Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (29 page)

“That.” I stoop down and fight Frodo for the tiny gadget he’s found.

“Motherfucker.”

“What?” Green asks, yet again.

I put my finger to my lips, telling her silently to
not
say another fucking word. I show her the device someone planted on her at some point.

Hopefully without her knowledge.

This does not bode well, people. Not fucking well at all.

MY FATHER’S SON

FUCKING GADGETS.

At the very least, I can admit the world has certainly created some crazy ass technology as of late.

I own a few myself and haven’t gotten around to purchasing others. Apparatuses like the one I just found dangling from Frodo’s paw is roughly ten times the cost of anything I can afford without taking out a loan.

Meaning, of course, this is grade A, government-issued shit.

At least I know
we
know we’re on the right track. No way did some drug-addicted punk kill Donnie. Not that the flimsy ass theory wasn’t off the table already, but you know, facts.

Time freezes while I inspect it. Not much there, really. A micro-mic and a serial number I couldn’t read with the Hubble Telescope.

Across the room, Green’s mouth hangs open slightly. She reflects the shock and awe of discovering the tiniest of devices, which happens to hold the ability to hear the largest of moments.

Her reaction is enough to tell me she didn’t know it was in her jacket. I don’t need to ask.

Most likely, she’s thinking the same thing I’m thinking.

How much did whoever is listening hear last night?

Okay,
any
night, for that fucking matter.

I think back over the past week or so and try to pinpoint certain conversations that have gone on here. I have no idea when they planted the bug. Or who planted it.

She wasn’t wearing this jacket the night we had Chinese.

That’s one bit of good news.

And she hasn’t been here again until last night.

Does that mean it was Walker who put it on her?

Possibly.

Or maybe the “boss man” she suspects is involved with
Anonymous
, who makes me feel like an idiot every time I refer to him as
Anonymous.

Jesus.

Well, I know that whoever
they
are, they didn’t catch anything pertinent being said
or
going on between Green and me last night, considering this thing was buried under the jacket, the purse,
and
the couch cushion. We’ve got that going for us.

Hopefully.

My mind whirls with thoughts of what they might’ve heard through the muffled shit. We could use this to our advantage.  

A silent moment passes between Green and me. I give her a wink and a smile.

“So you really think I should take Walker up on his offer?”

It might not be him listening in, but I figure whomever it is knows him. Or maybe he’s just another piece to whatever puzzle is being manipulated lately.

If they want me to play, I may as well play. Right?

Win-win, as far as I’m concerned.

Green’s thrown off by the question, at first, but it doesn’t take her long to catch up.

“I do.”

“I wish I had your fucking confidence.”

“It makes sense.”

“Give me a reason, Green. Any reason why I should trust that guy.”

Her lips form a thin line. I’ve stumped her.

“Your brother trusts him.”

Damn. She’s unstumpable.

“You got me there.”

Nice touch covering Nick’s ass, but more than that, Walker’s.

Why would she wanna cover Walker’s ass?

Her mood lightens after that.

“Plus, you’d get benefits and stability, and─”

“I’m my own boss right now, though. Don’t forget that.” I can’t help but point out the one major flaw in giving in to this idea.

“No offense, Stiles,” she says. “But you’re kind of a shitty boss.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

I should be offended. Right?

“You work too many hours. You have no social life. You’re beat up, you drink too much, and that cigarette in your pocket makes me” —she pulls her eyes closed and makes fists with her hands— "crazy.”

“It’s a metaphor.” How does she not get that?

“Bullshit.” She’s serious, yet she laughs.

This woman.

She also might be getting to know me a little too well if you know what the fuck I’m saying here.

I drag a hand through my hair and land at the back of my neck, trying to stretch out the kinks that have formed. I blow some air out and stare down the small piece of machinery I’m holding.

Who are you?

I want to talk into it, like Liam Neeson from that fucked up movie
Taken
. I want to tell the person on the other end that I’ll find them then I’ll kill them.

The truth is, I’m less pissed off about the fact they’ve been listening in than I am over the assumption that I’m stupid enough to take Walker’s bait.

“Yeah,” I finally breathe out, ready to get down and dirty with this flimsy as fuck, barely put together plan I’m concocting. “Maybe it’s time to give the guy a second chance.”

I peek over at Green. She looks worried and not at all excited about the whole idea of someone listening to us. Or me pretending to take Walker up on his lame offer. But a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do to take down the asshats who like to shoot kids while they’re not looking. Even if that group might consist of parties belonging to the Redemption motherfucking Police Department.

I need to get some actual conversation in with Green, so I push the bug into a paper towel and then another, just in case. I put the whole kit and caboodle somewhere I know they aren’t gonna hear anything else they shouldn’t hear.
Unless I fucking want them to hear it, that is.

I open the hall closet door and find a jacket I haven’t worn in years. I slip the silver mic into the front pocket and gently close the door.

Breathing never felt so good.

“Fucking A.” Green looks flushed and relieved as she falls back onto the couch. “I thought I was getting hives there for a minute.”

She’s pretty badass sometimes. Geeky, but badass. And damn, when the curse words come out of her mouth. Anything I was about to start planning is thrown out the window with one dirty word.

“Jesus, Green. Say that again.”

“I was getting─”

“Not that.” A slow grin forms across her expression.

“I don’t understand.”

I crawl up onto the couch next to her. I’m face-to-face with her when I say it. “Bullshit.”

Her lips pucker. Her brow forms a look of curious wonder as to where I’m going with this. But it’s all fake. The wonder, that is. She knows where I’m going with this.

“You mean
fuck
?”

See?

My head bobs in a slow nod. “Yes.”

She whispers it into my ear this time.

“Fuck.”

Every hair on my body and every nerve under my skin stands at attention. Not to mention, my dick. He’s got a great salute.

With a deliberate motion, I lay her flat on her back and hover over her, hungry for that same intensity we created last night.

Green’s got other plans, though.

“Don’t you think we should─”

“Not now, Green.” I tell her. We can deal with Walker and the bug later. “
Now
, I want to do what I’m told by the woman with the dirty mouth.”

“You w─” her breath catches when I dip down to kiss her neck, then the back of her ear, before repeating her own words to her.

“Fuck.”

Green hums and it sends me into overdrive. But it doesn’t last. Her iPhone alarm goes off, and her focus is shattered into a million tiny pieces.

“Stiles.” Maybe if I move this party a little lower, she’ll get on board, so to speak.

“Mmmmm. I think I should return that text.”

She can’t be serious. “To the anonymity?”

“Anonymous.” She laughs when I kiss her belly.
Ticklish.
“And yes. Walking out on my boss is one thing, but if I don’t get back to this guy at some point, I’m a little afraid of what he might do.”

She pulls at my arms, and I follow her lead. When I’m face-to-face with her again, she plants a kiss on my lips. Soft and true.

It’s not long or passionate. It just is. And when she pulls away, she gives me
the look
.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“I’m leaving, but I’ll be back.”

I believe her. Unfortunately.

High and dry, people. High and dry.

After that, a new world’s record is set by Green. She wins the gold for collecting-your-shit-and-bolting-out-the-door-of-the-guy-who-desperately-wants-to-fuck-your-brains-out. The woman is together and gone in ten-point-five seconds. No lie.

Lucky for me,
if there’s any luck whatsoever in this situation that is,
she leaves with the intention of getting home, getting cleaned up, packing, and beginning the process of distancing herself from the boy-toy,
The Chronicle
, and this fucking
Anonymous
guy, for good.

Me?

I plan to take a pause before contacting Dick, again. And even then, I’m gonna need to play this shit off like I need a bit more convincing to get my ass back into a uniform. I’m fairly confident my brother might be around when it happens.
He’s always around.

He’s one of two people in this world who knows when I’m lying. The other being my mother.

Okay, fine. Three, including Green.

Regardless, if Nick picks up on my motives and says something to Walker, any hopes I might have of playing him like a fiddle are over, and it’s back to square one. If I get lucky, though, and that’s a big motherfucking if, I might get some intel on what the fuck has been going on the past couple weeks and beyond. In turn, I’d be able to give Donnie and his brother a little bit of peace knowing the people who killed him didn’t get away with that shit.

Small favors.

“Shhhhhit.”

It’s not until this very moment, as I head down the hall for a shower, that I check my phone and see six missed calls from Stix.

It’s the first time I’ve thought about him in a
I need to find out what he’s up to
kinda way since I woke up, and I remember, with clarity, that I told him I’d call first thing.

Dammit.

The first message starts out pretty basic.

“Jackson. It’s me. Uh, you know who.” The kid sounds like he doesn’t know if he should saying
anything
, much less his name. That in itself makes him a smart little fucker.

“I just wanted to check in, I guess. See what the plan for the day is. So, I’ll talk to you later.”

The second one gives me the impression he’s slightly paranoid. Unlike myself, of course.

“Hey, Jackson, there’s some weird-looking people hanging around outside your office. They’re across the street, but I swear they’re watching this place.”

By the third, there’s a slight urgency to his voice.

“Stiles. There’s something going on here. I’m not sure, I… There’s this car, and it keeps driving by, like it’s waiting for something. I don’t know, man. Call me.”

By the sixth, I realize what a complete and utter fucking asshole I am for not calling him the minute I woke up today.

“He’s sitting right outside your door, Stiles.” His voice is a whisper, and even now, I can hear the fear in it. “What the fuck do I do, man? Shit, I’m outta here.”

I hang up and call him as I bag the shower and grab my keys.

“Come on, kid. Pick up.”

He doesn’t. Of fucking course. So I call again. And again and again and again. I drive down four-fifty a good twenty miles over the speed limit, and still that’s too slow.

When I pull up to the office, I have a bad goddamn feeling about something.

Maybe he’s playing it low-key.