Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(73)

He lights his up. “Why’d you quit?”

“Because it’s a disgusting f*cking habit, and I want to live a long full life with healthy lungs that can breathe on their own.”

My liver, on the other hand, that’s another story, but those can be replaced.

“Really.” He blows the smoke out slow and meaningful. I can almost taste the nicotine on my lips.

He seems almost impressed for a second or two until I spell some shit out for him, that is.

“No, Dick. I quit because nothing and no one controls me but me.”

And by the way, f*ck you.

His eyes become lines.

I can damn near feel his hatred toward me, which is another reason none of this makes a lick of sense.

“Everyone’s controlled by something, Stiles,” he says.

Now we’re talking in code. Awesome.

Not that I don’t get it. What he’s saying.

“Not me,” I inform him, under no uncertain terms.

“Aren’t you?” The way the corner of his mouth lifts slightly tells me he knows something I don’t know.

Yet.

“No.”

We hold ourselves a small stare-off in the confines of Walker's office. For a minute, I toy with the idea that he might be right. Between Green getting super-secret texts behind my back and the way he has the ability to get me to even consider taking a position within the force, how could he not be?

I know one thing, though. His intentions are not honorable.

Still, I need to keep whatever upper hand I think I might have at the moment. So I play along.

“I’ll think about it.”

His smile widens. Clearly, he took the bait. I’ve given him hope.

“Good, good. We’ll touch base when you’ve had some time. Tomorrow perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” I tell him even though I hate that f*cking word. Unable to stand his smug face any longer, I leave to begin phase one of finding the f*ck out what Green is up to.





X X X


Anyone with a decent job would head home right now, bask in the limelight, fantasize over the amount of attention they might obtain on the force and in Walker’s back pocket with some potentially illegal shit going down behind the scenes.

Me?

I’d rather sit in my f*cking car, of which its heat has decided to stop working, and follow a hunch I have about a certain dick of a police captain.

One hour in, I’m still pretty optimistic about my instincts.

Another thirty minutes after that, I start having my first doubts.

Now, two point two hours later, I’m fighting with the gear shift so I can go the f*ck home and contemplate the severity of my idiocy for sitting out here in the first f*cking place.

That’s when it happens.

“Hallelujah, motherf*ckers!” The heater starts up again.

And Richard Walker finally steps out of his building.

He stands in the middle of the sidewalk for a few minutes, checking his cell phone. When he starts walking, I follow along slowly down the road. When he goes where I can’t, the parking garage, I wait some more.

His burgundy Mercedes pulls out onto the roadway, and my mouth pulls into a triumphant grin.

Gotcha.

People put a lot of stock in tracking devices and GPS shit these days. I am here to tell you, however, that there’s nothing, and I do mean nothing, like the thrill of the chase, all up close and personal like. When he pulls up in front of The Chronicle building, the bottom drops out of my stomach. And pretty much every other organ inside me.

I park across the street and watch him go in. Once he hits the elevators, I’m basically blind until he comes back out.

I mean, yeah, I debate going in there, following him all stealthy like and what not, but there’re too many people who saw me with Green just a couple days ago that might say something to her. Or better yet, she might see me.

I’d much rather keep the upper hand here, for a while, and figure out what the hell is happening before she knows I know she’s in with Walker.

I wait.

Apparently, I do a lot of that shit in this job.

Not that I mind. I mean, what the f*ck else is there to do right now?

Touch base with Stix, nail Jim Galley to the wall, and avoid life in general.

When Walker’s not back out in about a half hour, I start dozing off. It’s kinda hard not to when the heat’s kicking, the music’s playing, and I haven’t slept right for about a week and a half.

Know what I mean?

I’m not sure how long I’m out when a familiar scene plays out in my dreams.

Me and Mikey, yelling at each other in the middle of the street.

Go home, Mike.

Him being a stubborn ass.

“No, man, talk to me.”

Me being a dick to him.

“Go the f*ck home!”

Only this time, when I turn to leave him standing there, and I hear the screech of car tires, I turn to see the scene play out in slow motion. It’s not Mikey who’s lying dead in the street because of me.

It’s Green.

My eyes fly open, and I look around. My blood doesn’t slow down for a couple seconds when I realize where I am and what I’m doing here.

That’s when I catch a glimpse of Walker, exiting the building with Green.

Fuck if I don’t want to let my mind go where it’s headed.