Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)

“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.

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