Pretty Stolen Dolls (20 page)

Red…blue…red…blue…red…

“Dispatch, Phillips two thirty-one.”

“Go ahead, Phillips two thirty-one.”

“I have a four-eighty. I’m in pursuit of the vehicle, traveling south on Route Nine, requesting eleven forty-one.”

“Copy that, Phillips. Hit and run. You’re in pursuit. You have a victim with severe injuries.”

“Affirmative.”

“Copy that. Ambulance en route.”

Putting my foot down to gas my vehicle, I rub the blood spray from my face as best I can and try not to think about leaving the hit-and-run victim in the middle of the road.

He deserved it.

The truck is too far ahead and fading from view. Then it’s gone. Like it grew wings and flew away. I slow down when I come to the point where I lost him and search the wooded area for a dirt road, but there are only trees—one broken and fallen over. Son of a bitch.

“Dispatch.”

“Go ahead.”

“I lost the vehicle,” I grumble. “Returning to the victim.”

“Copy that.”

My car slows and my head spins. There’s no one here. No truck. No guy.

Oh my God, am I losing my mind?

Sirens blast in the distance, getting closer and closer to my insanity.

My head is fuzzy as I seek answers in the asphalt, my heart pumping twice as fast as it should be.

“Phillips, what do we have?” Jefferson questions as he and Michaels trot over to stand beside me with their hands on their pistols still holstered on their hips. I didn’t call for back up, but it’s not unusual for other officers to respond. The ambulance arrives a few seconds later and I’m still standing there, dumbfounded. “Phillips?”

“I’m not crazy,” I defend.

They glance at each other and then back to me.

“I swear, the truck hit him and he …” My feet stomp the asphalt as my arms gesture to where he hit the ground. “Look,” I bark.
There’s blood. I’m not crazy.

“Maybe he got up and took off.”

“No…no. He was…”
Dead.
A hand comes down on my shoulder and I jump, spinning around and swinging my fist out in front of me.

“Calm your shit, Phillips. It’s adrenaline. I’ve seen a man hit a pillar, get out of the car with a bone hanging out his leg, and sprint up the road. Shock does crazy things to a person.”

They’re walking back to their vehicle.

“We can put out an APB,” Jefferson says. “You get a good look at the vic or suspect?”

“Victim is a white male and bleeding to death,” I deadpan.

I climb back in my car and pull away. They’re both waving their hands in the air and mouthing, “What the fuck?”

They must have passed him if he did get up and drive away. He won’t get far. There’s no way he’s not badly damaged from that hit. Hell, I’m wearing half his blood.

“No, Detective. Nobody of that description.”

I disconnect from the fifth hospital I’ve called. No one has come in or been taken in with the asshole’s description. Maybe he was okay. Maybe he has a high pain tolerance.

He screeched at a little arm scrape.

There’s no way. He’s dead. I just have to find the body.

Grabbing a bite of cold pizza left over from last night, I chew and swallow before gulping down a bottle of water.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

I set the water down with a whispered, “Fuck,” and draw my gun from its holster.

“It’s Dillon, Jade. Don’t fucking shoot me.”

I bite my lip to stop the laugh that wants to erupt from my chest. He knows me so well. Placing my gun on the console table, I unchain the door and swing it open. It hasn’t even been a whole night since I’ve seen him, but it feels like a lifetime. My instincts are to throw myself into his arms, but I stop myself, not clear what the dynamics of this thing between us are.

I don’t have to wait long, though. His worried eyes scan my face and then his heavy boots eat up the space between us, pulling me in to his heady embrace.

I swim in his decadent scent and melt into him like ice on a fire. “I missed you,” I murmur, the words slipping from my tongue before I can stop myself.

“I was out all day. I didn’t have my cell so I didn’t know.” He pulls back and grasps my face in his palms, the pads of his thumbs stroking down the apples of my cheeks. “What happened? You witnessed an accident? What were you doing out there?”

“Some prick followed me from the flea market.”

I grab his hands, but they don’t move.

“Who is he?”

“No one. Just some asshole.” I shrug and tilt my lips up into a defeated smile. I’m exhausted.

“Did he do anything to you?” He penetrates my eyes with his own, seeking and delving beyond the surface. “Jade?” His voice is pained as his hands fall from my face.

I flick my hair over my shoulders and show him the bruising I discovered around my neck earlier.

“Motherfucker. Who was he? I don’t understand,” he says with a growl, his eyes traveling from my neck to my eyes and back again. “Did he hurt you anywhere else?”

“No,” I assure him as I move to close the door. I clutch onto his hand and drag him through to the living space. “I was going to my parents’ and found myself at the flea market.” My gaze flickers over to his, expecting to see annoyance, just like I’d see with Bo each time I’d accidentally find myself there. Dillon doesn’t seem angry, though. He sighs as he sits on my couch, dragging me down to sit on his lap. I curl into him, letting his breathing regulate my own.

“Go on,” he urges.

“I broke a doll and the vendor got pissed at me. He put his hands on me, so I dislocated his thumb.” I shrug and nuzzle into his neck. His chest moves with a jolt and I lift my head to peek at him. A perfect flash of his white teeth greets me. “Are you laughing at me?”

“I’m just happy you can look after yourself.” Pride ripples through him and it makes its way into my heart. “Go on, Wonder Woman.”

Rolling my eyes, I continue my story. “Well, then he followed me. I was too distracted to notice him. He managed to grab me, but I pulled my gun on him. It was then that a truck came from nowhere and slammed into him. I heard the popping of his bones. His blood sprayed my face.” A shudder ripples through me as I remember that last part. “And then he was just gone. Vanished.”

“Maybe the shock from the accident had him driving off…” he trails off and I collapse back against him.
Maybe.

“How was your day?” I question, changing the subject.

“It was great. Jasmine is a firecracker. Just you wait until you meet her, Jade. She’s a take no prisoners kinda gal. A lot like you.” He kisses my head and the joy in his tone is genuine and beautiful.

He wants me to meet his niece. Maybe he doesn’t think I’m crazy. Better yet, maybe he doesn’t care that I am.

B
LURB, BLURB, BLURB
.

Is that all they do in there? Are they supposed to be therapeutic? Because they’re not. I want to flick one to see if that’s just air in its bloated tummy.

“You like the fish?” She’s not in a pantsuit today. Today, she’s wearing a shin-length skirt. Looks like she’s retaining water in her ankles, and she knows it if the shifting of her feet because I’m looking at them are any indication.

I don’t answer her. It’s pointless. She’s clearly a fraud if she can’t determine whether I like her stupid fish or not.

“Tell me more about this man,” she urges. “You said he was bleeding in the road.”

“The world is a crazy place. Sometimes I wonder if I ever even left my cell. Maybe this is all in my head. A weird, taunting dream,” I ponder as she scurries to write on her device.

“This is the first time you’ve mentioned a cell. Can you tell me about what it was like for you in there?”

I run my finger along a pleat in my skirt. “Hot in the summer—like sweat dripping, mind fuzzing heat. And then in the winter months, it was freezing. The pipes used to creak whenever a tap was turned on somewhere in the house.”

“So, it was a house you were kept in.”

Is she trying to trick me? What else would it be?

“They used to sound like wolves howling at the moon. I sometimes used to make up stories that he was a werewolf.” I laugh, lost in thought.

“He?”

Oh God, she really is terrible at her job.

“Times up,” I announce.

And hopefully it will be soon.

I
CHECK THE CLOCK AGAIN
, tapping at the dash to make sure it’s working correctly and then look down at my cell phone.

11:37.

Damn him. When he left me this morning, he said he would meet me at this craft fair at eleven instead of me meeting him at the precinct, so where the hell is he?

“I’ve waited long enough,” I mutter to myself before slipping from my car and making my way over to the bustling fair.

Booth after booth line the huge stretch of green. Finding the stall we looked up on Saturday night is going to be a task.

Stopping by the first booth selling all kinds of different cheeses, I hand them the printout of the booth name and banner they use, and he shakes his head no.

I repeat the process over and over until familiarity flashes in a fabric seller’s eyes.

“He’s set up four booths to the right. Jonny or something,” the seller tells me, scratching at his head like an ape.