Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (34 page)

He scowls over at me. “Say what?”

“Your team specifically.”

“You are so full of it. You know that?” He’s laughing. He literally thinks this is a joke. Or hopes it is, maybe.

“I’m not lying.”

“When? When did Richard Walker request your presence on the Redemption police force?”

“Today, actually.”

That quiets him down. “I thought he was interviewing candidates for a special assignment today.”

“Guess I’m the special assignment.”

Nick thinks. He thinks a lot. Then he insists, “He can’t be shady, Jackson. I’ve known the guy my whole career. He mentored me. It was because of him that I went out for detective, for Christ’s sake.”

“Did you see him slip Dad that piece of paper?”

“What? What piece of paper?”

“Don’t know; I couldn’t get a good enough look at it. I was working on
that
when you so rudely interrupted my ass.” Still am, actually. “And I think Walker might have been the contact Green was supposed to meet there tonight.”

And why in the
hell
hasn’t she texted me back yet?

Dammit. This is why you do
not
get involved on a personal level with people during a goddamn case. The word is right there, plain as day.

Personal.

Too late, asshole.

As I struggle internally with myself over just exactly how personal things are with Green, and whether or not that’s a good thing, it occurs to me that all this bullshit isn’t something Nick is ready to hear yet. And I don’t have any locked and loaded proof. So I humor him on his whole
Walker’s a good guy
theory.

“Maybe I’m wrong, though.” And maybe I just have bad timing.

“Damn right.”

“Fine.”

“Great.”

“Idiot.”

“Jackass.”

His lips curl up ever so fucking slightly, and I know we’re good again for the time being.

Siri tells me to turn down a dirt road I can barely see this time of night. “I think we’re here.”

“W─” There’s no need for Nick to finish asking that question. Movement from outside catches our attention, and I slam on the brakes to avoid running smack into the chain-link fence in front of us.

The movement outside has me checking my rearview mirror, but it’s too late. We’re surrounded.

And Green is a terrible fucking listener because there she is, standing on the side of the road with Walker, slightly surprised to see me.

“The fuck?”

“What’s Emma doing here?” Nick asks me through the side of his mouth.

“I have no fucking clue. But, hey, look. There’s your boss.” I tell him through the side of mine.
Good guy, my ass.

When Green pulls her revolver out of the holster hanging from her hip, part of me wants to congratulate her for getting rid of the ankle kit. The other part of me wants to kick my own ass for giving her the idea to change it up in the first place.

There’s no expression on her face as she points the gun at us and motions for me to get out of the car.

I take that back; there is an expression. It’s called betrayal. How fucking stupid can I be in the span of a week?

I turn the engine off and give my brother a look.

Once upon a time, back in high school, if anything was going down, we’d share this look to let each other know it would all work out; we had each other’s back. It was kinda our thing.

Right now, I’m not sure
what
he’s thinking, but I’m getting a bad feeling about this situation. And I’m sure as hell not so confident that everything’s gonna work the fuck out.

We open our doors and slide out of the Chevelle, slow and easy. Hands up. We know the drill.

“Hi, Stiles.” Green gives me a half-smile.

I nod once for her. “Judas.”

“Kinda wishing you weren’t here right now.”

“Kinda wishing I hadn’t banged you last night.”

“Don’t be like that.” She looks sincerely offended.

Hypocrite.

“Like what? Regretting that my dick was inside an evil temptress less than twenty-four hours ago?”

“Stiles…” she warns.

“That I shared shit with you I haven’t shared with-”

“That’s enough.” The sound of someone’s voice, off in the dark distance, interrupts me. I peer out into the night to try and see who it is. I want some confirmation that it’s Black. But I see nothing.

When I’m back to Green, she tucks some hair behind her ear.

Interesting.

“Guns.” Her voice is low and soft but commanding. If she wasn’t threatening my life with a pistol pointed at me right now, I might find that shit sexy.

It’s not the smartest idea giving up the Smith and Wesson right now, but hell, what am I gonna do? Fake it like I’m not bearing arms? Green knows better than that. She also knows where I keep it.

Once mine is on the ground, I look to make sure Nick is complying. Movement out in the shadows tells me there’s plenty of backup for Green and Walker. But who the hell are they?

I know for sure Black is one of them, but is Dad out there, too? And if he is. Whose side is
he
actually working for? Nick’s? Or Walker’s?

No one knows what the hell to say for a minute or two. I’m busy trying to see past the darkness to determine whether or not there’s a building of some sort on this property.

I’m sure there is. I just need to find it.

That’s where Stix’ll be.

I need a diversion.

Whatever happens at this point, I know Nick will catch up fast. I just need to…

Gotcha.

“So, well-played, I guess.” I give Green a look of sarcastic irony. Her eyes give me no hint whatsoever as to what she’s thinking.

“She does good work, yes?”

I point over toward the voice. “Fuck you. I’m talking to the lady. Or shall I say─”

“No, you shall not.” Green shoots me a death stare.

Her trigger finger twitches. I might think she was anxious to shoot me except for the fact that she’s fucking with her hair again. So I know she’s lying. The combo
tell
proves it beyond a shadow of a doubt. But is she lying to me, or is she lying to them?

“Spare us the drama, Mr. Stiles.” Walker practically rolls his eyes. “Those who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones.”

“Those who-”

“What?” Nick’s finishes my question and looks over at me like he’s thinking the same thing I’m fucking thinking.

“You seriously quoting the Bible when you’re about to commit murder, Walker?”

Lame.

Green shifts, and I catch what looks like her scoping out her odds before she goes bitch face again. No one notices but me, and quite frankly, I’m stumped.

“Don’t hate her, Mr. Stiles,” Anonymous, a.k.a. Black,
probably,
tells me from the darkness. “She’s simply good at her job. Aren’t you, Emma?”

Hearing him call her by her first name kinda pisses me the fuck off. Where the hell does this shitbag get off calling her Emma?

She must not like it either because she doesn’t answer him. One last look between us and I’m done giving myself away, both literally and figuratively, thank you very much.

A car alarm goes off somewhere. It’s loud enough to distract Walker’s attention and whomever else is out there. Without thinking, I roll and grab my gun back from the dirt. Then I make a fucking run for it.

I don’t look back to see if Nick is following behind. I’m sure he is. All I can concentrate on right now is Stix.

“Goddammit!” I hear frustration hitting someone, then another curse. “Which way were they headed?”

“No idea.” Green’s voice is like a knife to my chest, but I can’t dwell on that.

There’s a commotion of some sort, then more yelling, but I’m too far away to hear what’s being said. It’s dark enough out here that he might shoot at me, but the chances of him hitting me are one in about twenty-five. Give or take.

I know how to run without making a lot of noise. If they can’t hear me, they don’t know where to point their guns.

My feet carry me faster than I would have thought possible at this point. Not that I’m fucking complaining, but I know, in the back of my mind, I’m gonna be hating life later on.

Or at the very least, my shins will be.

I hear shots. A couple hit tree trunks that are a little too fucking close for comfort. So I start zigzagging for a good quarter mile.

I’m guesstimating here.

I know there’s gotta be a building coming up soon. If there isn't, I may never find Stix.

Finally, I see a structure up ahead, and I push myself to go faster than I already am until I’m in the protection of its shadows.

I let myself catch some breath while I listen for what’s happening. Damn, my fucking legs hurt.

Note to self: no more Crouching Tiger, Hidden Stiles bullshit after this.

The shots are further off in the distance now. I don’t think anyone’s actually fucking followed me yet. So they must think I’m still close to the fence.

Hopefully, Nick isn’t back there.

When I’m at what I assume is the entrance, I realize it’s a barn, or something like it. I steal along the side until I find the damn door that’s gonna let me in.

It slides open fairly easily, and I’m surprised to find there’s no one guarding this place.

Don’t be dead, kid.

I keep my mouth shut in case there
is
someone guarding the barn and they saw me coming.

The smell of hay and shit,
literally
, wafts through the entire place. I have that aroma to thank for the fact I’m paying more attention to the ground than what or who is around me.

There’s another scent in here, too, I realize, though.

Pot.

A hand grabs me by the neck of my shirt and throws me to the ground. My instincts kick in, and I make to get up but they shove me against a stack of hay bales. They cover my mouth before I can ask what the fuck.

“Shhhhh.”

I bite his hand.

“Fuck, Jackie.”

“Jesus.” Nick pulls his hand away to inspect it for bleeding. I rub my neck where he was practically strangling my ass a few seconds ago.

How in the hell did he beat me here? I’m the one that ran the mile in twelve minutes flat on the track team.

“You could’ve just fucking said ‘hey, Jack, it’s Nick. Be quiet, okay?’ Instead of all that bullshit,” I whisper-yell. I’m not stupid. He must know someone else is here if he’s being all stealthy and whatnot.

“And you didn’t have to fucking bite me!” he whisper-screams back.

A gruff, deep sort of snort sounds from somewhere in the building. I shut the fuck up to listen and try to figure out what in the hell it was. Nick pulls at me again, then points in another direction.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

No wonder I didn’t see anyone guarding the barn.

They didn’t need anyone.

They’ve got a bull.

Nick winces. Barely. I look at him to give him shit, then I notice, saying, “You’re bleeding.”

“Only a little bit.” He pushes himself up into a sitting position, but he’s obviously in pain.

“What the… where?” I kneel down next to him and check the important spots. His gut, his thigh.

“Here.” He grabs my hand and places it against his shoulder.

“How bad?”

“Not sure,” he breathes. “Bad enough to make me wanna lie down and take a nap; not bad enough to make me wanna puke.”

“Okay.” That’s encouraging. He’s still got a sense of humor. “You sit tight. I’m gonna get the kid, then we’re gonna get the hell outta here, and you’re going to a hospital.”

No sweat.

I get up and pull the S&W out. “Hang in there.”

“Be careful,” he tells me. Like I fucking need him to tell me that shit when there’s a thousand-pound bull to face off with.

I study the place and figure this bull? He’s gotta be guarding the space next to him. It’s the only place I can’t get to without getting past him. That’s where Stix has to be.

So I take a breath and go the fuck for it.

For the time being, he pays me no mind. He’s got a trough full of who knows what, but it’s almost empty from what I can tell. And just a wild guess, but I’m pretty sure when he’s done, I’ll be his next target. Unless I can find the kid and get him, along with my injured brother, the fuck out before that happens.

“Nice bull.” I shuffle by him slow and steady so I can properly check the other side of this place to see if Stix is here. It’s tight between him and the wood slats keeping him from getting out of the barn.

It’s cool.
This shouldn’t be too hard, right? Should only take a minute. I just need to be quick about it.