Game (Jasper Dent #2)(51)

Ugly, Jasper. Ugly… “Am I Ugly J? Is that it? Talk to me. Tell me what you know. Who sent you that letter? Who gave you the list? You’re working with whoever helped Billy escape. I know that. You know things. You know things. You know things!”

“Jasper!” G. William shouted. When had he come back? He cried out Jazz’s name again, and Jazz realized it had been a long time—more than four years, the night G. William had arrested Billy and nearly shot Jazz—since he’d heard such panic in the big man’s voice. “Get the hell away from there!”

The Impressionist and Jazz both jumped back from the cell door at the same time. So close. He’d been right on top of the Impressionist. What could I have done to him? Reached right through the bars? What else, if G. William hadn’t showed up? The Impressionist now cowered near his bunk, shaking his head over and over like one of the deluded, driven-mad homeless people Jazz had seen in New York. What did I do to him? It’s like the idea of Ugly J flipped a switch—

“Goddamn it, Jazz!” G. William growled as he grabbed Jazz by the elbow and jerked him farther away from the cell. “I warned you, didn’t I? Didn’t I tell you?”

“Look at him. Look. He’s not a danger to me. He’s—”

The Impressionist chose that moment to make a liar out of Jazz, bellowing with rage and flinging himself at the bars of the cell with such force that Jazz flinched at the sickening thudding sound it made. The Impressionist staggered backward, groaning, his nose spurting blood. “Corvus!” he cried. “Corvidae!”

“Jesus H. Christ,” G. William swore. He hauled Jazz back into the station proper and barked into his shoulder mic for a deputy with a medical bag to the holding cells. “… and have an ambulance sent over, too, just in case. Got that?”

“Got it,” Lana’s voice came from the mic. “Is, um, is everyone okay?”

Snorting with disgust, G. William said, “The boy prince is just fine, Lana. Get back to work.”

Moments later, they were back in the sheriff’s office, Jazz leaning against the wall as G. William railed. “—told you to stay away from the cell! He’s dangerous! Just because you think you’re invincible doesn’t mean you are invincible—”

“G. William,” Jazz said calmly, “why did you come in there in the first place?”

The sheriff paused mid-rant and blinked. “What?”

“Why did you even come into the holding cells? You weren’t supposed to be there.”

G. William’s mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, and then he gasped. “Oh, crap. I forgot! There was a call for you!” He grabbed up the receiver on his desk and punched a blinking light. “Are you still—Okay. Thanks. Sorry. We had a situation. Hang on.” He held the phone out to Jazz. “For you. FBI looking for you.”

“Uh-uh.” A shake of the head. “I don’t want to talk to them anymore. I’m tired of the feds.”

“This one says she knows you. Morales?”

Jazz’s curiosity got the better of him. Taking the phone, he answered, “Hello?”

“Dent? That you?” Morales’s breath came fast, her words stumbling on their way out. “I need your cell number. Now. Quick. I have to send you something.”

Jazz gave her the number, and a moment later his cell tickled his thigh.

“You have to see it to believe it,” Morales went on. “This changes things.”

He flicked on the phone and opened the text message from Morales. A photo was attached.

“… dumped last night, but as best we can tell,” she went on, “she was killed before the media started talking about you being here in New York….”

It was a crime scene. A body. Easy enough. Young woman. Brown hair. Naked. Gutted. The usual.

Written in lipstick over the sagging, dead lumps of her breasts was:


WELCOME TO THE GAME, JASPER





Part Four





5 Players, 4 Sides





CHAPTER 24


Connie’s grounding wouldn’t last until she was eighty, but it would probably feel like it. She knew she’d been grounded for a good, long time, no matter what clever lies or stories she conjured for her parents. Once school started on Monday, it would be school, then home. Period. When play practice started for the spring musical, she would be allowed to attend rehearsals, but that was it.

All in all, she thought, it wasn’t a bad deal. Sneak off to New York, have a lusty bout of almost-sex with your hot boyfriend, get grounded. There were worse things to get grounded for. And fortunately her parents hadn’t decided to take away her phone. It rang now, TLC’s “Waterfalls” blaring out too loud. Connie’s mom loved that old song, sang it around the house all the time, until it was ingrained in Connie’s brain. She wasn’t sure if she loved the song or not, but she was obsessed with it just from hearing it all the time.

“Don’t go chasing…”

She turned down the volume on her phone. It would suck if her parents heard the ringtone and thought, Oh, yeah, we should confiscate her phone, too.

Caller ID said BLOCKED.

“Don’t go chasing…”

Connie answered. It was Jazz.