Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(53)

If I’m gonna find Stix, I need to do it before sunrise.

Hell if I know how I’m gonna do it, but I’m gonna f*cking do it, and if he’s dead… shit. I don’t wanna think about if he’s dead.

Where’s my goddamn police radio anyway?

“Stiles?”

I rifle through the closet. I know I stashed it in here.

So far, nothing of importance seems to be missing. Aside from the teenage kid, that is.

“Yeah?” I call back to Green from the hallway.

“You gonna fill me in here?”

I head for the bedroom. Files, router, flash drives—all present and accounted for.

“I’m thinking the less you know the better, Green.” On so many levels.

“Better for who? And what does this stalker girl have to do with any of it?” She damn near sounds offended. The question stops me in my tracks.

“Better for you. And I’m fairly certain she doesn’t have anything to do with anything except that she was probably in the wrong place at the─”

“Wrong time.” As I rummage through the bedroom closet, Green gets quiet for the first time since we got here. I can actually think for a few seconds.

When I’m back in the living room, I see why she stopped with the questions.

“What’s that?” She points to the picture hanging nearby. I don’t have to look to see what she’s talking about. It’s the only thing I have up.

I stuff a Kevlar vest into the bag. Then another, just in case.

“That’s what some people call a drawing, Green.” I’m slightly over-simplifying things, I admit. What does she care, anyway?

“I know what it is, Stiles.” She shakes her head at me. “I mean where did you get it?”

I slow my pace a little, but I don’t stop. And I don’t look at her.

“My brother drew it.”

“Nick draws?” She assumes I’m talking about the brother who’s still alive.

“No.”

Clearly, she feels shitty for even saying it.

“Oh. I’m─”

I put a stop to the guilt-fest before she can start with that shit again.

“Listen. You’re gonna have to stop apologizing for shit you had nothing to do with. He was here, he was f*cking talented as shit, and now he’s gone.”

“And you somehow blame yourself.” She finds my glare.

“I didn’t say that,” I tell her, even though I was probably thinking it.

Okay, definitely thinking it.

“You didn’t have to.” She steps closer, and I’m not one to back away. So, now she’s right up in my personal space.

“Jackson, I─”

“Green. No offense, but I’ve had enough psychotherapy for one week, and we really don’t have the time, so…”

One side of her mouth turns up. “We?”

It’s a spur of the moment decision, really. I don’t know why I’m making it my responsibility to keep her from getting herself into trouble she won’t be able to get herself out of, but it is what it f*cking is, folks.

“Can’t let you go running inaccurate stories all over the place again, now, can I?” I wonder where she got that scar from. The one above her eye. It’s barely noticeable. Part of me wants to reach out and trace it. Ask her about it, maybe.

My hand remains still despite my curiosity.

Boyfriend.

It’s none of my f*cking business anyway.

“I have an idea, actually. It might help,” she tells me, and there’s a gleam in her eyes. It makes her look even more beautiful than she already is.

Beautiful?

I shove the thought aside. All that matters is the f*cking kid at the moment, and maybe not getting killed.

“Fine.” Since I’m out of leads, I’ll take whatever I can get at this point. “But you can’t run this before I say so.”

“Of course.” She agrees with a twisted smile.

“And absolutely no f*cking talking to the police until I know—”

“We.”

“Until we know who’s involved.”

“Gotcha.”

“Maybe even not after that.”

“I have to—”

“And I swear to God if you tell the live-in boy thing, it’s off. That’s the deal, Green. We all want to live long and happy lives, right?”

Or at least not looking over our shoulder for the remainder of them.

“Okay.” She nods.

I wait for any sign that she might be taking me for a ride here. Interesting enough, I’ve got nothing. She’s seemingly on the up and up, more and more, recently.

“Okay then. Lead the way.”

A huge, mischievous grin plasters itself across her face as she reaches into her purse. I stop her there.

“I drive this time.”

“What? Why?”

“Frankly, Green, your driving scares me.”

“For your information, I’m a very safe driver,” she insists with a hand on her hip.

“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 f*cking food.