense before?”
Dammit.
“Green.”
“Why would you take him to see Thomas about what happened to Donnie Leary if…”
“Seriously?” I laugh. “You don’t wanna go there.”
“Is this kid related to Donnie somehow?”
I point at her. “I didn’t say that.”
“Is he a boyfriend?”
“Green.” Really?
“Holy shit! This would make a great story.”
She takes her cell out and starts to call someone. I grab her wrist, unamused, and take the phone away.
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Why? If he’s Donnie’s whatever, maybe I can get an exclusive.”
Example number one as to why I don’t share information with people. Especially reporter people.
“Because.”
“There’s absolutely no reason you can give me to keep this quiet, Stiles. Maybe he has a lead for the police. If gangbangers killed─”
“Gangbangers didn’t kill Donnie, Green.”
Her eyes narrow.
“I don’t think they did, anyway.” I add as an afterthought.
“What do you know?” She relaxes, slightly. I let go of her wrist and hand back the phone.
“Enough to know you don’t wanna run this story and beg the attention of who did kill him.”
She sits, crosses her legs, and lifts one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows. “Spill it, Stiles.”
“You don’t wanna get involved in this. Trust me.”
“Ha! Trust you?” She leans forward. “Not only do I want to get involved, but you’re going to tell me who that kid is. Do you know why?”
I cross my arms. This oughta be good. “Why’s that?”
“Because I’m covering this story with or without you.”
“You’ll be dead before it’s out a day.”
“Is that a threat of some sort?” She thinks I threaten. I don’t threaten. I promise.
I open my mouth to tell her it’s fact, when a knock at the very open, very—I should have closed that fucking door—allows me to avoid this conversation for now. One of the men in blue from down at the crime scene steps into my apartment. Another more familiar one follows behind him.
We lock eyes, and I’m just hoping Green has enough sense to keep her fucking mouth shut for the time being.
When Frodo runs in behind the men in blue, mewing and hungry, I make a mental note to give the cat a piece of my fucking mind, later on, about where he wandered off to for an entire day.
“I don’t think I sent out any invitations to a powwow tonight, gentlemen.” I go to get some Cat Chow out of the kitchen.
“We’re gonna need to ask you a few questions, Mr. Stiles.” the no-name tells me.
“Oh yeah? Well, by all motherfucking means, interrupt my night and go on.”
Hopefully, my copious amount of wit and sarcasm aren’t wasted on these guys.
“Where were you tonight, sir?”
My hopes are dashed as I pour some food into Frodo’s bowl and join everyone back in the living room.
Just kidding. I have no hope.
“Out.”
Jim Galley laughs. “That’s bullshit. We all saw your lights on, Stiles. I personally saw the glare of a TV from the cruiser.”
“It’s a little fucking creepy that you’re so interested in my apartment, Jim.”
“There’s a dead woman right outside your building, Stiles. Of course, I’m interested.”
Dick.
“I noticed the dead girl. Maybe you should be a little more worried about that than what my social plans are. Huh, Jim?”
“Where. Were. You.” He takes a step forward, and Green blocks his path. It’s kinda cute how she thinks she can stop the mammoth.
“He was with me tonight. And his brother, Nick Stiles. Detective Nick Stiles? Maybe you know him.”
I kinda dig protective Green. But side note, of course, they fucking know Nick. Everyone on the force knows Nick Stiles.
Jim seems put off by my white knight. And annoyed.
Fine by me.
“Well, that doesn’t take away from the fact that someone was in here.”
Fuck-nut.
“Maybe I left the TV on. Or better yet, maybe I have a guest.”
“Oh yeah? Who’s visiting you, Stiles?” He takes out a pen and paper to write a name down even though it seems to me he already knows. Maybe that was his cruiser trolling my lunch stop today.
“Rumple-none-of-your-fucking-business-stiltskin,” I tell him. Luckily, Green stays mum.
“Maybe we take this conversation downtown.”
“Maybe you kiss my ass and we call it a day.”
Touch me, asshole. I dare you.
“Stiles.” Green whispers out a warning from the side of her mouth. Like they can’t hear that shit.
“Screw this. You want a conversation with me? Call my goddamn lawyer. Until then, get the hell out of my apartment.”
“Gonna play it like that, huh?” Jim challenges me.
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” I don’t break eye contact. When he finally does, Jim says something low and top secret like to the putz he brought up here to make everything look up and up.
“We’ll be in touch, Miss…”
Green starts to give him her name, and I cut her off.
“Looking forward to hearing from ya, Jim,” I tell him, and hope Green gets the hint.
Jim drops it and lea
ves. When he closes the door behind him, I don’t waste a minute getting a bag together while I search the rest of the apartment for anything that might be missing.
If I’m gonna find Stix, I need to do it before sunrise.
Hell if I know how I’m gonna do it, but I’m gonna fucking do it, and if he’s dead… shit. I don’t wanna think about if he’s dead.
Where’s my goddamn police radio anyway?
“Stiles?”
I rifle through the closet. I know I stashed it in here.
So far, nothing of importance seems to be missing. Aside from the teenage kid, that is.
“Yeah?” I call back to Green from the hallway.
“You gonna fill me in here?”
I head for the bedroom. Files, router, flash drives—all present and accounted for.
“I’m thinking the less you know the better, Green.” On so many levels.
“Better for who? And what does this stalker girl have to do with any of it?” She damn near sounds offended. The question stops me in my tracks.
“Better for you. And I’m fairly certain she doesn’t have anything to do with anything except that she was probably in the wrong place at the─”
“Wrong time.” As I rummage through the bedroom closet, Green gets quiet for the first time since we got here. I can actually think for a few seconds.
When I’m back in the living room, I see why she stopped with the questions.
“What’s that?” She points to the picture hanging nearby. I don’t have to look to see what she’s talking about. It’s the only thing I have up.
I stuff a Kevlar vest into the bag. Then another, just in case.
“That’s what some people call a drawing, Green.” I’m slightly over-simplifying things, I admit. What does she care, anyway?
“I know what it is, Stiles.” She shakes her head at me. “I mean where did you get it?”
I slow my pace a little, but I don’t stop. And I don’t look at her.
“My brother drew it.”
“Nick draws?” She assumes I’m talking about the brother who’s still alive.
“No.”
Clearly, she feels shitty for even saying it.
“Oh. I’m─”
I put a stop to the guilt-fest before she can start with that shit again.
“Listen. You’re gonna have to stop apologizing for shit you had nothing to do with. He was here, he was fucking talented as shit, and now he’s gone.”
“And you somehow blame yourself.” She finds my glare.
“I didn’t say that,” I tell her, even though I was probably thinking it.
Okay, definitely thinking it.
“You didn’t have to.” She steps closer, and I’m not one to back away. So, now she’s right up in my personal space.
“Jackson, I─”
“Green. No offense, but I’ve had enough psychotherapy for one week, and we really don’t have the time, so…”
One side of her mouth turns up. “We?”
It’s a spur of the moment decision, really. I don’t know why I’m making it my responsibility to keep her from getting herself into trouble she won’t be able to get herself out of, but it is what it fucking is, folks.
“Can’t let you go running inaccurate stories all over the place again, now, can I?” I wonder where she got that scar from. The one above her eye. It’s barely noticeable. Part of me wants to reach out and trace it. Ask her about it, maybe.
My hand remains still despite my curiosity.
Boyfriend.
It’s none of my fucking business anyway.
“I have an idea, actually. It might help,” she tells me, and there’s a gleam in her eyes. It makes her look even more beautiful than she already is.
Beautiful?
I shove the thought aside. All that matters is the fucking kid at the moment, and maybe not getting killed.
“Fine.” Since I’m out of leads, I’ll take whatever I can get at this point. “But you can’t run this before I say so.”
“Of course.” She agrees with a twisted smile.
“And absolutely no fucking talking to the police until I know—”
“We.”
“Until we know who’s involved.”
“Gotcha.”
“Maybe even not after that.”
“I have to—”
“And I swear to God if you tell the live-in boy thing, it’s off. That’s the deal, Green. We all want to live long and happy lives, right?”
Or at least not looking over our shoulder for the remainder of them.
“Okay.” She nods.
I wait for any sign that she might be taking me for a ride here. Interesting enough, I’ve got nothing. She’s seemingly on the up and up, more and more, recently.
“Okay then. Lead the way.”
A huge, mischievous grin plasters itself across her face as she reaches into her purse. I stop her there.
“I drive this time.”
“What? Why?”
“Frankly, Green, your driving scares me.”
“For your information, I’m a very safe driver,” she insists with a hand on her hip.
“Precisely why it scares me.”
I grab my keys, throw the bag I just stuffed over my shoulder, and we head out. Before I close the door, I turn to Frodo, who’s licking himself after gorging on his fucking food.
“Thanks for nothing, by the way.”
He meows.
“Stay.”
Downstairs, the cops are wrapping things up, the ambulance is gone, and Jim Galley is nowhere in sight. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.
Green follows me to the Chevelle, and I do one last sweep over the parking lot to make sure no one’s lurking, waiting to follow us. I silently make a note to myself to pay my respects to Lilah’s parents.
They were good people. So was she. They didn’t deserve this.
“Where are we going?” I ask her as we pull out onto the road.
“My office.”
I hit the brakes. “Come again?”
“It’s not what you think,” she promises. “I know a guy who might be able to help us.”
“Couldn’t you have just called him?”
“Well,” she sings. “He doesn’t have a cell phone.”
I press the gas pedal again. “Landline?”
“Doesn’t trust them.”
I huff out a chuckle. “My kinda guy.”
She laughs. “So, why don’t you want the police to know about this kid?” She wastes no time getting back to the topic at hand.
“Like I said, Green. I don’t think Donnie was killed by a gang member.” I reluctantly give her some of what I know. The last thing I need is for her to run something half-assed about Donnie, and how there’s someone out there on the streets with ties to him.
“I got that, but what I don’t understand is─”
“I need you to tell me something.”
“Anything,” she promises.
It sounds real.
“The day we ran into each other on the elevator, at the courthouse.”
“Right.”
“You mentioned seeing me the night before.”
“I was interviewing Richard.”
The fuck? “Walker?”
“Yeah, he owed me a quote. Why?”
“You’re on a first name basis with the guy?” Not a good sign, my friends.
Green’s brow furrows. “He insisted.” She acts like it’s the norm, which tells me she deals with him fairly often.
She offers nothing else on the matter.
Was that rehearsed? Just in case?
The conflict going on inside my head is enough to make me want to stick an ice pick in there to settle it down.
“Stiles? Why’d you want to know about that night?”
“I was hired to nab a fugitive. Turned out to be Donnie. That was the night I dropped him off.”
I glance over at her. She’s intently waiting.
“He is related then.”
“He’s more than related. He’s Donnie’s brother.”
Go big or go home.
Right?
“Wouldn’t they already know about him?”
“Not if he hasn’t been on the books from the get-go, but there was a cop asking questions at Donnie’s funeral. On top of that, I think I was being tailed yesterday.”
Green sits facing forward. Her eyes glued to the road as she thinks this over.
“Wow.”
“I know.”
She nods. Like she’s come to a decision about something.
If that be the case, I fucking desperately wanna know what it is.
“What?”
She looks over at me. “You’re a good guy.”
“That’s debatable.”
“No, I mean it. You’re not what I thought you were at all.”
“Which is?”
“It’s not important.” She drops it, and I’m still fucking curious, but I let it go for now. “I won’t run anything, Jackson. I promise. Not until we get to the bottom of this thing.”
There’s no hair tucking when she says it. No nervous tapping of fingers or toes. Her eyes are unwavering.
I believe her.
“Okay.”
The conversation gets tabled for the time being, and we drive the rest of the way to her office in silence.
A HACKER’S GUIDE TO TRACKING TEENS
“SO THIS GUY.” I open the door to The Chronicle office building for her.
“Uh huh.”
“You want me to explain things to him, or—”
“Oh, no, he, um, doesn’t really like people much.”
“Awesome. And how is it you were planning on getting his help exactly?” I push the button for the elevator. It’s already there waiting for us.
“I have my ways, Stiles. All women do.”
I chuckle. Good one.
“You don’t believe me?” She raises an eyebrow.
“I believe that you believe you.”
She takes what I say as a dare and takes me up on it.
She moves toward me with a few steps that look like she’s got an agenda.
She does.
Me.
When Green is about as close as she can get without actually touching me, she reaches a finger out to push a button on the elevator wall. She leans in as the doors close, nudging a knee between my legs while she gives me her full attention with eyes that fucking smolder, and licks her seductive lips.
Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption Page 16
