Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (24 page)

I need some fresh air, though. To clear my head and figure out why in the hell Green would be giving someone information about me.

Does it have to do with Donnie’s death?

Stupid fucking question.

I slide her phone back into her purse and watch her for another second over at the coffee stand before I take off. Because I don’t want to deal with stupid shit, I shoot her a text saying I have an appointment to get to.

Which I do. Kinda.

At least, it’s not an entire lie. Unlike everything she’s said and done over the last seven days.

I’ve gotta go see Walker and pretend I didn’t just read an incriminating fucking text off the phone of the woman I might be semi-kinda-sorta falling for. Most of all, I’ve got some goddamn digging to do on a certain brunette who likes to get me riled up in more than just the physical kinda way.

FACING DEMONS

THE REDEMPTION POLICE PRECINCT is located in the belly of the beast. We’re not talking triple-A level of operations, by all means, but it’s not the worst I’ve dealt with over the years, either. Not that I’d admit that to anyone outside of this conversation, mind you.

My brother’s been a part of the team for four years now, and he idolizes Walker. Gets up early every day to make sure he’s clocking overtime for Mia and their boys and doesn’t stop until his last call of the day is taken care of.

He’s been promoted once, awarded team player of the year twice, and so help me God, he still makes less than a school teacher in the suburbs. You’d never guess it, though, with his attitude and do-gooder qualities.

But then, then there’s the rest of the department.

Walker’s assistant, for example. The epitome of ass kissing. A sloth when no one’s looking. All smiles when they are. And don’t get me started on how he’s only into this gig for the notoriety. His face appears in almost every interview Walker has, which proves my point.

But I digress.

Mostly because I have shit to do.

I flip my badge open and rest it on the counter. “Here to see Captain Walker.” I take a look around to see if Jim Galley’s around, just out of curiosity.

Maybe I can interrogate his ass when I’m done with Walker.

Walker’s assistant’s eyes flash from his computer screen, to the badge, to me, then back to his screen.

“He’s busy right now.” He yawns and whether that’s just some special effect he’s cooked up to make a point or he’s trying to show me the ridiculous number of cavities he’s collected over the years; I don’t really give a rat’s ass.

“Yeah, well, he called
me
.” I flip the ID closed and slip it back into my jacket pocket.

Jim’s nowhere in sight. Must be out killing kids. Poor guy. Rough life.

I wait.

And wait.

And fucking wait.

“Hellooooooo.” I wave a hand in front of the asshat assistant’s face. You’d think I asked the guy to be the first male to give birth to a T-rex for Christ’s sake, the way he avoids answering me.

He leans back in his chair, swivels and arches when he peeks around the corner. Because, you know, he can’t be fucking bothered to get up or anything.

When he’s back in place, hypnotized by the screen in front of him again, he sniffs and scrunches his nose up at me.

“You’ll need to come back later.”

Yeah.

That’s not fucking happening.

“Thanks anyway.” I tap the counter and walk past him.

This, of course, grasps his attention.

“Hey! You can’t go in there.”

“Watch me.”

“But I─”

I swing the door to Walker's office open and make myself comfortable by plopping down into the chair across from him.

“What the hell is this?” He’s not yelling, surprisingly enough. He’s taken aback, yes, but not so much over the fact that I’m here, but that we seemed to have walked in on a very private conversation he’s in the middle of.

“’Sup, Dick.” I kick my feet up onto his desk.

“I’ll call you back,” he says into the phone.
Jim, maybe?
Then he waves his lapdog out of the room.

I smile and wave as he backs away and closes the door. After that, Walker’s stoic façade cracks. His jaw tightens. I smirk to help contain the fact that what I really wanna do right now is reach across the desk and wring his fucking neck.

Basic general instincts rarely steer me wrong.

“Stiles, I’m surprised to see you this soon. Glad to have you, of course, but surprised.”

Now, let’s be real for a second or two here. The guy hasn’t been glad to see me since I used to run around with his daughter back in high school. Said I was a bad influence. Funny thing is, she ended up hanging out with the “cool” crowd one night and landed herself in a Virginia jail cell for drinking and driving plus reckless endangerment for going fifty miles an hour over the speed limit.

Of course, that was all expunged once the powers that be found out who she was.

“What’d you need me for, Walker? You sounded damn chipper in your message. Someone up in the ranks die and leave you their super-secret power ring?”

He scowls over at me.

“That supposed to be a joke, Stiles?”

I jerk a shoulder. “Kinda. So what’s up? Kidnapping? Murder? Bad guys lose their drugs?”

That last one is a subtle test to see how he reacts. So far, he’s doing a bang-up job of giving me exactly what I was expecting.

No eye contact. Random paper fidgeting. Rapid eye movement.

“You sweating?” He’s not, but I can’t pass up the opportunity to add some paranoia into the mix of this visit.

He wipes his head and checks his hand. A scowl on his face, he rubs his hand on his leg and begins to sift through some paperwork that’s probably just a bunch of blank pages, for all I know.

He’s wasting time.

Why is he wasting time?

He’s either stalling, or he’s having second thoughts about why he called me in the first place.

“So you wanna tell me what the fuck you wanted today, or am I supposed to play twenty questions until I figure this shit out on my own?”

’Cause I like guessing games.

Not really.

Walker breathes in deep and holds it.

He’s debating, but it doesn’t take him long to make a decision. He puts his pencil down. He stands his papers up on end and straightens them, then tucks them away underneath his desk-sized calendar.

When he looks up at me, he seems concerned.

“I want you to reconsider re-applying for the force, Jackson.”

Say… “Huh?” That’s a new one. Color me not seeing that coming at all while you’re at it.

“At your earliest possible convenience.”

Seriously. What the fuck.

“Why?”

His mouth draws downward. He spreads his hands out.

“You do good work. People here know you already.” His brow dips. “I think you’d make an excellent addition to the team.”

Bullshit answer number two. No way in hell am I buying that it’s as simple as he wants me here.

“Come again?” The words pop out before I can even think about it.

I mean, not that I have to think about it.

He waves a hand flippantly toward me. “It’s time to get over all that shit from the past, Stiles.”

I cross my arms. “Really.”  This shit oughta be good.

“Absolutely.”

First of all, he doesn’t tell me what the fuck to do, and secondly… “Says who?” And where does he get off trying to make light of the past.

His
or
mine.

“Says the world.” His pompous personality takes center stage as he stands up and waves his hands all over the goddamn office. “Says bill collectors and car payments. Rent and family and all the other expenses one might incur during their lifetime. You do all right in the private sector, Stiles, I’ll admit that, but you need to start thinking security.”

My jaw is tight. My forehead strained. I almost hear Green’s voice telling me I’ve got that look again. The one where I wear all my stress.

I open my eyes and stretch them out to make it go away.

“I don’t have a car payment.”

What? It’s all I’ve got.

“It doesn’t matter,” he tells me with that know-it-all fucking attitude of his we all know and love.

That was sarcasm, by the way.

None of this is computing.

At all.

I’ve known Dick a long time. Back when I was in the academy, he was still an instructor, trying to claw his way into a much more appreciated ranking on the force. The guy’s had an ulterior motive in his back pocket since the day we met.

The only question is, what’s the motive here?

Like he said himself, doesn’t matter.

He sucked ass back in the day, and he sucks ass now.

“I could even get you a spot on the same team as your brother.” He eyes me carefully. “If that’s what you want.”

Not gonna pussy foot around here. Workin’ with Nick, although not the highest of my priorities these days, would obviously have its benefits. Like seeing what the hell he’s up to around here. This would also give me access to answers I can’t easily get to on the outside.

But the truth of the matter here is, Walker’s playing me.

I don’t know this because he’s willing to bend a rule or two to get me in the same precinct as Nick, mind you. I know this because Dick Walker doesn’t do favors without expecting something in return.

So I call him out.

“What’s the catch?”

“Catch?” He laughs. “I simply want the best of the best on board here in Redemption.” He waits a few seconds and adds, “Of course, your connections in the area would be an asset as well.”

My connections.

I think through some of them. The only one I can really pinpoint off the top of my head as being worthwhile for Walker would be
Tricky Ricky.

Dick pulls out a pack of Marlboro Lights.

Now, let’s ignore the fact that he isn’t even supposed to be fucking lighting up inside the building, for a moment, shall we?

But seriously. Lights? Really?

Pussy
.

He catches me eying the pack like a kid in a candy store and extends it out to me.

“Smoke?”

I shake my head at him. “Used to, but no thanks.”

He lights his up. “Why’d you quit?”

“Because it’s a disgusting fucking habit, and I want to live a long full life with healthy lungs that can breathe on their own.”

My liver, on the other hand, that’s another story, but those can be replaced.

“Really.” He blows the smoke out slow and meaningful. I can almost taste the nicotine on my lips.

He seems almost impressed for a second or two until I spell some shit out for him, that is.

“No, Dick. I quit because nothing and no
one
controls me but me.”

And by the way, fuck you.

His eyes become lines.

I can damn near feel his hatred toward me, which is another reason none of this makes a lick of sense.

“Everyone’s controlled by something, Stiles,” he says.

Now we’re talking in code. Awesome.

Not that I don’t get it. What he’s saying.

“Not me,” I inform him, under no uncertain terms.

“Aren’t you?” The way the corner of his mouth lifts slightly tells me he knows something I don’t know.

Yet.

“No.”

We hold ourselves a small stare-off in the confines of Walker's office. For a minute, I toy with the idea that he might be right. Between Green getting super-secret texts behind my back and the way he has the ability to get me to even consider taking a position within the force, how could he not be?

I know one thing, though. His intentions are not honorable.

Still, I need to keep whatever upper hand I think I might have at the moment. So I play along.

“I’ll think about it.”

His smile widens. Clearly, he took the bait. I’ve given him hope.

“Good, good. We’ll touch base when you’ve had some time. Tomorrow perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” I tell him even though I hate that fucking word. Unable to stand his smug face any longer, I leave to begin phase one of finding the fuck out what Green is up to.

X X X

Anyone with a decent job would head home right now, bask in the limelight, fantasize over the amount of attention they might obtain on the force and in Walker’s back pocket with some potentially illegal shit going down behind the scenes.