Dream Huntress

by Michelle Sharp

  Blake was still the safest way to get the information he needed. He grabbed the pad of paper, his phone, and his coat. He was heading to St. Louis to find Jordan, but on the way he was going to bargain with his buddy Blake.

  Chapter 20

  Ty was trying—Really. Fucking. Hard.—to sound patient and coherent. But it was after six a.m. and he’d spent three hours driving to Jordan’s condo in St. Louis and back. He’d yet to make contact with her. He figured if anyone knew where she’d gone, it would be Bahan. When he called, Bahan confirmed that Jordan was safe but refused to tell him where to find her.

  If he could have reached through the phone and strangled Bahan with his own dick, he would have.

  The sun was coming up, and he was almost back in Titus, but his patience had bottomed out about five miles back. Blake promised to call back with the information Ty had asked for, but now he was playing twenty questions before handing it over.

  “I have the list of names, but I’m not giving it to you until you tell me why I’m giving it to you,” Blake said.

  “Look,” Ty said. “I received a tip. It’s probably nothing. I’m just dotting i’s and crossing t’s. Do you want to go down a million dead ends? Or can you trust that since I was a cop, too, I might have enough sense to weed through the bullshit.”

  “You don’t get to decide what’s bullshit. This isn’t your investigation, Ty.”

  “Of course not. You never fail to remind me of that. But it was my sister.” Ty stopped, took a breath before everything else he’d been holding back came raging through his voice. “I’m sorry, Blake. You’ve done everything I’ve asked you to. If you give me the list of names, you have my word I’ll come to your office and tell you everything I know.”

  Blake laughed. “My face may be ugly, but it ain’t stupid, McGee. I think we’ll do it my way. You come to my office. Tell me what you know. Then we’ll talk about this list of names I’m holding.”

  Ty sighed, dug deep for his most sincere-sounding voice. “You know as well as I do, that I could have called in a favor with one of my Longdale buddies. Just because I’m not a cop anymore doesn’t mean I don’t have friends. Why call you if I’m trying to hide something? I’m just trying to figure out if this is even a lead worth looking into. You’ve known me since kindergarten, Blake. Trust me.”

  Two hours later, Ty had already crossed off two of the four names Blake had given him. Trust me. Famous last words. Blake was going to kick his ass, but with every minute that ticked by, he was closer to getting the asshole who’d killed Tara. Call it instinct, but he could feel it. Jordan’s dream had whittled his suspect list down to four kids.

  The first suspect had been on a graduation trip in Florida with six other kids during the time of Tara’s murder. That’s what he had learned from the kid’s mom.

  The second guy had joined the military. He’d left for basic training three days before Tara’s death. Of all the alibis in the world, basic training was a pretty solid one.

  If Jordan’s information proved correct, two suspects were left. Only one had a white car. The other a white pick-up.

  Not that he had a clue how a dream worked, but he was going with his gut. His gut told him that Jordan had some sort of gift that scared the shit out of him. On top of it, she was a cop with a trained eye. She’d likely gut him if he doubted her ability to tell the difference between a car and a pick-up. He hadn’t eliminated the kid with a pick-up, but it’s not where his instincts had taken him next.

  He pulled down a grassy lane, stopped in front of a tall, skinny two-story that nearly had its first level swallowed by the bushes and overgrowth. Ty walked to the door, raised his hand to knock, then dropped it back to his side. His entire being felt crushed under the weight of something he couldn’t see, couldn’t touch, and had no fucking clue how to fight against. But he needed to get his shit together because he really believed he was closer now than he’d ever been to getting justice for Tara.

  He combed his fingers back through his hair taking a minute to organize his exhausted mind. Flipping open the borrowed yearbook, he looked down at the kid who smiled just like every other high school senior on the page. Arron Thomas.

  But if the information Jordan gave him was correct, this kid was likely Tara’s murderer.

  He looked at the flaking paint on the house, briefly wondered what kind of life Arron Thomas had lived. Then wondered if Arron would live to see another day if he happened to be unfortunate enough to open the door.

  Ty raised his hand again, but before he could knock, the door swung open.

  “Yeah?” An older, stocky man looked up. “Can I help you?”

  “Tyler McGee, sir. I’m from the Longdale PD. I need to speak with Arron Thomas.”

  The older guy sighed. “What now?” he asked, waving Ty in.

  He stepped inside and looked around. Place seemed nice enough. But what was a house that raised a murderer supposed to look like?

  “Linda, come here, honey,” the older guy said.

  Ty turned when a woman walked in from another room. Her lips drew together, her face rigid.

  “This is an officer from Longdale. He’s looking for Arron.”

  By the look on her face, chances were good Arron had been in trouble before. Ty extended his hand. “Hi, ma’am. Are you Arron’s mom?”

  “Yes. And this is his grandpa. What’s happened?” she asked. “Is he okay?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’s fine. Nothing’s happened. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I’m following up on an old case from months ago. There was a graduation party, some property damage, the owners are angry. That sort of thing. We’re talking to some kids that were at the party, double checking that nobody saw anything.” Ty put on his most charming grin. “Is Arron home? May I speak with him?”

  She paled and stood silent for a long moment before she answered. “Arron doesn’t live here anymore. He’s got his own place.”

  “Oh, okay.” Ty glanced at Arron’s grandpa then back at his mom. “This is the address his vehicle is registered to. Is he away at school?”

  The woman sighed and she shook her head. “He should be, but no, he’s not in college. Apparently flipping burgers at The Burger Shack offered a better future than a football scholarship to Lincoln U.”

  The real answer was always in the tone, the eyes, the body language—disappointment was written all over Arron’s mom. Ty decided he wasn’t the only one looking for answers.

  “One minute he was dreaming of playing in the NFL, the next...” she shrugged, never took her eyes off of Ty. “After graduation, it was like someone flipped a switch in him. I tried to get answers, but he got angry and moved out.” Her eyes flooded with emotion. “This isn’t about property damage is it? What really happened at that party?”

  Ty swallowed, drew in a steadying breath. “I honestly don’t know. But if you tell me where he is, you have my word I’ll find out.”

  ***

  As soon as the waitress pointed to the back corner booth of The Burger Shack, a dirty-haired kid smoking a cigarette looked up. The kid’s eyes did a double take. He dropped the cigarette and straightened in the booth. The air thinned and became much too toxic to breathe. A laser of awareness fused one deadly gaze to the other.

  Officer Blake was on the way. Ty had held true to his word and called him. An arrest would never stick in court if made by the victim’s brother. But as he looked at the punk who’d killed Tara, he wondered if an arrest was enough?

  He’d promised his family justice. After what Tara had been through, handcuffs and bail felt damn short of justice.

  Ty rooted himself to the spot, terrified one step forward would snap his control. Envisioning killing another human just for the sake of needing to see them die wasn’t something a cop should do. Clinging to that thin little thread of reason, he pushed the image of Tara’s body out of his mind and told himself he needed to—no, had to—wait for Blake.

  But the kid had the actual balls to spring from t
he booth, jack-rabbit over the counter, and fly through the back door of the diner.

  “You little fuck,” Ty yelled, trailing closely behind. He could have pulled his gun, could have issued a formal warning to freeze and drop as any cop would have. But in that moment, he knew he hadn’t come to the diner as a cop. He’d come as a brother. One that needed to sense some sort of remorse from a guy who’d raped and killed his sister.

  The kid flew down the alleyway behind The Burger Shack. For a football player, he wasn’t nearly fast enough. Ty was gaining with lightning speed and actually eased off some because if he caught the kid... fuck... if he caught the kid, things were going to get very ugly for both of them.

  The little shit rounded a corner at a cross street. And like a mouse who’d dead-ended in maze, he stopped and turned frantically when a tall fence blocked his path. His eyes met Ty’s again. His breath was wild and heaving. There may have been sweat, but Ty decided most of the wetness running down the kid’s face was tears.

  Without much enthusiasm this time, the kid attempted to lunge and run again.

  Ty grabbed him, took him down, and pinned the bastard’s head against the pavement. He flipped the kid over, straddled his body, and slid his fingers around the kid’s neck.

  The moment of truth rained down, a rush of blood thrummed in Ty’s eardrums and beat wildly against his skull. His heart squeezed to bursting, crushed under the weight of a war he could never win.

  “I’m sorry,” the kid sobbed. “So fucking sorry. I was scared and high. I couldn’t think. I never wanted to kill her.” He looked up at Ty and his body collapsed, as if he accepted, almost welcomed, his fate. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispered.

  Ty squeezed his eyes trying to clear his tears and avoid the voices echoing in his head. It would be so easy. His hands shook against the sweat-slicked neck of a murderer. Ironically, the bastard’s heartbeat pulsed against the pad of his finger. Had the murdering little fuck felt Tara’s heartbeat in the same way? Tara deserved justice, deserved this. His parents deserved this. He fucking deserved this. What kind of brother ended up here and didn’t have the balls to finish it?

  A brother I worshipped my whole life because of his goodness and strength. A brother who’d never devastate an already broken family with another tragedy.

  “Tara?” Ty cried.

  His breath roared in and out. He dropped his head and pulled his fingers away from the kid’s throat but kept his shoulders pinned against the ground. “You little fuck. You have no idea, just no idea what you’ve done to my family.”

  “Freeze. Hands in the air. Both of you.” Blake’s voice echoed off the building behind them.

  Ty heard it, but couldn’t move.

  “Come on, McGee. Get off him. I’ve got it from here, buddy.”

  Ty slid off of the kid’s body. A quick end would have been too easy for the little prick, anyway. He fell back against the cool pavement and stayed there. Minutes later, he struggled to a sit and vaguely took in the scene carrying on around him. The arrest, Blake shouting orders, a couple other cops hauling the kid away.

  Finally, Blake squatted next to him, put a hand on his shoulder. “You did good. I know what you’re thinking, but the person who would have suffered the most if you’d killed him would have been you.”

  For the most part, Ty had managed to come back into his body and bring down the rage to a bearable level. Actually, bearable was a bit optimistic, but he felt himself begin to function more normally. He looked at Blake and shook his head. “I was trying to figure out the fair thing to do. But nothing will ever make it fair. My sister’s gone, and he’s still breathing.”

  Blake stood and held out his hand to help Ty up. “He may still be breathing, but for years and years and years he’s going to do it behind bars. And he’s got that young, skinny, fresh meat look about him.” Blake turned to Ty and winked. “Trust me, McGee, you did the right thing.”

  They started back toward the restaurant’s parking lot. “I’ve got to bring you in, you know. Let you explain how I figured all this out, then we need to make sure it sticks in court.” Blake glanced at him again. “But you look like shit. You want me to call an ambulance? You could develop some sudden chest pain. It’ll buy you some time to get your head on straight.”

  Ty let a defeated chuckle escape. “Thanks but getting my head on straight is going to take a lot more than a bogus trip to the ER.” The sooner he could get this over with, the sooner he could get to the only person he wanted to see. He owed her a thank you, an apology, and probably a substantial amount of groveling too. If he stood any chance of ever having his life straight again, it would only be after he fixed things with Jordan.

  Chapter 21

  Jordan despised drugs. She was even wary of the kind doctors prescribed. But a nerve pill wasn’t sounding half-bad at the moment. Today was delivery day at Buck’s. With any luck, Warren and Arlo would be sharing a cell by tonight.

  She turned on the TV, turned it off again. Opened a magazine, flipped it shut. Made lunch, fed it to Bahan’s cat. Lay down, got back up. Her mind was in overdrive, and she couldn’t explain it.

  Who was she trying to kid? Of course she could explain it.

  In the last few weeks she’d been beaten, had failed to close an undercover case for the first time in her career, and had lost the man she...loved. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but she didn’t think the unrelenting ache would hurt quite so badly if she hadn’t really loved him.

  All that was probably enough to make a person edgy. But that wasn’t it. Her mind was in Titus.

  Determined to put some space between herself and Ty, she’d stubbornly stayed in St. Louis when Bahan left this morning. She’d regretted every moment since. She needed to be in Titus. What if something happened to Ty? She’d refused every one of his phone calls over the last several days, and now the terror of never hearing his voice again was about to bring her to her knees.

  But their relationship had ended. When a relationship went wrong, weren’t you supposed to walk away and not look back? Guess she hadn’t made it to that point because she’d done nothing but look back and think of him.

  She could still see Ty’s expression when she’d given him the details of his sister’s murder. The dark skepticism in his eyes, the sharp blade of anger thinning his lips—like the information didn’t quite compute, but he’d decided to kill the messenger all the same.

  Her body was at war with itself. She couldn’t sit still, but barely had the strength to cross the room. She had no desire to work, but resented the hell out of the fact she was sitting on Bahan’s couch, completely useless. And the one talent she’d honed to complete perfection—shutting off emotions—had been in epic fail mode since the night she’d left Ty. The beating Warren Buck had given her was nothing compared to the damage Ty had left.

  She was losing it. Seriously losing it.

  The seconds crawled like minutes, minutes like hours. She didn’t know if it was the need for sleep so much as her brain shorting out that made her finally drift off on the sofa.

  When Bahan came home, she heard the door open and sprang up. “You didn’t call me.”

  “I did call you. Where’s your phone?”

  She felt up and down her hips. “Oh, I don’t have pockets in these pants. I must have laid it down somewhere. What happened? You’re back early.” Now she was awake enough to see his frustration as he flopped down in a chair.

  “Not a damned thing. Buck had a ton of booze and food delivered. We had McGee wired the whole time. He was in the middle of all of it—hauling boxes, working with the delivery guys, filling out paperwork. We ID’d every delivery truck that came near. One junker pulled in, and two sleazy looking guys hopped out. The plates were stolen, and we knew it was something illegal, but it turned out to be fifteen cases of moonshine—no drugs. I was so pissed.”

  “Is Ty okay?” she asked quietly.

  Bahan rubbed at his eyes. “Well, he wasn’t happy. None of us were, b
ut yeah, he’s okay.”

  “So what now?”

  “I don’t know. I told McGee to just keep on working until we make a decision.”

  She squeezed her eyes tight. “Ty’s going to stay there?” She thought it would be over today. Why couldn’t it have been over today?

  “He’ll be fine, Jordan.” Bahan moved next to her on the couch, slung an arm around her shoulders. “We’ve got him wired, and good people are keeping an eye on him.”

  His head fell back against the cushion. “It was frustrating as shit, though, thinking that every truck pulling into the lot was the one. I tied up over twenty guys between the FBI, DEA, and police. For moonshine. The asshole probably wouldn’t even get a slap on the wrist for fucking moonshine,” he added. “Screw it. We’re having alcohol and pizza.”

  The very thought of food made her want to heave, much less images of the greasy pizza from Bahan’s favorite hole in the wall.

  “Don’t look at me like you’re going to bail. I’m in a foul mood, and you owe me at least one night of food and drinks. I’ll have it delivered.” He sulked off to his room to take a shower.

  “Why not?” she said to the empty room. It wasn’t like she was going to rest peacefully tonight anyway.

  The pizza and alcohol didn’t end up calming her nerves. She broke a glass, knocked the pizza box on the floor, and damn near killed Bahan’s cat when she tripped over it.

  She decided to go to bed before she really hurt someone. At least the amount of damage she could do in the spare bedroom would be minimal. After flipping through the same magazine over and over and not comprehending a single word, she turned out the light.

  ***

  Cool fingers gripped Jordan’s arm. She turned her head and saw Tara in a halo of light. Why wouldn’t this girl go away? Jordan had done all that she could. Enough that it had cost her Ty.