Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (20 page)

“What?”

“Check it out.” She nods toward a group of people hanging out by the street corner. It’s not hard to spot the lanky kid, wearing a hoodie, among them. He’s trying to blend in, only at his height that’s kinda fucking impossible.

My entire body relaxes, and I let out a long, quiet sigh of relief that Stix is okay.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I knew you wouldn't believe it was that easy. You’d probably write Ken’s skills off as a hunch and wouldn’t want to waste your time following the lead of a guy you’ve never met and don’t trust.”

Huh.

I shrug. “Fair enough.”

I head over to give old Jimmy a piece of my mind.

“Kid.”

My pace quickens just in case he plans on running. Lucky for him, he doesn’t. Lucky for me too because, honestly, I’m tired as shit right now.

He meets me halfway. “Jackson. Man, am I glad to see you. How’d you find me?” He starts to pat himself down. “Did you put a tracking device on me or something?”

Right. Because I’m goddamn MacGyver.

“Not important. You wanna fill me in on what the fuck happened at my place tonight, and why you’re not there?”

“I─”

“I mean I did say not to leave the apartment right?”

Right?

“Well—”

“And to call me in case of a fucking emergency?”

“I had to bail, Jackson.” He blurts it out like he’s gonna lose his shit any minute now. “Those guys were—”

He hesitates, confirming my gut feeling earlier. “So you did see them.”

“Yeah, I saw ’em, and I wasn’t sticking around for them to come after me.”

“How’d you know they were there for you? Coulda just been some random murder. It happens, ya know.”

He shakes his head. “After you left, I was checking the window like every five minutes. I saw the girl first. She was literally pacing around, glancing up to your apartment every once in a while. She looked like she was biting her nails a lot. And talking to herself.”

I want to be amused. Lilah was always doing that shit. Even when I first met her. But it’s not funny anymore. She’s dead. Coincidentally, because of yours truly.

“What’s the matter?” Stix pulls me back to the conversation at hand.

“Nothing, then what?”

“The next time I checked the parking lot, this black sedan was there, and the girl was arguing with them. I kept watching because I couldn’t look away. They tried to dismiss her at first, but she wouldn’t let up. That’s when the one guy, he…”

I know the rest. He doesn’t have to finish.

“Police?”

Stix is quiet now. “He didn’t have a uniform on. I don’t know.”

Doesn’t rule Jim Galley out. But doesn’t mean it was him either.

“Then what?”

“I think I screamed or something, I guess, because something made him look up at your apartment. I hid but it was too late. He started for the stairs.”

He swallows and turns about as pale as the tighty-whities my mom used to make me wear in kindergarten.

“You get a look at him?”

Regret fills me up as I ask the ritual of questions I’ve become accustomed to use over the years. Lilah mighta been a little kooky. Maybe even a lot. But she never hurt anyone. Certainly not me. She didn’t deserve that shit. She also didn’t stand a chance.

Stix’s eyes go distant for a minute.

Man, I know that look.

“Go the fuck home, Mikey.

“Why can’t you just
—
”

“Go the fuck home!”

Memories of watching someone else I once knew die before my very fucking eyes flood in. I shake it off before it can carry me down a river of bad shit.

This is more important.

“Kid?”

He doesn’t answer. He’s getting swept away as we speak.

“Kid.” I snap my fingers in front of his face to bring him back. His head jerks up, and he searches me for some assistance.

“Was he big? Small? Stocky? Walked with a limp? Anything you can give me.”

“I didn’t stick around long enough to pay attention, honestly, Jackson. He was more like a big shadow than anything.”

“Okay.”

So, basically nothing to fucking go on.

Story of my life.

“I know I shoulda helped her or something, but I freaked out.” The familiar look in his eyes is too much for me right now.

“You did the right thing. How’d you leave without them seeing you?”

“I went out that window. The one your cat jumps in and out of.”

OK, that’s one good thing. There’s no way they followed him. That window leads to a fire escape that leads to an alley, which comes out way down by the street on the other side of my building.

We’re good. For now.

I meet Jimmy’s look of worry. “There’s nothing you coulda done, kid. And you might be dead right now, too, if you had tried. So…”

“Did you know her?”

I nod. “Yeah, I knew her.”

“That blows, Jackson. I’m sorry, man.”

He’s genuinely sorry. I am too, but that’s something I’ll have to deal with later. I can’t let myself get swept up in any more emotions tonight. I’ve had about all I can deal with for one evening. Thank you very much.

“Let’s get you outta here.”

“No offense, dude, but I think I’m staying here for a couple nights.”

“Excuse me? We don’t know if these guys are—”

“No one’s gonna come down here. And even if they do, I know how to get low and stay there.”

There’s nothing but dark alleys and dark windows surrounding us. It’s like no one lives here, despite the number of people crowded around that trash can fire. “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Get in the car, kid.”

“No.”

He’s kidding me with this shit, right?

“Maybe you didn’t fucking hear me. Get in the goddamn car.”

“
No
.”
Defiant little…

“What the hell has gotten into you?”

“I watched that guy kill a girl tonight, that’s what. I’m safer here than at your place.”

Damn. He’s got a point.

“Besides, I was talking to some of those guys over there?” The kid nods back toward the group of homeless I found him with.

“One of them says he knew Donnie. Heard some things. He wouldn't elaborate, but I’m gonna see if he gets drunk enough to share more details.”

“That’s your plan. Get him drunk?”

“Yeah.”

The barrenness of the place tells my gut that maybe Jimmy’s right. The cops probably won’t patrol around here—not tonight anyway. He should be okay, and with any luck, he’ll get something outta his lead. Besides, I can’t force him to come with me.

Correction: I could, but I won’t. He’d only take off again.

“Okay, listen. If I don’t hear from you by tomorrow night, I’ll be back looking for you. If you have to leave, give me something I can find you with. Got it?”

He nods. “Got it.”

“Don’t go following any rabbit trails by yourself. This guy gives you something concrete, find me.”

I slip him my card. The one that has all my numbers on it. I pat him on the shoulder and hope to fucking God I’m making the right decision leaving him.

“Call me.” And there it is ladies and gentlemen. I am my mother.

Lord help us.

“I will.” He tips the card at me then slides it into his jeans pocket. I make my way back over to the Chevelle where Green is waiting patiently. And a little smugly, if I do say so myself.

“So, how’d he do it?” I ask her when I’m close enough.

“Ken?”

I give her a look because, yes, Ken. Who the fuck else does she think I’m talking about.

“He’s pretty much a genius,” she explains, with pride in her voice. “He can hack into just about any city-run circuit you can think of. All he had to do was type in some code to look for your boy’s description, narrow it down to the sections of city that made sense, take a closer look and,” she waves a hand toward the kid, “voila.”

“I owe that guy a drink. Maybe ten.”

“It sounds complicated, but believe me, for Ken, it’s simple. He’s done it a million times. In fact, last week, I saw him hack into the Redemption traffic control just so he could get home faster. And a box of Einstein Bagels would probably do the trick.”

She snorts, then thinks better of what she just said. “You didn’t hear that.”

I hold my hands up. “The guy doesn’t like bagels; got it.”

“Stiles.”

“Kidding. Jesus. Zipping lips on the super-secret hacker identity.” My demeanor takes a turn for the serious, momentarily, as I join her on her side of the car. “You really came through for me, Green.”

It surprises me, yes. But more than that. It’s been a long damn time since someone did something for me without expecting me to owe them something in return.

Much, anyway.

“Do my sleuthing skills make you hot?” She makes like she just closed opening night on Broadway.

“That and a few other things.” I give her my own version of the side-eye.

“Better watch it, Stiles. You almost sound like you give a shit about something.” She tries to joke some more, but I don’t break my steely demeanor. It seems like it makes her nervous. Like
I
make her nervous, staring at her like this. Not saying anything.

“Language, Green.” I’m joking, of course. I fucking love hearing curse words come out of that mouth.

And the eyes. If only those eyes could speak.

“You know…” She swallows.
Edgy
. “Sometimes, when people are in extreme circumstances together, they tend to become attracted to the danger.” She takes a deep breath before she continues. “They project that attraction onto the other person and begin to think that maybe…” She clears her throat. “Their attraction, misguided as it may be, is actual feelings.” She breathes again. “For that person.”

She’s lost her damn mind, I admit. But also, pretty fucking awesome.

“Obviously—”

I cut her off. This could take all night.

“This your way of saying you’re attracted to me?”

Green laughs, but she doesn’t mean it.

“No.”

She’s lying. But that’s neither here nor fucking there. Right now, I need her to stop being so damn alluring with the blurting of the factoids.

Pronto.

“Green?”

“Hmm?”

I also need a certain member of my anatomy to chill the fuck out.

“I should get you back to your car. And what’s his name.”

My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It sounds like it belongs to some love-struck teenager who doesn’t know his way around a woman.

Totally not my voice.

“Connor. Right,” she says with a slight dip to her own set of vocal chords.

Without another word between us, we get into the car and leave. I’m part worried I’m making another mistake, leaving another Leary, and part grateful I officially dodged a bullet there with Green.

In other words, for the first time in a long time, I’m questioning my decision-making skills.

CLOSE CALLS AND NOT SO CLOSE CALLS

“WHAT DOES HE DO, ANYWAY?” The silence was killing me. I have no fucking idea why the first thing that comes to mind is the douche-man. I must be desperate for conversation.

“Who?”

Seriously?

“The boy-toy.”

“Connor.”

“Whatever.”

“He’s, um, an accountant, actually.”

Accountant
?

“I didn’t peg you for the boring type, Green.”

“He’s not boring.” Her tone goes from quiet and thoughtful to defensive in a heartbeat. Methinks the lady doth protest too fucking much. “He’s…”

The word isn’t coming to her at first. I’m positive she’s gonna go with something like
comfortable
or
safe
, but she ends up deciding on, “Clingy.”

“Clingy.”

“Yeah.” She’s back to quiet now. “Clingy.”

“Well, I can certainly see why you’re with him then.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny, Stiles.”

Don’t I know it.

Admittedly, there’s a part of me that wants to explore this conversation. See what she means by “clingy” and maybe ask her why she’s still living with this bozo if she’s not all that into him.

So, of course, I avoid asking her altogether.

“Wanna grab something to eat?”

“It’s two o’clock in the morning.” She gives me one of her now infamous looks like I’m the crazy one even though she’s the one with a rant for every topic of fucking conversation.

Still, it’s not a “no.”

She’s right, however. There aren’t a lot of options at two AM. Good thing she’s with me.

“I might know a place.”

X X X

Green’s thing for Chinese food is straight up. Low blood sugar, however, that was a lie. A ruse if you will, to manipulate a guy who, apparently, falls for manipulations of the tiny, smart ass, babbling brunette kind.

Who knew?

Shoulda paid more attention to the nervous tics.

She hasn’t stopped talking since we picked up our food. Amazingly enough, not a word has been spoken about the earlier moment we had by the Chevelle.

We ended up back at my place despite the fact that it’s probably a bad idea. The worst idea in the history of ideas actually.

That’s not true. Alexander Graham Bell’s six-nippled sheep was probably the worst.

Beside the point.

It’s not my fault we’re here, by the way. The Chinese was take-out only. A fact I seemed to have forgotten about in the midst of trying not to let my dick do all the thinking.

I wasn’t about to agree to eating over at
Connor’s
place, and I don’t exactly enjoy eating on the sidewalk at two AM, so my place it is.

We opted to sit on the floor instead of the couch. At least, I’ve got that going for me. If I can’t get comfortable, I can’t exactly make a pass, right?

Not that I would make a pass at Green under any circumstances whatsoever.

Most circumstances.

Okay, there might be one or two circumstances where I would possibly, potentially, think about making a pass at the woman.

The fact stands that she’s got a Connor, which pretty much means, not happening.

Jesus.

Is it hot in here or what?

Gotta be the peppers.

Not that I’m thinking about it.

With her hair down and her boots off, she looks more relaxed than I’ve ever seen her. And if she continues to lick her lips the way she is, I might have to step in and help her out with that.

No, you won’t. Boy-toy, remember?

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Kung Pao kinda girl.” I start up a conversation because if I don’t, I might just follow through on that idea about her lips.

Green uses her chopsticks to shove another piece of chicken into her mouth. “And speaking of Pao, you’ve got a little, right…” I point to the side of her face, and she wipes it a few times.

“Nope, it’s right…” I lean forward and clean the smudge off her face. We both kinda freeze when I do it.
Not helping with the whole, not gonna go there thing.

“There.” Being this close, this late, or early, whichever, not a good scenario. If you know what I mean. So as Green finishes wiping the sauce from her mouth, I back away, down onto my ass, again.

This is what it’s come to with her.

Wiping fucking sauce from her lips and getting an erection like Beyoncé just gave me a lap dance.

What the fuck?

Shake it off, dumbass.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a neat and tidy kind of guy.” She shoots back with a full mouth. Which I’m getting a fucking kick out of, by the way. Give me a woman who’s lacking in table etiquette but has a good head on her shoulders over a proper lady with no fucking common sense any day.

There it is, my friends. The admission of the evening. Green’s got a good head on her shoulders. So why in the hell has she been writing shitty articles with half-truths for two years?

“Tidy life, focused mind, Green.” I tap the side of my temple. “Need a drink?”

I push up off the floor and go to grab a beer.

“Sounds perfect.”

On the way back into the living room, I scratch Frodo on the head as I pass by him. He sits, perched on the back of the chair, waiting for Green or me to drop something tasty.

He’s a patient motherfucker.

I pick up the remote and turn on the TV, then look for my recording of the eleven o’clock news.

Green laughs. “It’s so bizarre that you have a cat.”

“You don’t like cats?”

“I prefer dogs.”

“Why’s that?” The batteries on the remote are dying again, so I bang the shit out of it against the arm of the couch.

“Better sense of security, I guess.”

Interesting.

“One might think that’s what the boy-toy would be for.”

Not that Connor the accountant looks like he could defend Green’s honor in the event of an emergency, then again, maybe this goes back to the bad experiences that led her to get a gun in the first place.

She shrugs, non-committal-like. “What are you, a news junkie?” She’s either avoiding the conversation or genuinely intrigued by the fact that I’ve recorded the news as opposed to what,
Pretty Little Liars
?

“It’s the only way to stay ahead of the game, Green.”

“I thought you didn’t trust reporters.” She sounds like she’s doubting every word I’ve said up to this point, so I correct her observations.

“I said I didn’t trust you.”
Not necessarily true anymore.
“I do, however, know a few that have proven themselves trustworthy over the years.”

Marty Sweetwater’s face appears on the screen, and Green rolls her eyes. “Oh brother.”

“What?”

“She’s so overrated, Stiles. I mean seriously.” Green tears apart one of the spring rolls she ordered and dribbles duck sauce all over it. “You’d think she’d at least stop dying her hair by now.”

I find her observations highly fucking amusing.

“Jealous much?”

“Ha!” She nearly chokes on her food. “The only thing of hers I have to be jealous of is the ridiculous amount of money she makes per television spot.”

“I’ve seen where you live, Green. I think it’s safe to say you don’t have much to worry about along the lines of bank rolls.”

“That’s not─”

“Your place. I know.”

“And you are such a hypocrite, by the way.”

“Um, what the fuck?” Seriously?

“You give me so much shit about Connor but you don’t think I know something’s going on with you and Miss bleach-blonde bimbo of the year over there?”

She’s about to say something else when I hold a hand up to her.

Marty just said something interesting.

“In the wake of previous street gang member Donnie Leary’s death comes to another shooting several months ago. That person is now identified as Robert Decker.”

I crank up the volume as the police cart away some random perp with a hoodie over his face from years ago.

“A large amount of marijuana was found in Decker’s possession. When asked about the connection between Decker and Leary, one spokesman was quoted as stating the war on drugs in Redemption is coming to a head.”

My laptop sits, not too far away, in my bedroom. I go in and grab it before hopping onto the bed. I open up a browser window and Google that case I remembered earlier today.

“What are you looking for?” Green calls out from the other room, but I can tell she’s headed this way.

Warning, warning, warning. Woman approaching the bedroom. And it’s not for sex.

“Information.” I clear my throat and type in some key words. Like gang member, death, and the year two-thousand-fourteen.

“About what?” She’s at the door. I keep my eyes on the screen.

“Just a hunch I have.”

A few results pop up. I skip the ones having to do with rape and initiation.

“You seem to work off of hunches a lot.” She takes a few steps closer. I stretch my neck out. It’s fucking stiff as shit.

“Hunches make the world go ’round, Green.”

“Uh huh. And what’s this one about?”

I click on one that looks promising.

“This other case. It’s probably nothing, but I like to cross my Ts and dot my Is and shit like that.”

“Funny,” she muses. Closer now. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the─”

“This is so fucking weird.”

“What?” Gone is whatever smart-aleck comment she was about to lay on me. Instead, Green comes to stand behind me to see what I see. She can’t from the edge of the bed, so she crawls on up and leans over my shoulder.

As her arm grazes mine, the scent of her shampoo fills my lungs.

Focus, dumbass.

A couple blinks later, I’m back in the zone.

“This kid, last summer, Decker. He was found with two pounds of pot on him. He ran, they shot him, and he died.”

There was something about him pulling a knife on the authorities, and they didn’t have a choice but to shoot.

The kicker? No knife was found at the scene according to a random blogger who followed up on the story.

Nothing was ever reported about any of it after that.

“Convenient,” Green murmurs.

I leave the laptop and Green’s close proximity to go wear a hole in the carpet for a while. I’m willing to bet everything in Nick’s savings this kid didn’t have a single drug count on him when they caught him. I’d also wager that one Miss Emma Green uses lotion on a daily basis, based on the silky ass skin she’s got.

Jesus, Stiles. Reel it in.

“Green.” I clear my throat from the living room. “Can your guy look up a minor’s record?”

I hear the bed creak and know when her feet are back on the ground.

“Um, I would guess so. Yeah. Why?” She’s back up in my personal space, but at least, we’re in a neutral zone again.

“A hunch.”

“About?” She leans against the wall. Her head tilts. I avoid letting my eyes wander to the way her shirt hangs against the curve in her waist.

“I’m not exactly sure. I can’t quite put all the pieces together but my Spidey senses are tingling like a motherfucker.”

“That’s not the only thing tingling.”

“Come again?”

“Nothing.”

I’m imagining shit now. Awesome.

Chill the fuck out.

“You look stressed again,” she tells me as she pushes off the wall. “And I don’t think I’ve seen you get this excited about something since we met.” She heads toward me. I’m pretty sure a certain hand is about to make contact with me somewhere or another. I don’t know if I can take that shit, so I step a little farther away from her and stick to piecing together what I can about Donnie and these other shootings.