Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(85)

“Stiles.” Maybe if I move this party a little lower, she’ll get on board, so to speak.

“Mmmmm. I think I should return that text.”

She can’t be serious. “To the anonymity?”

“Anonymous.” She laughs when I kiss her belly. Ticklish. “And yes. Walking out on my boss is one thing, but if I don’t get back to this guy at some point, I’m a little afraid of what he might do.”

She pulls at my arms, and I follow her lead. When I’m face-to-face with her again, she plants a kiss on my lips. Soft and true.

It’s not long or passionate. It just is. And when she pulls away, she gives me the look.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“I’m leaving, but I’ll be back.”

I believe her. Unfortunately.

High and dry, people. High and dry.

After that, a new world’s record is set by Green. She wins the gold for collecting-your-shit-and-bolting-out-the-door-of-the-guy-who-desperately-wants-to-f*ck-your-brains-out. The woman is together and gone in ten-point-five seconds. No lie.

Lucky for me, if there’s any luck whatsoever in this situation that is, she leaves with the intention of getting home, getting cleaned up, packing, and beginning the process of distancing herself from the boy-toy, The Chronicle, and this f*cking Anonymous guy, for good.

Me?

I plan to take a pause before contacting Dick, again. And even then, I’m gonna need to play this shit off like I need a bit more convincing to get my ass back into a uniform. I’m fairly confident my brother might be around when it happens. He’s always around.

He’s one of two people in this world who knows when I’m lying. The other being my mother.

Okay, fine. Three, including Green.

Regardless, if Nick picks up on my motives and says something to Walker, any hopes I might have of playing him like a fiddle are over, and it’s back to square one. If I get lucky, though, and that’s a big motherf*cking if, I might get some intel on what the f*ck has been going on the past couple weeks and beyond. In turn, I’d be able to give Donnie and his brother a little bit of peace knowing the people who killed him didn’t get away with that shit.

Small favors.

“Shhhhhit.”

It’s not until this very moment, as I head down the hall for a shower, that I check my phone and see six missed calls from Stix.

It’s the first time I’ve thought about him in a I need to find out what he’s up to kinda way since I woke up, and I remember, with clarity, that I told him I’d call first thing.

Dammit.

The first message starts out pretty basic.

“Jackson. It’s me. Uh, you know who.” The kid sounds like he doesn’t know if he should saying anything, much less his name. That in itself makes him a smart little f*cker.

“I just wanted to check in, I guess. See what the plan for the day is. So, I’ll talk to you later.”

The second one gives me the impression he’s slightly paranoid. Unlike myself, of course.

“Hey, Jackson, there’s some weird-looking people hanging around outside your office. They’re across the street, but I swear they’re watching this place.”

By the third, there’s a slight urgency to his voice.

“Stiles. There’s something going on here. I’m not sure, I… There’s this car, and it keeps driving by, like it’s waiting for something. I don’t know, man. Call me.”

By the sixth, I realize what a complete and utter f*cking * I am for not calling him the minute I woke up today.

“He’s sitting right outside your door, Stiles.” His voice is a whisper, and even now, I can hear the fear in it. “What the f*ck do I do, man? Shit, I’m outta here.”

I hang up and call him as I bag the shower and grab my keys.

“Come on, kid. Pick up.”

He doesn’t. Of f*cking course. So I call again. And again and again and again. I drive down four-fifty a good twenty miles over the speed limit, and still that’s too slow.

When I pull up to the office, I have a bad goddamn feeling about something.

Maybe he’s playing it low-key.

The parking lot is empty.

More empty than usual, anyway.

The tiny hairs on the back of my neck are pricking at my skin. I have a terrible feeling, like the sinking feeling you get when you ask a question you already know the answer to, and you don’t like the answer.

I stare down the building before getting out of the car.

Okay.

Don’t panic.

I’m not gonna f*cking panic.

I unlock the front door and open it. It’s different from the last time I found him here. When I knew someone was lurking in the shadows. Just didn’t know who.

Seems like a long damn time ago.

This time, I’ve got nothin’. It’s quiet. Too quiet.

“Stix.” So why do I even bother calling out to the kid?

Sparks of concern run under my skin.

I push that shit down because giving in to fear will make me lose focus. I lose focus, I lose Stix, and if I lose Stix, I lose any chance of making up for the fact that I’m, at the very least, partially responsible for the murder of his brother.

I take in a few controlled breaths of air and let them out slow. He’s probably back over in Homeless Town, USA.