Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(10)

“Our evidence was lost.” Davenport’s stare is cold. It’s not difficult to read between the lines here. When he says lost, he clearly means conveniently.

“Huh.”

“And the transcripts we had where this guy named names.”

His eyes flick over toward my brother and his superior then back to me again. I don’t know if I was supposed to notice that shit or not, but never-the-less, I take a peek toward them. Neither is paying any attention. They’re too lost in their own quiet discussion about what went down this morning. It’s probable that they didn’t even hear what Davenport said.

Time out.

Is he saying what I think he’s f*cking saying?

I, for one, fully understand the urge to start a conspiracy theory, especially when it comes to some of the boys on the force in Redemption, but to insinuate that Nick Stiles had something to do with it?

No f*cking way.

I make eye contact with Davenport again and let him know I’m in disagreement with that craziness. It doesn’t make a lick of sense. Nick was in charge of the case. He suggested Dick hire me. He wanted this guy behind bars more than I did. Plus, he’s way too goodie-two-shoes for that kinda bullshit.

I shrug it off and move on to more questions.

“So what, my testimony is shit now? They know I’m an eyewitness, right? The night I picked him up was─”

“Doesn’t matter, Stiles,” Davenport explains. “Without the other, yeah, basically. Your testimony, most unfortunately, is shit. I mean, you’re not the most reliable source these days.”

I huff, disgusted with the system. “The f*ck did you even ask me to come for, then?”

“Stiles.” A word of warning from the dick himself, but honestly, he doesn’t bother me as much as my brother’s silence. There’s no way I’ll get anything out of him, though.

Not with the state’s attorney and Dick Walker around.

“It was everything combined that was gonna help put this guy away, but you alone?” He makes a face that resembles a cartoon character trying to figure out where his balls are, and I get it.

I f*cking get it.

And I have zero time to waste arguing the topic, so…

“Say no more.” I hold a hand up to him and wave. Sort of. “Gentlemen.” I nod to Nick. “Bro. Since you won’t be needing my services, I’ve gotta see a bail bondsman about a runner.” I back down the hallway a bit then make a run for it. Figuratively speaking, that is. I run for no one unless my paycheck is at risk.

I’ll back Nick into a corner later to see what in the hell all the cryptic BS was about. Maybe he’ll actually tell me.

Probably not.

“Oh, well.” When I get to the elevator it’s already open. As I take the ride back down to the ground floor, despite my attempt to blow off what just happened, everything is too damn loud inside my head.

Besides the fact that yet another Redemption * is getting off scot-free today, I’ve lost gas, time, and not to mention much needed sleep.

As I leave the building and step out into the chilly, overcast day, my stomach grumbles.

And I’m f*cking hungry to boot.

I need breakfast. Fast. And maybe a nap before I go see Tricky Ricky. But when I witness an argument going on, roughly ten feet away, I call for a change in the game plan.

Emma Green stands there, flustered with every ounce of her being, in a heated discussion with none other than her smartphone.

Why am I not surprised?

Her back is toward me so she doesn’t know I’m there as she growls out in frustration.

“No, Siri, call Dad.” Eventually, she gives up on the voice dial feature and begins to frantically type something instead. As she taps away at the buttons, she’s jabbering incoherently, and I think about what my options are here.

Obviously, she’s focused on whatever it is she’s talking about. The intensity in her body language tells me it’s something serious. At least in her world it is.

In reality, she’s probably late for a deadline on some story about a poor schmuck who thought she wanted a quote for honorable reasons as opposed to circulation numbers.

Therefore, the only logical thing for me to do is f*ck with her.

I take a few quiet steps in her direction, and when I’m an arm’s length away, I tap her on the shoulder.

“Whatcha doing there, Green?”

A blur of brown hair smacks me in the face, the iPhone flies through the air, and before I can laugh at the alarmed expression she’s wearing, the woman decks me. Right in the f*cking lip. Like she’s on the set of a Bruce Lee movie or some shit.

“Ow! Fuck!”

I bend over and cover my face in case blood is about to splatter the sidewalk. It doesn’t but I can taste iron which means she broke the f*cking skin.

Damn, she’s got a right hook on her.

Someone explain to me why I find that shit sexy.

I stand up straight again. No way I’m giving her the satisfaction of knowing it hurts like hell. Green’s eyes are wide and horrified. When she sees I’m fine, they turn to relieved and then she realizes it’s me.

Now I’m rewarded with the infamous bitch face.

Nice.

Green backs away, slow like, and wipes her hands against her outfit to regain her composure.

Because I’m the one with cooties here.