Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(83)

Based on what Green said tonight, I’m thinking I’m right.

The yawns start coming quick and heavy about an hour into theory creating. Before I can talk myself into getting out of bed and to the laptop, Mikey enters my thoughts.

Maybe it’s the simple fact that I said his name out loud, or that it’s combined with the fact that I shared a little bit of my misery with Green. Regardless, I feel lighter.

Or less angry, I suppose.

Maybe she’s got a point. Maybe I can’t do anything about being the hero to my kid brother any more. Or even for Donnie. But maybe I can be for another kid in my life.

Maybe I need to get the f*ck over myself and get this shit done.

My thoughts jumble together, after that. Every issue I have going on right now mixes in with each other.

When Green sighs a deep-sleep kind of sigh and snuggles up next to me, I take it as her unconscious way of telling me to let it all go for now. So I do. With that, I’m out like a light.





X X X


The next morning, I wake up to an empty bed. My arm knows it before I do. When I squint my eyes to see if Green is anywhere in sight, I get nothing.

Luckily, before I can start creating any theories about that fact, she appears at the door with a bag from the local donut shop and two coffees in her hand.

“Breakfast?” She smiles. The makeup from yesterday is gone. Her hair is up in a frizzy ponytail, and instead of putting on her own clothes this morning, she’s wearing my shirt.

Fucking beautiful.

“Naked, actually.” I inform her with a grin. She blushes. I could do this shit all day.

“Smells f*cking awesome,” I tell her. She comes over and sits on the bed, and Frodo follows right behind her. This cat has a sense of smell like no other feline. “But we’re not eating this shit in here.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t like crumbs where I sleep, Green.” I wrap the blanket around my waist as I exit the bed, and we take the food into the living room. No floor this time, though. We’ve graduated to the couch.

I grab the breakfast sandwiches and lay them out on the coffee table. After I unwrap one of them, I shove it in my mouth like I haven’t eaten in days. Come to think of it, I probably haven’t.

Frodo rubs against Green, welcoming her to his humble abode. Satisfied his presence is known, he goes on his merry way to the other side of the room.

I’m about to kick him the f*ck out when I notice something.

A small something. But still, a something.

“What the f*ck if vat?”

Green laughs. “What?”

The cat’s fighting with Green’s jacket before pulling something out and pouncing onto it. He tosses it, then pounces, tosses and pounces. He’s found a new toy. I just hope it’s not expensive.

“That.” I stoop down and fight Frodo for the tiny gadget he’s found.

“Motherf*cker.”

“What?” Green asks, yet again.

I put my finger to my lips, telling her silently to not say another f*cking word. I show her the device someone planted on her at some point.

Hopefully without her knowledge.

This does not bode well, people. Not f*cking well at all.





MY FATHER’S SON





FUCKING GADGETS.

At the very least, I can admit the world has certainly created some crazy ass technology as of late.

I own a few myself and haven’t gotten around to purchasing others. Apparatuses like the one I just found dangling from Frodo’s paw is roughly ten times the cost of anything I can afford without taking out a loan.

Meaning, of course, this is grade A, government-issued shit.

At least I know we know we’re on the right track. No way did some drug-addicted punk kill Donnie. Not that the flimsy ass theory wasn’t off the table already, but you know, facts.

Time freezes while I inspect it. Not much there, really. A micro-mic and a serial number I couldn’t read with the Hubble Telescope.

Across the room, Green’s mouth hangs open slightly. She reflects the shock and awe of discovering the tiniest of devices, which happens to hold the ability to hear the largest of moments.

Her reaction is enough to tell me she didn’t know it was in her jacket. I don’t need to ask.

Most likely, she’s thinking the same thing I’m thinking.

How much did whoever is listening hear last night?

Okay, any night, for that f*cking matter.

I think back over the past week or so and try to pinpoint certain conversations that have gone on here. I have no idea when they planted the bug. Or who planted it.

She wasn’t wearing this jacket the night we had Chinese.

That’s one bit of good news.

And she hasn’t been here again until last night.

Does that mean it was Walker who put it on her?

Possibly.

Or maybe the “boss man” she suspects is involved with Anonymous, who makes me feel like an idiot every time I refer to him as Anonymous.

Jesus.

Well, I know that whoever they are, they didn’t catch anything pertinent being said or going on between Green and me last night, considering this thing was buried under the jacket, the purse, and the couch cushion. We’ve got that going for us.

Hopefully.