Bad Boy's Last Race (16 page)

“You’ll pay for this, Tyler,” I whisper.

Tyler watches as they drag Jagger to the police car. “Nah,” he says. “I’m thinking Jagger will, instead.”

I
’ve never spent
the night in the county jail before, but it’s a far cry from the resort I shared with Sophie last night. Dim fluorescent lights buzz overhead, making the very idea of sleep impossible. Roaches crawl across the floor all night, darting back and forth at the edge of my vision. My cellmate, who I can only assume was pulled in on a DUI, spends the whole time moaning and puking into the metal toilet in the corner of our cell. I curl up on the metal shelf that’s supposed to serve as a bed and toss and turn the whole time, an arm slung over my eyes to try to block out the light.

I’m furious with myself. I shouldn’t have let Tyler get under my skin at the bar the other night—I shouldn’t have even gotten close to losing my shit. It’s exactly what he wanted. He was dying for an excuse to escalate all this shit. And I fucking gave it to him. He’s set me up, and now everyone I love is going to pay the price.

But more than anything, I’m scared for Sophie. Surely she knows me well enough to know I wouldn’t touch coke—or
any
thing—if my life depended on it. But how can I prove that Tyler set me up? He’s the guy with the badge and the gun. I’m just a nobody from the trailer park who, in fairness, breaks some minor laws on the regular.

I don’t do anything like this, though. I would never take part in something like this.

The guards change shift; my cellmate finally stops throwing up and passes out on the floor. Every few hours, I check over to see if he’s still breathing. Finally, after what must be hours and hours, the jailor unlocks the cell door.

“Jagger Richards.”

I stand up, my knees weak underneath me with sleep deprivation. “That’s me.”

“You’re wanted for your bond hearing.” He holds out the handcuffs.

Oh, thank god. I’ve got a couple grand stashed away that I can post for bail money if I have to. I have no intention of skipping town, after all—I’m going to be right here, doing everything I can to bring Tyler down. I follow him past the central processing desk where they checked me in to a dingy little courtroom. The judge, a frazzled older Hispanic woman, takes one look at me over the edge of her glasses, and sighs.

“Jagger Andrew Richards?” she asks, like she’s calling out someone’s order at the diner.

“Yes, ma’am.” I glance toward the back of the room. There are rows and rows of chairs behind me, nearly empty, but then I spot the crew waiting for me in the back. Drazic, Elena, Lennox, Nash, and Cyrus—every last one of them turned up. I exhale slowly.

But then I spot Sophie, sitting away from them. She’s sitting stiff, her eyes puffy and red and her face tight as a screw. Then I see why. She’s sitting right next to Tyler.

“You’re charged with the crime of possession of illegal narcotics, and charged with the crime of possession with the intent to distribute.” She glowers down at the sheet in front of me. “Both felonies.”

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, gathering strength. “I swear, I didn’t do it. I was set up—”

“Save it for the hearing, Mister Richards.” She folds her arms across her chest. “Based on your employment history and credit rating, I’m rating you as a moderate to high flight risk.”

“No way. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to fight this,” I say. “Please.”

She shakes her head. “Be that as it may . . . I’m going to set your bail bond at one hundred thousand dollars.”

The air rushes out of me. No. There’s no way I can possibly come up with that. “Please—you don’t have to worry about me running, ma’am—I don’t have much money, but I’ll do anything to fight this—”

She slams her gavel on the counter. “Hearing adjourned.”

I swear under my breath. Not if I called in every last IOU I’ve got could I come up with that kind of cash. She’s got to be fucking kidding me. The jailor yanks me by the chain connected to my handcuffs and steers me from the hearing room. I catch sight of Sophie and try to meet her gaze.

“Sophie,” I call. “Please, you have to believe me.”

She’s shaking, tears in her eyes. Won’t meet my eyes. What the fuck? She can’t possibly buy this shit. But then Tyler reaches over and grips her shoulder. Protective. Arrogant. I cringe at the sight of it.

And then I’m being led back to the cell.

Rage burns through me. There has to be some way to prove Tyler set me up. If I take a drug test, maybe, or—or something, there has to be some way he broke in to my apartment and set me up.

We’re almost back to the cells when another bailiff approaches us. “Is that Richards?” he asks the jailor. “Come on, your bail’s been posted.”

Relief washes over me, but it’s quickly followed by shock. It’s way too much. Drazic must have offered up the deed to the Muscleworks shop as collateral. Oh, my god. I can’t let him risk the entire shop over me.

The jailor uncuffs me and leads me back to the jail’s entrance, where Drazic and the rest of the crew wait. But Sophie’s there, too, and she rushes toward me.

“Baby.” I reach for her. “Please, you have to believe me.” I glance over her shoulder, but Tyler’s at the doors, arms crossed, sneering at me.

Sophie looks down and shakes her head. Right before she lowers her eyes, I see something flashing there—something white and hot. “No, Jagger. I can’t. Listen . . . I think we need . . . to take a step back.”

I reel as if she’s struck me. Anger burns deep inside of me, carving a furious path. Oh, no. No, she doesn’t get to pull this shit. Not when her shithead ex-boyfriend is the whole reason I’m in this mess.

“I’m sorry, Jagger.” She chokes on the words. “I thought I knew you, but . . . but I can’t believe you’d keep something like this from me.”

“This is bullshit, and you know it,” I growl. Why the fuck is she saying this garbage? The Sophie I knew—I thought I knew—would never fucking buy Tyler’s shit like this. How the fuck can she not see it’s all a lie? “Come on, Sophie,” I plead. “Use your fucking head—”

“I just can’t trust you.” She chokes back a sob. Then her eyes dart back up to mine before she squeezes them shut. “We’re over.”

I clench my fist, but relax it just as quickly. I’m furious, but more at Tyler than her. He’s got some kind of crazy hold over her—that must be it. “Come the fuck on. You really think I did that? It’s him, that fucking psycho.” I glare at him over her shoulder. “You should know me better than that.”

“Just stop. You’re only making this harder on yourself.” Sophie shakes her head, then reaches up and unclasps the turquoise necklace she’s wearing. “Oh. And take your necklace back, too.” She shudders. “I don’t want it touching me.”

I frown, totally bewildered. Some of the anger leaves me as confusion takes over. I never gave her that necklace. What the hell is she talking about?

She presses it into my hand. And that’s when I feel the crumpled up piece of paper she presses there, too. Some sort of note.

Oh.
Oh.

“That’s my girl.” Tyler stalks toward us, his muscles bristling. I slip the note into my back pocket before he can see. He slings his arm around her shoulder, and she lets him pull her toward his side, though she’s still trembling. “These bitches, man, I swear. They lose their heads sometimes.” He tilts her face toward him. “But she always comes around in the end. Knows what’s best for us.”

“You’re a fucking loon,” I tell him.

“Nah. I’m always on the right side of things.” He grins. “See you in court.”

Drazic and the rest of the crew closes in around me. “You’re damn right you will,” Drazic says, then clasps me by the forearm. “Come on, brother. Let’s get you home.”

I sink into the passenger’s seat of Drazic’s car. The others brought their own cars, and I’m actually thankful for the quiet moment alone with Drazic. He’s about the closest thing to a father I have.

But fathers like to scold, and I know he’s gearing up for an epic bitch-out. “Don’t even say it,” I warn him.

Drazic raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t say ‘I told you so.’ About Sophie, or about antagonizing that fucking douche.”

Drazic sighs. “I’m not gonna say a thing. I think you’ve been through enough.”

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” I reach into my pocket for the note Sophie slipped me. “Post my bail.”

“Call it hedging my bets.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel as he turns onto the highway. “If I can’t help you beat this thing, then I don’t deserve to keep the damn shop, anyway.”

I unfold the note. It’s written on the back of a receipt—a receipt from one of the gas stations Sophie and I stopped at on our way out of town. I flip it over to find a hastily scrawled warning.

I close my eyes and draw a ragged breath. I love her, too. I’m overwhelmed with how much I love her. But also how terrified I am. I don’t want her hurting herself, putting herself in danger trying to stop Tyler.

But if I know one thing about that girl, it’s that she’s a fighter. She is stubborn as hell. If anyone can get me the evidence I need to clear my name, it’s my Sophie.

“What’s the note?” Drazic asks.

I fold it back up. “Sophie. She’s going to try to get evidence to help us, but the only way she can keep us safe is by playing along with that monster.”

Drazic grimaces. “Don’t you think she’s done enough? I’m not sure we can survive any more of her ‘help.’”

“Come on, man.” I groan. “The girl’s been through some real shit. But here she is, willing to risk herself all over again to help me. Don’t you think the least we can do is give her some support?”

Drazic’s mouth is pressed in a thin line as he turns off the highway. “I don’t know, Jagger. You’ve already seen what he’s capable of. Now imagine if she gets caught trying to help you out.”

“But she might be our only chance at beating this,” I say.

Drazic is quiet for a moment, focusing on driving. Then he slows the car to a stop at a light. “You love her, don’t you?” He shakes his head with a feeble laugh. “You really, truly love her. Goddamn, man.”

I grimace. “I’m afraid I do..”

“Look at you. My wild boy Jagger, all grown the fuck up.” He pats my knee. “All right, man. If she’s family to you, then she’s family to me, too.” He starts the car back up. “Let’s fight.”

T
yler turns
down Maple Row toward the extended stay hotel where’s been living for the past few weeks, supposedly on assignment for the DEA to uncover the crew’s drug ring. It’s only a mile away from Darla’s house, which makes me all sorts of uneasy. A cold sweat creeps over me as I realize just how close he was to me all this time.

I know Tyler too well. He must have been peeking into my windows when he knew I couldn’t see; maybe he watched me come and go from the youth center. It makes me want to vomit, just imagining it, but I’m not even surprised. I never got free of him for even a moment. It was just an illusion, all this time.

Tyler grins and reaches over to pat my thigh. His touch is cold as ice, sending frost straight to my heart. “You’ve made the right choice, sweetheart.” He turns off the engine. “And I’m gonna prove it to you.”

I offer a feeble smile in return and try not to cringe away.

“I know I’ve . . . lost my temper . . . in the past.” He glances down. “But I’m gonna treat you right now, baby. You’ll see.”

He climbs out of the truck. I take a deep breath, then exhale, letting all my anxiety out. All I can think of is the expression on Jagger’s face at the bond hearing a few days ago. He was so scared, so broken down—but also so full of rage. Even if he read my note, he might still be furious at me, just for bringing Tyler into his life, whether I wanted to or not.

And then there was the expression on Darla’s face when Tyler and I came to get my stuff from her garage apartment. She shook her head and called me the ripest buffoon she ever saw. As if I had any kind of choice in the matter. But it would be too dangerous to tell her the truth. I need Tyler to believe that I really have changed my mind, that I’m willing to give him another chance.

It’s the only shot I have to help Jagger.

Tyler opens my car door and helps me down from the truck. Oh, yes, he’s such a fucking gentleman when he wants to be. I grip his clammy hand, ice threading straight toward my heart. He steers me toward the staircase and guides me up to the second floor with his hand pressed toward the small of my back. Possessive. Territorial. It makes me scared all over again.

He opens the door to the suite. I square my jaw to steady myself. “It isn’t much, but it’ll have to do until this case wraps up and we can head home.”

The suite looks perfectly fine to me, if a little cold. No, make that a lot cold. I spot Tyler’s mark all over the place. Most notably in the security cam he’s set up in one corner of the kitchenette, angled toward the back of the couch in the living space. I shiver at the sight of it. He’s used them before to track my comings and goings—just another way to control me. I’ll have to find a way to avoid the camera’s gaze if I want to get anything meaningful done here.

“It’s so great having you back where you belong,” Tyler murmurs, after he sets my suitcase down in the bedroom. He steps toward me with a dark grin and reaches for me, running his hands along my sides . . .

I seize up. I can’t go through with this. Oh, god. I wriggle out of his grasp, but it still feels like spiders are crawling all over my skin.

“C’mon, Sophie.” He says it softly, but I hear the edge lurking beneath it.

“I just . . .” I swallow hard, my mouth totally dry. Tyler always gets what he wants from me. But not now. I can’t. I can’t even stomach the thought. His touch feels like poison. “I need some time to . . . to adjust to all of this.”

Tyler’s upper lip curls back as he looks at me like I’m some piece of garbage in his otherwise flawless life. His fists clench at his sides. I’m cringing, bracing myself for the fight to come. But finally, he relaxes, and nods. “Yes. Of course you do. It takes time—I get that, babe.” He smiles again, and gestures toward the couch in the living area. “See? I can be understanding. I know how it is.”

My stomach churns. He doesn’t understand a goddamn thing. And in no time, he’ll be right back to his old tricks.

“Why don’t you go and relax?” Tyler says. “You can rent a movie, if you want. I’ve gotta head in to the office for a while, but you should just make yourself comfortable.”

I offer him a weak smile. “That sounds great.” I sink into the couch, suddenly exhausted. I forgot how very stressful just existing around Tyler could be. Making sure my every word and expression matched what he wanted out of me, ensuring nothing I did could possibly set him off . . . It takes a lot out of me. And now more than ever, when I’m planning to use it against him.

But knowing I have a secret—that I have a plan—gives me strength. I can do this. I’ve endured so much worse.

Tyler presses a kiss to the top of my head, then pauses in the doorway, looking me over. Like he’s admiring a painting he’s just hung. Something beautiful to call his own. I make myself smile back at him as I reach for the TV remote. Please, just leave . . . leave me alone. I grit my teeth, trying to will him away from me.

“I’ll be back soon as I can.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and I let out a long-held breath. I turn on the TV, but mute it, and listen for the sounds of him departing. His footsteps head back down the stairs, then the truck door slams, and the engine starts up. Finally, it fades into the distance as he drives away.

Time to get to work.

I flick through the channels a few times until I find something that looks appropriately Sophie—some neuroscience documentary on the public access channel. Then I slide down out of the couch to the floor. The couch’s back is to the camera. I can’t be totally sure about the angle of the camera Tyler set up, but I’m pretty sure all it can see is the high back of the couch, and not where I am; it can’t see the narrow sliver of carpet between the couch and the doorway to the bedroom, so I belly-crawl my way across that gap as quickly as I can, out of the kitchen camera’s view. A quick study of the bedroom shows me that it’s camera-free.

I scan the bedroom. A few folded stacks of clothes, my suitcase, a pouch of tobacco on top of the dresser . . . everything here smells like Tyler. It’s overwhelming. That musky, sickly-sweet tobacco scent and the deodorant he wears and his shampoo and body wash, all mingling together into an overwhelming cloud of nightmare memories. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I can’t focus on the past. I have to find something I can use right now. Tyler’s ID cards, some evidence of what he’s mixed up in—anything that can prove he planted the coke on Jagger.

I spend a few minutes digging through the drawers, but it’s just clothing and a few toiletries. The closet only has a lone dress suit hanging up in it. Nothing hiding on the shelves. There’s nothing. Not a goddamned thing. I lean against the dresser with a sigh.

And hear a soft thump from behind the dresser.

I whip my head toward the wall. Was it someone in the adjacent room? But the thump doesn’t repeat. It was the sound of something sliding behind the furniture, not coming through the wall. I force myself to be still for a moment longer and strain to hear outside the hotel—listen for any sound that might be Tyler’s truck coming back.

Nothing.

I wedge the dresser back from the wall.

There’s a canvas-covered ledger book, like a banker’s book, flat against the wall that tumbles to my feet. It must have been what I heard shift behind the dresser when I leaned on it. Then I look at the back of the dresser. The whole back is covered with small stacks of bills, taped against it with clear packing tape. No. Not just bills. There are two handguns taped there, too. I cover my mouth to stifle a cry. Oh, my god. What the hell is Tyler mixed up in?

I start to reach for the ledger, then think better of it and pull the sleeves of my sweater down over my hands. Tyler’s just paranoid enough to check for fingerprints, or to have some other sort of booby trap system set up. I can’t leave any trace. Once, he’d sprinkled baby powder in front of our apartment door so he’d know if I left, then when I called him on it, he blamed it on the neighbor’s cat. I scan the corners of the ledger, but it appears safe to open. Careful not to let my skin touch the book, I peel back the lid.

Columns and columns of tightly written numbers, all in Tyler’s terse handwriting. At first, I think each set of numbers is attributed to a name, but the names are actually a mix of numbers and letters, and if there’s a pattern to them, I’m not seeing it.

I set the book on the floor and ease my phone out of my back pocket. Working quickly as I can, I snap photos of the pages, flipping through with my sweater-covered thumb, then hastily replace the book facing the direction I found it. I take one more picture of the back of the dresser, then scoot it back into place.

I have to get back to the couch. I can’t let Tyler know I ever left.

Once more, I belly-crawl my way back to the couch, then make a show of standing up and walking from the couch to the kitchenette to get some water. I smile right into the camera’s lens as I wait for my glass to fill up. Then I walk back to the couch and lie on my back, trying to figure out what to do.

Drazic and his crew might be able to help, if I get the pictures to him. I’m scared to send them via my phone—Tyler’s somehow been able to read text messages I’ve sent before—so I set the phone to airplane mode. How long do I have until Tyler returns? I need to think of some ruse to get the phone to the crew.

Then I sit up with a smile, and head to the room phone to call Tyler’s cell.

“Hey, babe,” he answers, and I can hear a lot of chatter in the background behind him. “I’m a little busy. What’s up?”

“Oh, I just wanted to see what time you thought you’d be done with work,” I say, coiling my finger through the phone cord.

He’s instantly suspicious, just like I expected. “I’m not really sure yet,” he hedges. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, well . . . never mind. I thought it could be a surprise, but it’s okay.”

Tyler clears his throat. “Thought what could be a surprise?”

“Well, it’s not a surprise if I tell you, now, is it?” I ask.

“C’mon, babe. What is it?”

“Well . . .” I sigh and make a show of looking away from the camera. “I wanted to do something nice for you. So I thought I’d go to the grocery store and make us a really nice dinner.” Stroke his ego. Make him feel important. “Like maybe that Bolognese pasta you love so much . . .”

I can imagine Tyler working his jaw on the other side of the line, trying to decide. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, babe. It’s kind of a walk to the grocery store.”

“I could use the exercise. Better than just being cooped up around here,” I say. “Plus. I thought you’d like me doing something nice for you. While you were at work, you know? Something disgustingly domestic.”

He laughs, that awful fake-laugh of his he does when he’s indulging me. “That’d be really hot,” he admits. “I like it when you play at being domestic. Maybe you could wear an apron. And nothing under it.”

My stomach turns. “Or maybe if there’s a lingerie shop near the grocery store . . .”

He laughs again, much darker this time. “All right. Just be careful, okay? And call me if you run into any trouble.”

“You got it.” I hesitate, but I have no other choice but to press my luck. “What time do you think you’ll be home? So I’ll know when to have dinner finished.”

Tyler hesitates, too. He always likes to keep me on his toes, and lies about when he’ll return. Like he thinks he’ll catch me at something. But his love of my Bolognese spaghetti wins out. “I’ll be home by eight.”

“Perfect. I’ll have it ready then.”

I grab my purse and both my burner phone and my now-disconnected smart phone that has the photographs on it and rush out the door.

It’s over a mile walk toward downtown Ridgecrest and the garage, but I pass a grocery store on the way, and I can use the grocery store as my cover. I practically run the whole way there. Drazic is standing on the driveway as I approach, helping Elena ease a car down off of the lifters and roll it into a parking spot alongside the adjacent warehouse building. As soon as he catches sight of me, his whole expression darkens.

“Drazic.” I wave toward him, panting for breath. “I need to show you something.”

Elena slams the car door shut and shoots me a filthy look. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“No. Please. This really might help.” I glance around the shop. Cyrus is inside the garage, typing away at his computer, but there are no signs of Jagger anywhere. “Where’s Jagger?”

“He’s meeting with his lawyer,” Drazic says. “One of your sister’s friends, I think, as a matter of fact. She used to be a corporate lawyer for Cartwright Industries but struck out on her own. Not the best, but it’s the best I can afford right now.” He grimaces and looks away.

“How are they framing the case?” I ask. “He’s pleading not guilty, right?”

Elena and Drazic share a hard look. “Look . . .” Elena folds her arms. “Unless we can get some proof that he was framed . . .”

I pull the smart phone from my pocket. “Well, I have
something
. I’m not sure what it is yet. But I’m hoping it can help us make a case against Tyler.”

Drazic tilts his head to the side. “You
think
it can? Jagger could be going to prison for years and years, Sophie. We need something a little more certain than that.”

“Let’s see it.”

It’s Cyrus, the quiet, hulking figure I’ve always seen on the periphery of the crew. But he’s regarding me now with hooded eyes and a determined set to his jaw. I smile weakly and hand the phone to him.

“It’s in airplane mode,” I say. “In case Tyler got some sort of tracker enabled on it, or . . .”

With a few quick flicks of his fingers, Cyrus’s smile widens. “There we go. He won’t be tracking you ever again, or accessing this phone.”

I exhale slowly. “Thank you.”

“Now, let’s see what we have here . . .” Drazic and Elena crowd around him to look at the photographs. “Huh.”

Elena wrinkles her forehead, concentrating hard. “Looks like it could be a transactional record. It might be in code, though.” She points out the order of the numbers. “The numbers might not be exactly the numbers he wrote down, though given how many he’s had to write, it must not be too complicated a system.”