“I’ve got some errands of my own to catch up on,” I tell him. It’s the truth at least. I’m simply leaving a few details out of the equation.
Like the fact that I need to go find out what the fuck a certain Dick wants to see me about, and why he’s being so polite about it. Get certain police officers to admit they offed a minor without cause, and maybe get some closure for a kid who’s out of family because of said police officers offing his brother.
No big.
X X X
A half-hour later, I’m on the side of the road with zero cash in my wallet and a car that’s decided she needs a nap.
“Bullshit.” I should have known better than to try and push the Chevelle’s engine all the way back to my place.
I should have fucking gotten her to a shop, checked her out, then gone to see Walker. But, no, I gotta run her into the fucking ground so she dies on me in the middle of one of the busiest motherfucking intersections in the whole goddamn city.
She slows to a quiet stop. Mainly because the engine just died. I throw her into park and hop out to see if there’s anything even remotely familiar about her insides that will allow me to get her running long enough to find a mechanic.
I’m sure I can figure it out. I mean, I didn’t ace high school and maybe one-fifth of the academy for nothing.
Forty-five minutes later, though, I’m still fighting with the fucking thing. Mainly because, in addition to being smart, I’m a stubborn ass. Or so I’m told. Plus I have the wrong tools.
At least it’s not rush hour.
My hand slips on the wrench when I go to tighten some of the spark plugs.
“Ow. Ffffffuck!”
“What’s up, Stiles? Got a leak in your vocabulary?”
I lift my head a little too quickly when I hear the familiar voice and clunk my head on the hood of the car.
That shit hurts.
“Funny, Green.” The pain rushes from my thumb all the way to my fucking head, and there’s absolutely no way to hide that fact.
I rub it out. “What brings you to this side of the tracks?”
“Touché.” She laughs. “You all right?”
“I will be.” The ache subsides the more I shake it out. “But, seriously. What are you doing here?”
“I said I’d check in later, right?” She looks down at the engine. “I was on my way to your place when I saw you on the side of the road arguing with your car. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing you can help me with this time.”
“Oh, really.” She shoves me out of the way as she leans over where I was just standing.
“What happened?”
I cross my arms and ignore the tight fitting pants that show off her ass. “She died. That’s what happened.”
“Any specific noises when it happened?”
Is she serious right now?
“Noooo.”
She heaves out a heavy sigh and reaches farther into the workings of my car.
“Your alternator might have died,” she announces. “Depending on the car, some won't even click when the battery is dead but will have enough juice to power the accessories. Hand me your wrench.”
She blindly puts a hand out toward me.
I place it in her hand because, hell, what the fuck else am I gonna do? I’m also slightly turned on. Not gonna lie.
“What are you─”
“Just wanna try something before we charge the battery. It might not be necessary, but if it is…” She grunts as she twists something. I lean over her shoulder to see what the fuck she’s doing in there.
“We might also want to try jumping your starter. Sometimes with newer ones, there’s a really small wire that comes off the starter, but on these older models…” She finds something with a loud, “Aha!” then wriggles her way to the back of the engine. The way her hips are moving against my, uh, engine reminds me of how she felt against me last night on the couch.
“We could bridge that and your power stud on the starter if we had to. If the car starts, then it’s probably a wiring issue in your ignition. Try her now.”
I slide into the front seat and give the key a turn.
And hell if the damn car doesn’t start right the fuck up.
Green stands there, wiping her hands and smiling wide.
Me?
I’m blown away right now. And kinda really fucking digging this woman even more so than before she fixed my piece of shit vehicle.
I climb back out and ask her, “What the fuck did you just do?”
She hands me the wrench back and pushes some hair out of her face. When she does it, oil smears across her cheek. It makes her look like she’s getting ready for football season.
I imagine her running at me with that smug-ass look on her face, tackling the shit out of me right now.
And I kind of fucking like that idea.
She’s still, though, when I reach out to wipe the smudge off, and I don’t take my hand away at first. Not until a car blows by us and honks like an idiot.
Mood ruined.
Ass.
“Nothing you could have helped me with.” She still manages to hold onto the smugness when she lets the moment pass. I let her have it. She earned that shit.
I point at the hood after she closes it. “That was-”
“Impressive?” She smirks.
“Surprising. Thanks.”
Green smiles full on. “That’s the second time you’ve thanked me in as many days, Stiles. Might wanna watch it there.”
She’s right.
I’m forming bad habits.
I blame Lana.
I like the way Green blows off the compliment I just gave her but is definitely sporting some red in her cheeks, all of a sudden. Something else I note that I’m kinda fucking fond of.
“It could have been as simple as you being out of gas. But something tells me you’re a little more observant than that.” She wipes her black pantsuit down and stomps her heels against the pavement to get the dirt off of them. She’s completely contradictory—the way she can be so put together but underneath it all she’s a jumble of babbling nerves.
“Wanna grab some late breakfast slash early lunch?” I’ve got a lot to catch her up on. Plus, I’m fucking hungry—a detail I hadn’t noticed until I was standing here with nothing to do but watch Green work on the Chevelle like a pro.
Okay, maybe I wouldn’t mind spending a little more time with the crazy, confusing, and, most of all, tempting Miss Green.
“Uh.” She checks the time on her wrist. “Yeah, why not? I have to talk to you anyway.”
That’s right. “Ditto. Let’s go.”
“Where to?”
“Follow me; I know a place.”
“Why am I not surprised by that?”
“Because I’m fucking awesome?”
“Ha.”
I back away toward the door, and she turns to go back to her Honda. The way her ass sways in that outfit combined with the fact that she knows her way around the Chevelle is enough to convince me, screw Walker. He can wait.
X X X
I take Green to a buffet-style breakfast place Nick and I found years ago. Once upon a time, we used to meet up and chat every so often. Of course, that was before the academy was just a bad memory, and I became another disappointment my father couldn’t stop fucking harping on.
Good times.
I still like the food, though. So every once in a while, I make time to go grab a bite.
This seems like a good time to me.
If it wasn’t for the fact that Green looks like the cat that just swallowed the canary, I’d be a little more psyched about the whole thing. As it is, she’s making my head spin, the way she can’t stop jiggling her keys and fucking with her hair.
Instead of forcing a conversation out of her, I wait quietly. ’Cause I’m a patient motherfucker when I need to be. I let her decide when she’s gonna spill.
Whatever it is.
We’re seated after about a
ten-minute wait.
Still nothing.
Our menus are laid out on the table after we’re lead to a quiet corner. Green studies it, but she’s not really fucking reading it, if you know what I mean.
She still hasn’t stopped fucking with her keys.
I put a hand on top of hers to stop the jitteriness.
When she looks at me, I know it’s time.
“So listen, Stiles, I─”
“Hey there, Jackson.” Queue the damn server, of course. Worst timing ever.
Sheila’s great and all, been here forever, but fuck me.
I could tell her we need a minute, but honest to God, starving here. So I hold my arms out about a foot apart. “Can we get two of those big ass breakfast specials with extra bacon and─”
“No bacon for me.” Green’s still searching but not searching the menu, despite the fact Sheila’s about to bring her the best fucking breakfast she’s ever had.
“Green, every red-blooded American likes bacon.”
“Not this one.” She points to herself.
“How do you not like bacon?”
She lowers the flimsy piece of laminated cardboard and eyes me. “Do you know which part of the pig bacon comes from, Stiles?”
I peek up at Sheila. The side of her mouth is rising into a hesitant smile. It makes her look about ten years younger and like there’s a whole lot more to her than taking orders and schlepping food.
Back to Green, though. “Seriously? Have your fill of pork fried rice which may or may not actually be pork at all, but bacon? That’s where you draw the line?”
She huffs and the frustration she’s been harboring is set free.
“Whatever, I mean, yeah, no, go ahead.” She smiles the fake smile up at Sheila. “Whatever he ordered is fine.”
“What’s up with you?” I can’t take it anymore. Edgy Green is making my teeth hurt.
“People really like you,” she says with a frown.
“That’s disappointing? I’m likeable.” Green’s eyebrow disagrees. So I adjust my statement. “Sometimes.” I wink but she doesn’t smile back.
The back of my neck itches. She’s too serious this morning.
The urge to say something is apparent on her lips, only she’s not saying whatever the fuck it is that’s trying to get out.
Time to hit the reset button.
“How about I go grab us a couple coffees.” I reach for her cup. “Be right back.” But she stops me and grabs it herself.
“I’ll get ’em.” Her voice is pitchy. Nervous. Very non-Green when it’s just the two of us, if you ask me.
“Okay.” I sit back down, and she hurries off, knocking her purse off the back of her chair. I go to pick it up for her, and her phone slides out onto the floor. When I grab it, the screen lights up. There, right in front of my fucking face, is a text she must have just gotten or not seen yet.
Listen, I don’t read people’s texts. It’s not my style, but when I happen to see my name pop up like it did on her phone? Yeah, I’m gonna check that shit out.
I glance over at the coffee set-up and watch Green fumble with the cups before she figures out how it all works. I tap the screen of her phone and read the preview.
Need some Stiles intel. Contact me ASAP.
I set the phone down and think.
The fuck?
Stiles intel?
Like, fucking intel? On me?
The number is local but I don’t recognize it, which bugs the living hell out of me. If someone’s asking for intel, she must have already known they were looking for it. I don’t know who the fuck she’s expecting to want intel on me.
I scratch my eyebrow.
I rub the back of my neck.
I wipe imaginary sweat from my face.
If she was anyone else, I’d wait for her to come back, show her the text, and then give her a piece of my mind for fucking with my head the past week.
I need some fresh air, though. To clear my head and figure out why in the hell Green would be giving someone information about me.
Does it have to do with Donnie’s death?
Stupid fucking question.
I slide her phone back into her purse and watch her for another second over at the coffee stand before I take off. Because I don’t want to deal with stupid shit, I shoot her a text saying I have an appointment to get to.
Which I do. Kinda.
At least, it’s not an entire lie. Unlike everything she’s said and done over the last seven days.
I’ve gotta go see Walker and pretend I didn’t just read an incriminating fucking text off the phone of the woman I might be semi-kinda-sorta falling for. Most of all, I’ve got some goddamn digging to do on a certain brunette who likes to get me riled up in more than just the physical kinda way.
FACING DEMONS
THE REDEMPTION POLICE PRECINCT is located in the belly of the beast. We’re not talking triple-A level of operations, by all means, but it’s not the worst I’ve dealt with over the years, either. Not that I’d admit that to anyone outside of this conversation, mind you.
My brother’s been a part of the team for four years now, and he idolizes Walker. Gets up early every day to make sure he’s clocking overtime for Mia and their boys and doesn’t stop until his last call of the day is taken care of.
He’s been promoted once, awarded team player of the year twice, and so help me God, he still makes less than a school teacher in the suburbs. You’d never guess it, though, with his attitude and do-gooder qualities.
But then, then there’s the rest of the department.
Walker’s assistant, for example. The epitome of ass kissing. A sloth when no one’s looking. All smiles when they are. And don’t get me started on how he’s only into this gig for the notoriety. His face appears in almost every interview Walker has, which proves my point.
But I digress.
Mostly because I have shit to do.
I flip my badge open and rest it on the counter. “Here to see Captain Walker.” I take a look around to see if Jim Galley’s around, just out of curiosity.
Maybe I can interrogate his ass when I’m done with Walker.
Walker’s assistant’s eyes flash from his computer screen, to the badge, to me, then back to his screen.
“He’s busy right now.” He yawns and whether that’s just some special effect he’s cooked up to make a point or he’s trying to show me the ridiculous number of cavities he’s collected over the years; I don’t really give a rat’s ass.
“Yeah, well, he called me.” I flip the ID closed and slip it back into my jacket pocket.
Jim’s nowhere in sight. Must be out killing kids. Poor guy. Rough life.
I wait.
And wait.
And fucking wait.
“Hellooooooo.” I wave a hand in front of the asshat assistant’s face. You’d think I asked the guy to be the first male to give birth to a T-rex for Christ’s sake, the way he avoids answering me.
He leans back in his chair, swivels and arches when he peeks around the corner. Because, you know, he can’t be fucking bothered to get up or anything.
When he’s back in place, hypnotized by the screen in front of him again, he sniffs and scrunches his nose up at me.
“You’ll need to come back later.”
Yeah.
That’s not fucking happening.
“Thanks anyway.” I tap the counter and walk past him.
This, of course, grasps his attention.
“Hey! You can’t go in there.”
“Watch me.”
“But I─”
I swing the door to Walker's office open and make myself comfortable by plopping down into the chair across from him.
“What the hell is this?” He’s not yelling, surprisingly enough. He’s taken aback, yes, but not so much over the fact that I’m here, but that we seemed to have walked in on a very private conversation he’s in the middle of.
“’Sup, Dick.” I kick my feet up onto h
is desk.
“I’ll call you back,” he says into the phone. Jim, maybe? Then he waves his lapdog out of the room.
I smile and wave as he backs away and closes the door. After that, Walker’s stoic façade cracks. His jaw tightens. I smirk to help contain the fact that what I really wanna do right now is reach across the desk and wring his fucking neck.
Basic general instincts rarely steer me wrong.
“Stiles, I’m surprised to see you this soon. Glad to have you, of course, but surprised.”
Now, let’s be real for a second or two here. The guy hasn’t been glad to see me since I used to run around with his daughter back in high school. Said I was a bad influence. Funny thing is, she ended up hanging out with the “cool” crowd one night and landed herself in a Virginia jail cell for drinking and driving plus reckless endangerment for going fifty miles an hour over the speed limit.
Of course, that was all expunged once the powers that be found out who she was.
“What’d you need me for, Walker? You sounded damn chipper in your message. Someone up in the ranks die and leave you their super-secret power ring?”
He scowls over at me.
“That supposed to be a joke, Stiles?”
I jerk a shoulder. “Kinda. So what’s up? Kidnapping? Murder? Bad guys lose their drugs?”
That last one is a subtle test to see how he reacts. So far, he’s doing a bang-up job of giving me exactly what I was expecting.
No eye contact. Random paper fidgeting. Rapid eye movement.
“You sweating?” He’s not, but I can’t pass up the opportunity to add some paranoia into the mix of this visit.
He wipes his head and checks his hand. A scowl on his face, he rubs his hand on his leg and begins to sift through some paperwork that’s probably just a bunch of blank pages, for all I know.
He’s wasting time.
Why is he wasting time?
He’s either stalling, or he’s having second thoughts about why he called me in the first place.
“So you wanna tell me what the fuck you wanted today, or am I supposed to play twenty questions until I figure this shit out on my own?”
’Cause I like guessing games.
Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption Page 21