Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (26 page)

He slides his big arms through the sleeves of his coat and finds his phone in the pocket. When he checks it, it’s written all over his face.
Big mistake.

“Ah, man. Mia’s gonna have my head when I get home.”

I laugh and he scowls. “What’s so funny about that?”

“You said head. And then you said, Mia’s gonna have your…” I wave at him. “Never mind.”

“You are so twelve, you know that?”

“Fuck you very much. Now get out.”

He punches me in the arm and gives me a short wave as he leaves. When I shut the door behind him, I lean against it for a minute. As waves of unbalance pass, I get a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it’s not from the Patron.

The problem with drinking to forget about a shitty day is the more you drink, the more you think about said shitty day.

I start to clean up the place and down a bottle of water I picked up at Target the other night. I try not to think about Green and her cohort working against me. The one thing I can’t stop wondering, though, is
why
are they working against me?

I’m nobody.

Or so I’ve been told on several occasions over the past decade.

After about a half hour of self-deprecation, foggy theories, and wishing I had another bottle of Patron Silver in stock, I’m ready for lights out. I start down the hallway when a knock at the door stops me dead in my tracks.

It could be Nick. Maybe Mia was more pissed off than he thought she would be.

Or, it could be someone who’s been killing off Redemption’s troubled youth.

I take a peek through the curtain, and I don’t know if I’m relieved or not that it’s neither.

Open or ignore? Open… ignore…

I open it.

Of course, I fucking open it.

“I’ve been looking for you all day.” Funny how Green seems so concerned.

“Really.”

“Yeah, the way you left at brunch, I wondered if you had a new lead or something, but then I never heard from you, and you didn’t respond to any of my texts either. Didn’t you get my texts?”

“Must have missed ’em.”

I’m kidding; I got them. I ignored that shit.

She leans in and takes a whiff of me. “Have you been drinking?”

I shy away. “A little.”

“Are you okay?”

All I can do is laugh at that one.

“Can I come in?” Her voice is different. Quiet.

I think about it. I should probably slam the door in her face. Tell her to fuck off and take her bullshit about caring and sharing and wanting to help and shove it up her ass.

Truth is, I can’t.

I want her here.

Fuck me. I want her.

Here. I mean, I want her here. And I want her.

Fuck.

Me.

Against my better judgement, I leave the door open while I go find another bottle of something in the kitchen.

I know I’m gonna regret this shit.

FUCKERY IN PROGRESS

“WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH YOU?” Green is careful. Deliberate. There’s no trace of betrayal in sight.
Always the professional.

“Seriously?” I can’t believe she’s even asking me this shit right now. And where is my fucking cigarette?

Ah.

Tonight could be the night, old friend.

When I grab it from the counter, Green promptly takes it out of my hand and sets it back down. She’s like a bloodhound. She senses something’s not quite right.

“Yeah, seriously.” She takes off her jacket and tosses it down onto the couch along with her purse. She throws it with a force that causes one of the couch cushions fall on top of the heap. When she pushes her sleeves up to her elbows, I know she’s readying for a smack down. As well she should be, if you ask me. Still, she refuses to give anything away. She’s waiting for me to say it.

“Okay.” So I fucking say it. “I saw you with Walker today.”

No reason to beat around the motherfucking bush. Right?

“You…” Her eyes widen. Only a tad. When her eyes drop, so does my give-a-damn. I kinda wanna spit right now.

“When?”

That’s right. Panic, woman.

I ignore the question. She knows when.

“Oh, and I also saw your super-secret text from,” —I wave a hand, dismissively—“whoever the fuck it was from.”

Bam.

Double whammied her ass. Not that it makes this situation any easier to deal with.

Green’s face flushes red—for a different reason than usual. I don’t like it so much.

She gathers herself despite the fire bomb of information I just laid on her. Or tries to, anyway. Meanwhile, my heart’s doing a never-ending drumroll inside my chest.

“You snooped through my phone?” Her eyes narrow in on me. I refuse to feel bad for that shit, though. “I didn’t know you were such a busybody, Stiles.”

Her attempt at throwing some guilt my way fails.

“Yeah, well, that’s what I do. I investigate shit. But what
I
didn’t know is that you were such good friends with the one guy who might be behind all this bullshit we’ve been sifting through.” My voice echoes through the apartment. Color me angry.

Her body shifts as her words drift off, and there goes the hair behind her ear. “I was trying to─”

“Play both sides of the fence? Yeah, heard that one before.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.” She’s still calm. It drives me fucking insane.

“Then what were you gonna say, Green?” I sit my ass down onto the edge of the couch. “Please share. ’Cause I’m dying to hear this bullshit.”

She crosses her arms and rubs them like she’s cold. Only it’s not cold in here. Unless she’s feeling the effects of my steely demeanor, in which case, it’s definitely fucking freezing.

“Where do you want me to start?”

Hmmm. So many options. “Is Walker the texter?”

“No.” Her answer is immediate, which means either she knew I’d ask that question and she was prepared, or Walker really isn’t the texter. Something I’m not sure I’m willing to accept just yet.

Now I’m pissed the fuck off that I didn’t write the goddamn number down when I saw it before bolting earlier. Something that should have come to mind pretty easily, except that when it comes to Green, my brain doesn’t quite function on all cylinders. At least, not the ones sitting roughly three inches above my shoulders.

“Then who is it? Who wants
intel
on
Stiles
?”

Green let’s some oxygen leave her chest. “I don’t know. Exactly.” She plays with a section of the sofa cushion fabric. Her actions are like a kid caught with her hands in the tip jar at the pizza joint down the road. Only there’s something else there behind her words.

Relief?

There’s also some reluctance when it comes to whoever this person is. We can come back to the mystery texter later.

And we
will
be coming the fuck back to that shit. Believe me.

“What were you and Walker meeting about then? Must’ve been important. And something he didn’t want anyone to know about since it was off premises and shit.

Now, she peeks over at me. Shy and new. Just like that day I met her on the scene of her first crime.

I know better, though.

“It was awkward, really.”

“You looked pretty fucking comfortable to me.”

Her eyes shoot to mine. “I was just trying to─”

“Trying to what?” I’m a little too jacked up right now to play nice. “Join the official anti-Jackson movement and make me look like a fucking asshole? Walker give you a special pin or some shit? I hope so. Damn, Green. Tell me he gave you a special fucking pin.”

“He didn’t─”

“That’s fucked up. I’d go tell that dick you want your goddamn pin, and you want it now.”

“I─”

“That way, next time I see you, I’ll know which fucking side you’re on. No question.”

“Jesus, Stiles.” She raises her voice. “Would you please just. Shut. The Fuck. Up!”

The screaming catches me off guard and lights a fire in my nether regions. Despite the fact I’m on a roll here, I find myself, indeed, shutting the fuck up. It’s enough to let her say what she’s been waiting to say since I started in on her.

And when I say attitude, I mean, you know, yelling.

She levels her anger and lowers her voice again.

“Walker’s been trying to contact me for days. When we started putting him into the equation of this Donnie Leary thing, I thought, why not meet with him? Maybe I can find something out that would help.”

“And?”

“And, so, I called him back this morning. He told me it was his understanding that you and I are…” This is where she gets uncomfortable. “That I’m…” She’s fumbling her words. “He was under the impression you and I are close.”

An abrupt bark of a laugh escapes me. “Why the
fuck
would he think that?”

Were we
getting
there in our own, strangely workable kinda way? Maybe, but now? I don’t have a goddamn clue.

Green lets out a vengeful sigh, and her eyes shoot me a warning. I back off and let her finish.

It’s the polite thing to do.

“I got the impression my name came up in a conversation or two that he had with your brother.”

Nick.

Fucker.

“I don’t think Nick did it maliciously, for what it’s worth.” She can tell what I’m thinking now? When did that happen? “It seems more to me like Walker is good at using every bit of information he collects to his advantage.”

I give her that one. Walker is a douche, after all.

“What’d he want?”

“He was thinking about asking you to come back to the force. He wanted my opinion on how best to approach you with the topic. I told him I had no idea, that I didn’t really know you all that well, but he insisted I knew you better than probably anyone else in Redemption.” She breaks long enough to let a nervous laugh out. “I thought it was a really weird thing for him to say, since, does
anybody
know the
real
Jackson Stiles?”

“Green.”

She stops. “Hmmm?”

“Breathe.”

She nods. “Right.”

I gotta admit, her story rings true. Especially considering the fact she still has no idea Walker called me, or that I visited him today. Unless he suspected me of tailing him. In which case, he might have spilled the beans to her.

Perfect story.

The way Green bites her thumbnail like it’s her last meal tells me she’s thinking about something. Hard.

“What?”

She chews on her lip some before telling me, “I still can’t decide if he works for Anonymous, or if this is all just a fluke.”

Um. “Anonymous?”

“The texter. It’s really the first time I’ve heard from him directly, actually.”

“You call him
Anonymous
.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to call him?” She hesitates, frustrated. “Or her, I guess.”

I’ve got a few ideas.

“Dickbag. Dickless. Dickometry. Dickometer. Dick─”

“I get it,” she cuts me off. “Oh my God.”

She’s right. The name can come later. “So you’ve heard from him before?”

“Or her.”

Okay.
Patience, Stiles.

“Let’s just say him for simplicity’s sake, shall we?” She’s gotta make everything difficult.

“Fine. Him. Yeah, but only a few times, and only through other people. Person. Just one person, actually.” Her voice becomes heavy and softer with those last words. I don’t like the sound of it.

Do I wanna know?

“And who’s that?” Of course, I do.

She takes a shaky breath but looks me straight in the eyes. “My dad.”

It takes me a second to register what she says.

“Come the fuck again?” Are all dads dicks now?

And P.S., I knew that shit-bag was bad news.

“And maybe my boss? I’m not a hundred percent sure about that one, though.”

Welcome to today’s broadcast of fuckery in progress.

We’re gonna come back to the dad thing. I’m officially pinning it under “things I need to wrap my head around for one thousand, Alex.”

“What’s the link to your boss?”

Before she explains, she reiterates, “Try to remember, I was going to tell you all of this today at brunch.”

“Duly fucking noted, Green. Can we get to the meat of this BS?”

She stands, paces, and wrings her hands.

“Remember that article I wrote about you?”

“You mean the one I can basically quote word for word?”

Really?

“Right, that one.”

“Uh huh.” Of course, I fucking remember it. The damn thing may as well be ingrained inside my head.

“The article that ran wasn’t the article I submitted.”

Um, okay. “Are you saying your boss wrote it?” I’m interested in where this is headed.

“Yeah, I mean, well, he took parts of what I turned in and kind of twisted my words.”

“So you didn’t think I was a low level scumbag looking to score easy money?” ’Cause that would be a relief.

Not.

“No, at the time, I totally thought you were a scumbag. But like I admitted, very recently, I didn’t know you then.”

Good to know she can be honest about it, but damn. Ouch.

“So you think because boss man took what you submitted and turned it into a Stiles hate fest, that─”

“Maybe he might be working with this guy. I don’t know for sure. It seems coincidental to me that they both seem to have it in for you, though. Not
everybody
can possibly hate you that much.”

I raise a questionable eyebrow at that statement.

“Can they?”

Technicalities.

“Beside the point, Green.” I have a feeling, as time limited as we are right now, that I’m gonna need to get the full-on, Emma Green rant session version to understand this shit. This should be a blast.

“I think you need to rewind and start from the beginning.”

“That’s a really long story, Stiles.”

See.

“Okay.” Let’s see if we can shorten it. “Start with when you left Florida.”

Green leans against the couch again. “I don’t know everything my dad was into. I only know most of it toward the end wasn’t good. But he was always very protective of me growing up. So when I finally found the nerve to tell him I was leaving, I was shocked, to say the least, that he was okay with it.”

Doesn’t sound too complicated so far. Lots of dads are assholes. Look at mine.

“I guess he didn’t want me in the middle of whatever he was getting himself into. And I admit, I didn’t exactly want to be in the middle of it either. But maybe I should have stayed, or talked to him, or pushed him to─”