Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (19 page)

If I’m gonna find Stix, I need to do it before sunrise.

Hell if I know how I’m gonna do it, but I’m gonna fucking do it, and if he’s dead… shit. I don’t wanna think about if he’s dead.

Where’s my goddamn police radio anyway?

“Stiles?”

I rifle through the closet. I know I stashed it in here.

So far, nothing of importance seems to be missing. Aside from the teenage kid, that is.

“Yeah?” I call back to Green from the hallway.

“You gonna fill me in here?”

I head for the bedroom. Files, router, flash drives—all present and accounted for.

“I’m thinking the less you know the better, Green.”
On so many levels.

“Better for who? And what does this stalker girl have to do with any of it?” She damn near sounds offended. The question stops me in my tracks.

“Better for you. And I’m fairly certain she doesn’t have anything to do with anything except that she was probably in the wrong place at the─”

“Wrong time.” As I rummage through the bedroom closet, Green gets quiet for the first time since we got here. I can actually think for a few seconds.

When I’m back in the living room, I see why she stopped with the questions.

“What’s that?” She points to the picture hanging nearby. I don’t have to look to see what she’s talking about. It’s the only thing I have up.

I stuff a Kevlar vest into the bag. Then another, just in case.

“That’s what some people call a drawing, Green.” I’m slightly over-simplifying things, I admit. What does she care, anyway?

“I know what it
is
, Stiles.” She shakes her head at me. “I mean where did you get it?”

I slow my pace a little, but I don’t stop. And I don’t look at her.

“My brother drew it.”

“Nick draws?” She assumes I’m talking about the brother who’s still alive.

“No.”

Clearly, she feels shitty for even saying it.

“Oh. I’m─”

I put a stop to the guilt-fest before she can start with that shit again.

“Listen. You’re gonna have to stop apologizing for shit you had nothing to do with. He was here, he was fucking talented as shit, and now he’s gone.”

“And you somehow blame yourself.” She finds my glare.

“I didn’t say that,” I tell her, even though I was probably thinking it.

Okay, definitely thinking it.

“You didn’t have to.” She steps closer, and I’m not one to back away. So, now she’s right up in my personal space.

“Jackson, I─”

“Green. No offense, but I’ve had enough psychotherapy for one week, and we really don’t have the time, so…”

One side of her mouth turns up. “We?”

It’s a spur of the moment decision, really. I don’t know why I’m making it my responsibility to keep her from getting herself into trouble she won’t be able to get herself out of, but it is what it fucking is, folks.

“Can’t let you go running inaccurate stories all over the place again, now, can I?” I wonder where she got that scar from. The one above her eye. It’s barely noticeable. Part of me wants to reach out and trace it. Ask her about it, maybe.

My hand remains still despite my curiosity.

Boyfriend.

It’s none of my fucking business anyway.

“I have an idea, actually. It might help,” she tells me, and there’s a gleam in her eyes. It makes her look even more beautiful than she already is.

Beautiful?

I shove the thought aside. All that matters is the fucking kid at the moment, and maybe not getting killed.

“Fine.” Since I’m out of leads, I’ll take whatever I can get at this point. “But you can’t run this before I say so.”

“Of course.” She agrees with a twisted smile.

“And absolutely no fucking talking to the police until I know—”

“We.”

“Until
we
know who’s involved.”

“Gotcha.”

“Maybe even not after that.”

“I have to—”

“And I swear to God if you tell the live-in boy thing, it’s off. That’s the deal, Green. We all want to live long and happy lives, right?”

Or at least not looking over our shoulder for the remainder of them.

“Okay.” She nods.

I wait for any sign that she might be taking me for a ride here. Interesting enough, I’ve got nothing. She’s seemingly on the up and up, more and more, recently.

“Okay then. Lead the way.”

A huge, mischievous grin plasters itself across her face as she reaches into her purse. I stop her there.

“I drive this time.”

“What? Why?”

“Frankly, Green, your driving scares me.”

“For your information, I’m a very safe driver,” she insists with a hand on her hip.

“Precisely why it scares me.”

I grab my keys, throw the bag I just stuffed over my shoulder, and we head out. Before I close the door, I turn to Frodo, who’s licking himself after gorging on his fucking food.

“Thanks for nothing, by the way.”

He meows.

“Stay.”

Downstairs, the cops are wrapping things up, the ambulance is gone, and Jim Galley is nowhere in sight. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.

Green follows me to the Chevelle, and I do one last sweep over the parking lot to make sure no one’s lurking, waiting to follow us. I silently make a note to myself to pay my respects to Lilah’s parents.

They were good people. So was she. They didn’t deserve this.

“Where are we going?” I ask her as we pull out onto the road.

“My office.”

I hit the brakes. “Come again?”

“It’s not what you think,” she promises. “I know a guy who might be able to help us.”

“Couldn’t you have just called him?”

“Well,” she sings. “He doesn’t have a cell phone.”

I press the gas pedal again. “Landline?”

“Doesn’t trust them.”

I huff out a chuckle. “My kinda guy.”

She laughs. “So, why don’t you want the police to know about this kid?” She wastes no time getting back to the topic at hand.

“Like I said, Green. I don’t think Donnie was killed by a gang member.” I reluctantly give her some of what I know. The last thing I need is for her to run something half-assed about Donnie, and how there’s someone out there on the streets with ties to him.

“I got that, but what I don’t understand is─”

“I need you to tell me something.”

“Anything,” she promises.

It sounds real.

“The day we ran into each other on the elevator, at the courthouse.”

“Right.”

“You mentioned seeing me the night before.”

“I was interviewing Richard.”

The fuck? “Walker?”

“Yeah, he owed me a quote. Why?”

“You’re on a first name basis with the guy?” Not a good sign, my friends.

Green’s brow furrows. “He insisted.” She acts like it’s the norm, which tells me she deals with him fairly often.

She offers nothing else on the matter.

Was that rehearsed? Just in case?

The conflict going on inside my head is enough to make me want to stick an ice pick in there to settle it down.

“Stiles? Why’d you want to know about that night?”

“I was hired to nab a fugitive. Turned out to be Donnie. That was the night I dropped him off.”

I glance over at her. She’s intently waiting.

“And I think there’s a possibility some of the cops I left him with might have killed him.” I take a breath. “I think they might be out to hurt the kid too. That’s if they find out he’s still around.”

“He
is
related then.”

“He’s more than related. He’s Donnie’s brother.”

Go big or go home.

Right?

“Wouldn’t they already know about him?”

“Not if he hasn’t been on the books from the get-go, but there was a cop asking questions at Donnie’s funeral. On top of that, I think I was being tailed yesterday.”

Green sits facing forward. Her eyes glued to the road as she thinks this over.

“Wow.”

“I know.”

She nods. Like she’s come to a decision about something.

If that be the case, I fucking desperately wanna know what it is.

“What?”

She looks over at me. “You’re a good guy.”

“That’s debatable.”

“No, I mean it. You’re not what I thought you were at all.”

“Which is?”

“It’s not important.” She drops it, and I’m still fucking curious, but I let it go for now. “I won’t run anything, Jackson. I promise. Not until we get to the bottom of this thing.”

There’s no hair tucking when she says it. No nervous tapping of fingers or toes. Her eyes are unwavering.

I believe her.

“Okay.”

The conversation gets tabled for the time being, and we drive the rest of the way to her office in silence.

A HACKER’S GUIDE TO TRACKING TEENS

“SO THIS GUY.” I open the door to
The Chronicle
office building for her.

“Uh huh.”

“You want me to explain things to him, or—”

“Oh, no, he, um, doesn’t really like people much.”

“Awesome. And how is it you were planning on getting his help exactly?” I push the button for the elevator. It’s already there waiting for us.

“I have my ways, Stiles. All women do.”

I chuckle.
Good one.

“You don’t believe me?” She raises an eyebrow.

“I believe that
you
believe you.”

She takes what I say as a dare and takes me up on it.

She moves toward me with a few steps that look like she’s got an agenda.

She does.

Me.

When Green is about as close as she can get without actually touching me, she reaches a finger out to push a button on the elevator wall. She leans in as the doors close, nudging a knee between my legs while she gives me her full attention with eyes that fucking smolder, and licks her seductive lips.

For a minute there, I’m convinced she’s gonna make a move. Something that I’ve only seen, to date that is, in the movies.

Not that I haven’t considered it once or twice.

I’m not gonna lie. The knee against my dick is a smooth move. Not too aggressive, not too passive.

“That’s the second time tonight you’ve put your body a little too close to mine, Green.”

“Too close?” she asks innocently. Almost naïve. It makes me wonder if she’s a good liar after all. But then she backs away with a teasing grin. I notice the side eyeing, though.

“You can stop eying my dick, Green. It’s not gonna bite you. Much.”

She lets out a nervous kinda laugh. “I wasn’t staring at your dick. You have something on your crotch. It’s virtually impossible not to stare at it.”

I look down, then over at her. “Good one.”

She snorts. “You’re not even my type, Stiles. Sorry.” She says it with what I have to assume is supposed to be some kind of a blow off attitude and a slight wave of her hand.

Still avoiding eye contact, however.

“I’m everybody’s type.” I laugh because I’m nobody’s type, which, inevitably is everybody’s type.

Jesus, this elevator is slow.

“Not mine,” she insists. The smartphone is her friend. It distracts her from having to confront me. But not for long.

“Really.”

“Yes. Really.”

Oh, it’s on.

We’ll call this scenario
payback
.

“So if I backed you into a corner, for example.” I do it. Not unlike the way she just pinned me, only slightly more, you know,
engaged
. She looks surprised and nearly trips over her own feet until she finds one of the elevator walls to use for support.

The smartphone? Forgotten.

“And trapped you there.” I put my arms up on each side of her so she can’t escape me. I don’t need a fucking wall of buttons to use as an excuse either.

I lean into one ear and breathe in the perfume she used today. Or maybe it’s lotion. I don’t know. Either way, I nuzzle my nose into her neck to get a better whiff, fully forgetting about the fact that she’s taken. My lips are close to her skin. So close I can see the goosebumps as they form.

She shivers and it does things to me I wouldn’t have expected.

I lower my voice. It’s not purposeful. I’m suddenly more into this than I originally thought, is all. “And I muttered dirty, dirty things into your ear.” A few choice words cross my mind.

Take your clothes off.

Take
my
clothes off.

Let me touch you.

She tries to keep her stare hardened, but I’m attuned to her reactions.

The way she swallows down the nerves. How she takes a shaky breath. Nothing compares to the way her legs rub up against each other or how her chest heaves up against me as I wait for her to say something.

I mentioned I’m an excellent reader of body language, right?

I whisper next to her ear. “Would I still not be your type?” I can’t help wonder. “Or maybe you prefer a polo shirt and khakis.”

I pull back to look her in the eyes. They’ll tell me everything I want to know. Every damn time.

She fucking hates khakis.

When Green peers into my eyes, I see it. The want. The need. The incredible amount of self-restraint she has that keeps her from acting on her instincts in this cramped ass space.

I should feel victorious right now. Like I just taught the vixen a lesson on how not to use sex as a weapon on men she barely knows. I should leave her high and dry and be done with it.

The only problem is, I feel it too.

The urge to put my mouth on hers. Let our tongues touch. To take that fucking jacket off her so I can slide a hand up under her blouse and feel the heat of her skin.

Her brow dips quickly, then resumes position. Like she’s confused as to why I’ve stopped.

Why have I stopped?

“You—”

The doors open and an exhausted-looking woman gets on with us as she yawns. Green pushes me off her and composes herself. Or tries to. The woman gives me a look, and I wink at her, insinuating she’s next in line if she’s interested. It deters the staring, and at the next floor, Green nudges me to let me know we’re where we need to be.

She steps out first and rubs at the back of her neck.

“Tense?” I don’t get to do much harassing. Green slows to a halt and smacks me in the arm.

“Shut up, Stiles. This is him.” She points to a door not two feet away, and she knocks before she walks in.

“Hey, Ken.” She takes a deep breath and it’s shaky when she lets it out.

Not her type. Bullshit.

The man behind the desk swings his chair around. “Hey, if it isn’t my favorite reporter. What’s up, Em?”

Em?

He can’t get a
little
more creative than that?

And P.S., I’m pretty sure she was fucking with me when she described him. There’s no hard ass demeanor in this guy. No flirtatious banter from Green. And definitely no sign of the cunning hacker office I might have been expecting to see. Just a slightly overweight junk food junkie with too many toys in reference to superheroes for an adult to have.

They laugh at each other's stupid jokes for a few minutes before getting down to business. As that happens, I step into Ken’s view from the other side of his three gigantic monitors. That’s when his expression turns serious.

“Who’s this?”

“Ken, this is my friend Jackson Stiles. He’s a private detective in the area.”

He sits up straighter than before and adjusts his bobble head Superman he just knocked with his elbow. No smiles for me, I guess, but I try and make this friendly with a nod.

“Sup.”

As friendly as I fucking can, that is.

He types a few things into the keyboard sitting in front of him, then another something into one sitting to his left. Both screens go black.

He never does answer me.

“Ken,” Green continues. “We’re looking for someone.”

“And?”

He folds some papers up and pushes them into his desk drawer.

How fucking paranoid can you be?

Seriously.

“And…” Green looks frustrated. “Hold on.” She turns to me and kind of escorts me out of the office into the sea of cubicles that fill the floor.

“What?” I didn’t do shit. I swear.

“I think you make him nervous.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly have to tell him I’m a private eye. I mean, come on.”

“Why don’t you wait out here while I talk to him?”

I laugh. “I don’t fucking think so.”

“He won’t talk if you’re in there.”

“Then we move on.”

She stops with the whisper-screaming when someone walks by. Green smiles. I’m not that fucking polite, though. Once they’re out of earshot, she starts in on me again.

“Stiles. This is your best bet right now. I promise.”

“You don’t know that.” I’m done whispering.

“Yeah, I pretty much do.”

We could do this shit all night. But because I’m a high-road kinda guy, I digress. Plus, I really don’t see winning this one. She’s ornery, that one.

“Fine,” I tell her, setting my watch. “You’ve got a hundred and twenty seconds. Then I’m outta here.”

“Two minutes, gotcha.” She disappears back into the office and closes the door. I hear them talking, laughing, getting angry, but I can’t make out what the fuck they’re saying. When Green emerges, she’s got a grimace spread across her face. I’m guessing that means she got nowhere. Which also means I was right, and now we can move the fuck on.

No harm, no foul.

She’s quiet on the way downstairs, giving me time to think. One might assume I put that time to good use. One might be wrong. Mostly because I can’t stop envisioning her against the elevator wall earlier and how easy it felt.

Natural.

Jesus. Shake it off.

Her cell phone buzzes.  She checks it, types something back, and slips it away like I wasn’t gonna notice.

“Connor worried about you playing this late at night?”

She huffs and shakes her head at me. “Just checking in.”

“If you’ve gotta get home, I can—”

“Nope, all good.” She smiles but doesn’t look at me.

Did she just lie to her boyfriend about where she is? And if she did, good for her.

“Hey, you can—”

“I’m starving. Can we grab something?”

Um. “To eat? Green, we’ve gotta find this kid.”

I know, I know. I’m one to talk about staying on point.

“Stiles, I have low blood sugar.”

“And?” I know.

I regret asking as soon as it’s out there.

“Which means if I don’t eat, I’m going to pass out, and if I pass out, you’re going to have to take me to the hospital, which is undoubtedly going to bring your search to a halt for the rest of the night.”

“You think—”

“Because when they
do
release me, and sometimes that’s not until the next day, you’re going to have to be there to drive me home because I don’t have any way to get there since
you drove
.”

“Okay.” Christ. Welcome to crazy town. Did she even breathe during that whole thing there?

She’s got a slight point, though. Maybe food will help clarify my thought process. Get it off her and back onto the task at hand. But we’re gonna need to be quick about it.

“Where to?”

She gives me some directions, and I’m thinking she’s got some pretty fucking picky eating habits. By the time we’re close, we’ve passed about five fast food joints that were perfectly good eating options, but noooo. She has to get something from this specific Chinese food joint, specifically located in the most unspecific location I’ve never fucking heard of in my life.

Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes later, after she’s texted about ten times with some super-secret person on the other end of the cyber-verse,
probably Connor—the douche,
she turns her phone off altogether. I’m finally fed the fuck up with her vagueness. I pull over and put the Chevelle into park.

“I’m not doing this shit any more, Green.”

“Stiles.”

“Either you pick a goddamn place on this street—”

“
Stiles
.”

“Or I’m turning us the fuck around, and you can starve yourself stupid sitting right outside the closest walk-in clinic for the next three days for all I fucking care.”

“STILES.”