Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (6 page)

“That’s right.” Hank and Jim exchange smirks.

“Who’d he leave with?” I take out the notebook and pen I keep on me at all times.

“No idea,” Jim informs me. “Wasn’t there.”

I nod like I believe his load of crap. “Really. You all weren’t curious as to who was taking this vicious murdering piece of shit off your hands you’ve been searching for, what, half a month?”

A scrawny little fucker, who probably doesn’t know a conspiracy theory from the hole in his ass, pipes up, “Not our problem anymore.”

Chris Kingsley has been on the force for about five years now. Thinks he’s tough shit, but I saw him get his ass whooped in the ring by a first year a few months ago down at the gym where all the men in blue hang out. He wasn’t there last night when I dropped Donnie off. The fact that he’s here now with Hank and Jim tells me he knows something, though.

“Yeah,” says another one. I think I know him, but I can’t remember his name. Must not be that important. “And why do you care anyway, Stiles?”

He knows me, though. Duly noted.

“Yeah,” Hank tries to be the comedian. “You got paid. Your job is done. Why don’t you go on home and drink another pint of tequila, buddy? We got this.”

He laughs as do the rest of the asshats congregated here today.

“Kiss my ass, Riley.”

He takes a step toward me, but Jim stops him with a classic hand to the chest move. Like that shit’s supposed to send me a message or something.

“Jackie?”

The annoying, brotherly cry for my attention sends my mojo into a screeching halt
just
as I’m about to take my interrogation in a new direction.

Perfect.

I wait, patiently, for a good enough reason for being here to pop into my mind. There is none. So I guess I’m wingin’ it.

When I turn, I’m met with folded arms and a scowl that could put Ma’s to shame on a good day.

“‘Sup, bro?” I smile. I make nice. It’s my thing.

Nick’s eyebrows couldn’t get any closer if they were performing some kind of kinky mating ritual, but before he questions me, he scans the crowd I’m hangin’ with, slow and deliberate like.

“What’s going on?”

“You know.” I give Jim the old side-eye. “Just shootin’ the shit with the boys. Right, guys?”

I twist my neck around, and Jimbo is already walking away again. Must have a shit-load of calls to return today. The rest of the group straightens up, and they each give a respectful nod to my big brother.

Me? I’m still trying to figure out who done it. The only thing I know for certain is Jim Galley is a lying sack of rotten fucking potatoes.

“You, uh, planning on calling Mom back sometime, Jackie?” Nick tries, in his own sarcastic way, to be covert about his line of questioning. He fails, though, and the boys all snicker to themselves like we’re on the playground and I just got called out by the teacher. Which, basically, I did, but that’s beside the point.

The crowd of Redemption officers spreads out to give us some space. Or maybe to avoid more conversations of the incriminating kind. Who knows. Meanwhile, I swallow down the urge to tell Nick what a prick he is for fucking up what was most likely one of my best performances to date when it comes to questioning jack asses.

“What?” He must have telepathically gotten the message. Or maybe it’s the death stare I’m giving him.  

I shake my head and push him aside. I’m outta here. It’s not that big a deal, anyway. “Stop calling me Jackie.” He knows I hate that shit.

“Well?” He follows me as I head back to the car.

“I’ll call her.” Damn, what is this? Haggle Jackson Day?

“When?”

“What are you, Nick? Her intermediary?”

“Don’t you mean,
inter
mediary?”

I stop. I think. I turn around and face my brother.

“It’s the same fucking thing.”

He gives me that look. The one where he’s about to question me about something I’m not all that keen on talking about. Not now and not with him.

“I’ll call her.” I make a promise I’m gonna have to keep now to distract him. He takes the bait. Kinda.

“Go ahead.” He crosses his arms. What, does he think I’m gonna do it right here?

Look, it’s not that I don’t
want
to call my mother. It’s that I know, once I call her, I’m gonna hear a whole lotta crap about how I haven’t called her back. Then she’s gonna tell me about dinner again. That’ll be followed up by, oh, and Nickie’s going. And
he and Mia can give you a ride, Jackson
.
It won’t be that bad, Jackson.
All of that will lead into,
Oh, Jackson, dear, when are you going to settle down and find someone to bring to dinner?
Frankly, I don’t have time for it.

Dinner
or
dating.

“I will.”

“What are you waiting for?” my brother challenges me. Something I don’t typically pass up on.

“I—”

“Me.” The slightly agitating, mildly sultry voice of Emma Green is heard like an echo meant to kill brain cells. I almost think I’m imagining my way out of this conversation but there she is, not too far away, practically skipping toward us. My brother and I stop short with whatever we were about to get into, captivated by her friendly smile.

Too friendly, if you ask me.

“Green, what are you—”

“Sorry I’m late.” The flirtatious wink she flashes me is damn near welcoming. The knowing smile she gives my brother, even more so.

Is she high?

Doubtful. That’s not her M.O.

I should say something.

Mind your own damn business,
comes to mind. That’s always a party favorite. Or, just a simple
fuck off
would do nicely. As it is, I can’t form a single word for her. I’m too busy getting over the shock and awe of how
pleasant
she sounds. The black skirt and jacket she’s wearing hug her in all the right places. Her long legs. Wrap those fuckers around me any day, woman. And the heels? Don’t even get me started on the heels.

Damn.

What is
wrong
with me?

“And you are?” Nick questions her with authority and curiosity. Mostly curiosity. I can tell he recognizes her; he just doesn’t know from where.

“Emma.” She extends a hand, and he takes it, gently.

“Nice to meet you, Emma.”

“Same, same,” she says. What’s up with the blushing? He’s not
that
charming.
And
he’s married.

“I’m afraid I have to steal Jackson from you…”

“Nick,” he offers. “Nick Stiles. I’m Jackie’s brother.”

“Oh.” Green looks surprised and intrigued all at the same time. Her eyebrows furrow, and I can almost see the inner workings of her brain starting to kick into gear. This would make a great story. Dirty cop helps cheapskate P.I. brother gain new business.

Only, she’d be wrong on both counts. As per usual.

“Something going on here I should know about, Jackie?” he asks me, in that teeth grinding way that only a brother, whose second favorite hobby is to get under your skin, can accomplish.

“Would you
please—
” I stop myself from jumping down his throat about the nickname. I don’t need Green learning anything about me to use as ammunition going forward.

Screw that.

“Nothing’s going on, Nick. We just—”

“Have a date.” The tabloid journalist in her makes stories up for a living so often she apparently doesn’t know when to stop.

“Ha!” I don’t mean to let the laughter slip but that was a good one. I can appreciate humor when I hear it. Even the lame type of humor coming from Emma Green.

Nick thinks I’m crazy, which is nothing new. “At one o’clock in the afternoon?” he challenges back to Green.

“It’s an early dinner.” She clears her throat. “Fourish, actually.”

Nick’s brow pulls together. So does mine.

Me too, bro. Me too.

“We still have to shop for something to wear,” she explains further.

Annnnnd… foul ball!

Nick’s hand parks itself against my torso.

“Shopping?” He points at me. “And you want me to believe he’s taking you to a restaurant?”

“We don’t—” I motion between Green and me to let him off the hook. He needs to know we don’t have shit going on.

“Have time to stand around here and chit chat.” Green beats me to the punch as she slides over to me and hooks an arm through mine. “You promised, and I’m going to have a very difficult time choosing something to wear to Bonefish.”

She pouts, and for a second, I envision her lips against mine.

Then I shake that fuckery right out of my head.

What the hell?

Did she say Bonefish? Because, seriously, I hate seafood. Wait a minute. What the hell am I saying? I’m not taking her out.

Nick belts out a laugh as I try to figure out Green’s play here.  “Good one,” he says. “You almost had me there.”

“No, it’s true,” Green assures him, unwilling to give up the ploy. “He lost a bet.” Her sex kitten smile disarms Nick enough to let her continue. I’m in awe of how quick to the draw she is, and I’m curious now. How far will she take this?

“See, he told me I couldn’t do more tequila shots than him last week at the Bull’s Eye. I assured him I could; he said we should make it interesting. I said okay. Ba-da-bing ba-da-bang, I won, and now he’s buying me an expensive dinner.”

My mouth is open; I feel the tug at my jaw. I also feel a slight sense of being impressed.

She’s good.

She’s very good.

“And champagne,” she adds with a quick glance my way.

Nick’s amusement booms throughout the parking garage. His hand slips away from my chest as he bends over in full-on belly laughter.

While he’s not paying attention to me, I take the opportunity to mouth over to Green,
what the fuck are you doing?

You’re welcome,
she mouths back.

Nick stands and wipes tears from his eyes.

“Oh, bro,” he wheezes with the laughter. “When you make an ass of yourself, you don’t screw around.”

I’m not amused.

With either of these two.

“All right, all right, can I go now,
Mom
?” Granted, I could tell Green she’s a lying sack of shit, Nick to go screw himself, and that I’ll call our mother when I damn well feel like it, but like I said earlier, I’m not in the mood for a debate my love life.

Nick punches me in the arm. “Have a good time.” He waves to Green with further chuckling ensuing. “Great meeting you.”

She smiles. “You too, Nick.”

He points. “Take it easy on my brother tonight, Emma.”

She tilts her head and flashes him an evil grin. “Now, Nick, what’s the fun in that?”

The way she says it has me adjusting my crotch because I can only imagine what Green might find
fun
.

A little bit of that Dom/sub action shit with whips and chains, maybe?

Role playing?

Whoa, boy.

Good thing I don’t fucking scare easily.

Nick’s girly giggles can still be heard even when he’s a good fifty feet away. When I can’t see him anymore, I shove aside my sexual daydream and turn my eyes to Green.

“I’m not even gonna ask what you’re doing here.”

“I was—”

“And, hello, don’t you already have a boyfriend you can go torture somehow?”

“He’s not my—”

“And I take it back. What the fuck are you doing here, Green?”

“What are
you
doing here?” she retorts with a chirpiness that makes me want to punch a wall or push her up against one.

Either or.

“Work. And what the fuck was that anyway?” I wave an arm back toward my brother.

“Um, I’m pretty sure that was me saving you from some sort of family drama.”

I stop short. She was spying on me?

“From what I could tell, that is.”

My arms cross. My eyes zero in on her. “How long have you been following me today, Green?” Because another stalker is all I need. Really.

“I wasn’t. I happened to be covering the death of Donnie Leary. The drug addict who was on TV this morning?”

Drug addict?

“You believe everything you see on TV?”

“Mostly.”

Figures. “Why am I not surprised by that?”

“Are you saying he wasn’t a drug addict?”

This is ridiculous.

“Didn’t know him.”

“Really? Because I was interviewing some bystanders and saw you hanging out with those police officers over there.” She hooks a thumb over her shoulder.