Sweet Jayne (4 page)

I’m about to leave the room when I notice that the nameplate on my desk has been moved. With an annoyed grunt, I adjust the metal so Lieutenant Kasper Grant is perfectly straight. Whichever fucking asshole did this, I’m going to hurt. A smile plays at my lips knowing it was probably Rhodes. I’ll get the prick back later.

I shut my office door and lock it before striding down the hallway. As I pass Chief’s doorway, he calls out to me.

“Ghost, can you come here a second?”

With a sigh, I turn and stride into his office. His face is contorted into a frown as he stares at his phone. I wait patiently until his features relax, and then he regards me, a brilliant bullshit smile on his face. He thinks he can fool me along with everyone else. But he forgets that I’ve known him forever. I know his shiny smiles and easygoing personality are anything but genuine. They’re forced. All a part of what comes with his prestigious job as police chief. Who the hell am I to judge, though? People change. Apparently Logan wants to be someone nicer now. He’s got the whole town fooled, so I guess he’s doing a pretty damn good job.

“You headed home?” he asks as he tucks his phone into the breast pocket of his white button-up dress shirt. The pin on his shirt that displays his name, Chief Logan Baldwin, sits neat and straight. It’s one of the reasons I get along with Logan. He too sees the value in the details. Together, we’ve brainstormed on some tricky-ass cases and had found answers many of our detectives have overlooked. I may not believe his plastic smiles, but he’s a damn good cop. That I can respect.

“I’m going to head up to The Joint and visit Mom for a bit,” I tell him as I run my fingers through my overgrown, almost black hair. I need to get it cut but ever since I fucked Regina over the product bar of the salon after hours a couple of weeks ago, she’s been clingy and downright stalking my ass. If I go in to get my hair cut, she’ll want to suck my dick or who knows what else. And quite frankly, she wasn’t very good at it the first time. I’m not eager for a second go. I’ll just have to take my ass to Quick Cuts or have Ashley do it next time I visit.

“Ah, The Joint. Dale going to be there?” he questions, his brows furrowing. We both fucking hate Dale. Due to a conflict of interest, I’m not allowed to personally haul Dale in, being that he’s my stepfather and all. But, on the several occasions, when he’s whipped up on Mom, and she’s called me crying, I’ve had Logan handle the hauling for me. It’s one thing for your boss to know you’re the product of a white trash family. It’s a whole other thing for all of your subordinates to know, too. Most of these assholes don’t like taking orders from “the kid,” as some of them call me. If they knew about my fucked-up family, they’d be more than glad to hold that over my head and I’d lose any and all respect that I’ve worked my ass off to gain. So Logan steps in when I need him to and I owe him big for that.

“Probably. I’ll try not to kill him,” I joke. “What do you need?”

“Can you ride by Jimmy Salem’s building? He’s out of town on business. Called and said one of his neighbors told him she’d seen some kids trying to break in. Probably just that, kids, but take a look for me, will you? Jimmy and I go way back, so I told him we’d check it out. I’d do it myself but I have to deal with something rather urgent.” He stands and slides on his jacket.

“Sure,” I tell him as I turn to leave. “See you tomorrow.”

His desk phone rings and soon, he’s barking out orders to one of the uniforms. Leaving him to deal with the issue on his own, I stride out of the building toward my department-issued Camaro. Logan and I drive the only two unmarked police cars in the department, whereas the rest of the guys drive typical squad cars. When he’d handed me the keys to the black muscle machine, I nearly fucking died. I’d always heard police departments were lacking on funds.

Not ours.

Somehow, Logan manages to garner substantial support from the community. With his inherent charm and good looks, he smiles his way into some big-ass donations.

Hell, I’m not complaining.

I hit the button to unlock the vehicle and it beeps in response. As I climb into the car, my thoughts go back to
her
. The one who was too stupid to remember a license plate. Or to recall one tiny fucking detail that could have led the police to my sister. Anyfuckingthing.

Picking up my iPod, I flip through my music until I find “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” by Blue Oyster Cult and then set off on my ride.

I wonder where the hell she’s been these last three years. I’ve stalked her social media accounts and even watched Donovan’s office at the lodge, hoping she might show up there one day. Nothing. She’s completely gone off the grid. I even briefly considered interrogating Donovan on her whereabouts, but I know he would only lawyer up and refuse to answer like he does with everything else. Then, I’d have Logan on my ass which I don’t need. If Logan knew I was still obsessing over this case from nearly a decade ago, he’d probably order a psych evaluation.

I don’t need a psych evaluation.

I just need my sister back.

I’m lost in thoughts of her while I make a pass through Jimmy Salem’s parking lot. A few beer cans litter the place, evidence of some kids having a recent party, but nothing looks disturbed. After a quick sweep, flashing my light to the dark corners of the building, I pull back on the road to head toward The Joint. My mind is numb once again as I contemplate where she’s gone.

As I slow at a four-way stop sign, something big and white comes barreling through off to my right, headlights bouncing as it nears. My eyes zero in on the big-ass Ford 250 which is speeding toward the intersection with no signs of stopping. It plows past me and as it flies past, I recognize the vinyl king’s crown decal on the back window that’s revealed under the red brake light.

No fucking way.

I pop my flasher on the dash and peel out after the vehicle. Sure enough, as I follow behind it, I recognize the truck to be Logan’s. Problem is, I know he’s driving the department issue Tahoe today, not his truck.

Did someone actually steal the police chief’s vehicle?

What a fucking moron.

Adrenaline surges through my veins as I speed after the truck. It doesn’t show any signs of slowing even though I’m tailing its ass with my red and blue lights flashing. I end up following it for a half mile before I realize that whoever’s behind the wheel is just driving faster and has no plans to pull over. Knowing there’s a curve coming up soon, I yank my wheel to the right and gas it past the truck. As we reach the curve, driving side by side, I start inching into the right lane. I don’t want to damage mine or Logan’s vehicle but I’m not about to let this person get away. When I barely bump the side of the truck, it jerks off to the right and sails into a ditch. Slamming on my brakes, I pull off to the side a little ways ahead of the truck and jump out of the car. Headlights blind me, so I draw out my 9 mm Glock and aim it at the vehicle.

“Hands on the steering wheel!” I shout as I slowly make my way to the truck.

Since it’s getting dark, I can’t see through the windshield. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck as I approach. Whoever it is, the fucker is going to pay for making me scratch up my car.

When I reach the driver’s side window, I peer in. A woman with dark hair is slumped over the steering wheel. My heart thunders in my chest as I tap the glass with my weapon.

“Ma’am,” I bark out, “put your hands where I can see them.”

Her body quakes and I wonder if she’s having a goddamned seizure. With eyes on her, I yank on the door handle. The door swings open and all hell breaks loose. She launches herself at me, knocking my gun from my hand but not before a shot fires off into the trees. As soon as my ass hits the grass, she scrambles to her feet and takes off in a sprint. With a grunt, I jump to my feet, scoop up my gun, and begin running after her.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!” I snarl after her as I charge in her direction.

She’s short, probably a good six inches shorter than my six-foot frame but she runs like the devil. The headlights shining on her reveal toned legs beneath a floral print dress and cowboy boots. How the fuck she’s running in boots is beyond me.

I close in on her, my legs eating up the distance easily, and I tackle her to the dirt.

“Ah!” she cries out the moment her face impacts the ground.

I shove a knee against the small of her back and wrangle her squirming arms into cuffs. As soon as she’s secured, I roll her over onto her back so I can Mirandize her. “You have the right to remain—”

She spits in my face, silencing me. “Let me go! I have to go! Now!”

Her panicked tone sends my heart thudding in my chest. But when I push her hair out of her face and lock eyes with her dark, chocolate-colored orbs, my heart ceases to beat. Familiar rage chases away my moment of shock and I fist my hands at my sides.

I fucking found her.

Sweet Nadia Jayne all grown up.

Anger consumes me and I grab her jaw with my fingers, biting into her flesh hard enough to make her yelp.

“You’re going to jail you stupid, stupid woman. You stole the police chief’s truck,” I sneer and bare my teeth at her.

My fingers twitch to grip her neck and choke the fucking life out of her. Fuck serve and protect. More like punish and abuse when it comes to Nadia Jayne.

“Please,” she begs, hot tears running from her eyes. “You don’t understand. I need to get out of here.”

I release her jaw and smirk. “You’re not going anywhere except to the station where I’ll fingerprint your ass and your rich little daddy can have fun trying to bail you out.”

Her eyes widen in horror. “You know Donovan? Please don’t call him. I’m begging you, from one decent human being to another. He can’t know I’m here in Aspen. You don’t understand...”

A niggling inside of me causes me to take pause. I don’t like the way she pleads with me—the way it works its way inside of me. This dumb bitch has the tongue of a goddamned serpent. She let my sister disappear and I cannot forget that.

Ignoring her, I pull my phone out and call Logan. “You’ll never believe this,” I say with a laugh. “I’m straddling a woman who stole your truck. Donovan Jayne’s kid. Can you believe it? I’d like to see him buy his way out of—”

“You have Nadia?” His tone is cool, not at all what I expected.

“I have her detained on Plantation Road, by The Joint. She tried to fucking flee, Logan,” I snap, my anger returning like a storm thundering in.

He curses into the phone. “Get her off the ground, goddammit. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

When I hang up and shove my phone back into my pocket, I look down to find her face contorted into one of those ugly-cry expressions chicks sometimes make. It irritates me and I want to really give her something to fucking cry about. If I kicked her in the face like that prick who stole my sister did nine years ago, I wonder if she’d forget this whole scene too.

Her supposed forgetful nature seems like such a cop-out.

I would make sure she never forgot the way my boot felt as I crushed her skull.

“Get up,” I snap as I rise to my feet dragging her up with me.

She’s a fucking mess—her hair a wild entanglement of leaves and snot running from her nose all over her face.

“What did you do?” she questions through her hiccupping sobs.

I frown at her. “I did my job.”

She hangs her head in defeat and stays that way until Logan’s Tahoe comes barreling down the road toward us. He screeches to a halt and climbs out. Nadia stiffens in my grip but doesn’t lift her gaze to meet his. His glare is hateful when his eyes shift to me, and I stare at him, dumbfounded for a moment. I don’t get a chance to ask him what the hell is going on because after another second, he shoulders past me and pulls her into his arms.

“Oh, baby,” he coos and strokes her hair. “Are you okay?”

She breaks down, as in knees collapsing, gut wrenching wails kind of breaking down, and it makes me sick. I don’t know what’s going on but I do know she’s playing him. What she did was illegal and I stand behind chasing her ass. The part about wanting to choke her to death was for my own personal vendetta.

“Look, Chief,” I mutter to Logan, “she ran a stop sign and was going well over the posted thirty-five miles per hour speed limit. When I finally ran her off the road, she attacked me, ran, and then resisted arrest.”

He turns and glares at me as if he wasn’t listening to a word I just said. “Un-cuff her.”

Clenching my jaw, I yank my key out and unlock the cuffs. Her hands are trembling. This bitch is good.
Too good.
“Now what?”

“She’s my Dale,” he says, and nods his head over in the direction of The Joint, just down the road. “This is between us, Ghost. Just like it’s between us when I have to deal with your stepfather beating the shit out of your mother.
Nadia
stays between us. Do you understand?”

I give him a clipped nod but my gaze falls on her. “You doing a favor for Donovan?”

His Cheshire cat grin doesn’t escape me, even though it’s quick. He slips his hands into her messy hair and tilts her head back. I watch in shock as he kisses her softly on the lips. Her lip wobbles but she kisses him back, her breathy sigh echoing in the dark. When they finish their weird-ass kiss, he turns to me, a confident smile spread across his face.