Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(5)

When I’m almost up to the home of Redemption's Police Department, I take my foot off the gas and hesitate for a second.

Not gonna lie, part of me wonders if this kid is being truthful or if he’s just good at pulling the wool over people’s eyes. Then again, he wouldn’t be the first person with good intentions to get sucked into a world so f*cked up you can’t quit.

I drift into the lot and find a spot to park. I cut the engine and, despite the fact that I have zero investments in this kid other than the money I'm about to make off turning him over, I stretch around to face my backseat compadre. “You seem like a nice kid, Don. For the record, I don’t see you as the physically harmful type.”

“I’m not.” He's hopeful when he says it. Like maybe I’m about to let him go but then he spots someone off in the distance and his voice becomes tired. “Not anymore.”

Lo and behold, three of Redemption’s finest are walking out to greet us. Which is odd. So I step out of the car and help Donnie out of the back seat. Before either one of us can say anything else, the welcoming committee is upon us.

“Hey, Stiles. Thanks for bringing this one in.” Hank Riley waves as they approach us. He’s one of those cops with too much ego and not enough common sense. And he’s smiling a tad too wide for my taste this evening. Morning. Either or. “We’ll take him from here.”

When he reaches for the kid, I stop him with a hand to his chest. It’s kinda like pushing against a huge, police-uniformed Peep. The guy is far too overweight, which makes him slow. Too slow for this job, if you ask me. Which is why he’s been glossed over for promotions for the past half a decade.

The guy thinks he’s got nothing new to learn. Hence, the ego.

His bushy brow pulls together, but I don’t hand anyone over until I’m paid. Rule number one.

“I’ll take him in, Hank. I have paperwork to sign anyway.”

And money to collect.

Rule number two. Don’t forget to sign the paperwork.

When the overweight long-timer blocks my path, a thin line forms across his lips. “Captain said no need, tonight.” He plants an envelope against my chest that I assume is full of cash. I check it, anyway.

Rule number three, always, always, always, count the money.

While I’m confirming my paycheck is all there, I can’t help but wonder why Captain on-my-ass-all-the-time wouldn’t want me to sign the paperwork. I always sign the paperwork. There hasn’t been one time that I’ve taken a case for the RPD when I haven’t signed the goddamn paperwork, for Christ’s sake.

Would it be nice to skip it and go home? Yes. I haven’t had a decent night's sleep in a long ass while. However, am I planning on throwing my rules out the window right now for a few extra winks?

I don’t f*cking think so.

“Bullshit. I’m signing the paperwork, Riley.”

I push him aside with everything I’ve got. And trust me, you need a lot to push that monstrosity out of the way. Good thing I work out. Sometimes. Then I take the kid by the arm and lead him into the building with the three stooges following close behind. This would make for a much more dramatic moment if the kid wasn’t dragging his f*cking feet the way a dog might fight against its owner when being forced into taking bath.

Inside, I’m ready to pound through security and make my way to delivering Leary into the Captain’s hands personally, but I’m stopped short by… no one.

“Okay.” I’m about to ring the hell out of the I-need-some-goddamn-assistance bell when a skinny little f*cker comes running around the corner of the nearby hallway like he’s Roger Rabbit running from the law itself. He’s got a fist full of something crumpled in his hands, and when he gets to me, he grabs the counter for balance to hold himself up.

“Captain,” he huffs a few times, out of breath. “Wanted me,” he bends over, then holds the papers up for me to take. “Here.”

“The f*ck is this shit?” I read the standard set of drop off papers I generally skim when I hand someone over. When the newbie can finally breathe normally again, he stands up straight and tells me, “Captain had to leave early. He said you can sign those whenever… drop them off tomorrow. At your convenience.”

I chuckle at the joke of the year. “At my convenience?”

He breathes heavy and nods. “That’s what he said.”

I let go of Donnie and he glances down, abruptly. His jaw clenches and he swallows hard. I can just about see the thoughts running through his mind. He knows these guys, or he’s familiar with them, at the very least. And he’s scared shitless.

Possible reasons for his fear start ticking through my brain.

There’s definitely a personal relationship of some kind going on here. Like maybe he hijacked one of their cars, or something along those lines, at some point. Maybe stole some wheels. Or maybe they knew the guy he offed. They might be looking for some payback. That should probably bother me, but been there, done that.

A twitchy little brown-nosing type, whom I’ve never met before, takes a pen from the holder next to the front desk computer and hands it to me.

“We’ll sign for you tonight, if you want.”

Hank agrees. “I’ll sign personally if it’ll make you feel better.” Then smiles in a creepy I want to kill your family kinda way.