Shattered (LOST #3)(23)

Brent cast another nervous glance toward the closed door. “I shouldn’t be talking to you here.”

Jax waved that away. “Just tell anyone who asks that you were threatening me. ’Cause we all know that shit happens all the time.” Plenty of cops swore they’d be taking him down.

They hadn’t.

But he’d sure sent away plenty of dirty cops.

“I want to know who sent the kid after Sarah.”

Brent hesitated. “This . . . personal interest you have in LOST . . . it’s her, isn’t it?”

Jax just stared back at him. “You’ll find out who sent the kid after her.”

“I’ll do my best, but if Eddie isn’t talking—”

“Make him talk, or I will.” So many people just didn’t seem to understand how far his reach extended. They would, soon enough. “All I’d need would be five minutes alone with the guy.”

Brent’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “You really think I could just take you right back to the guy’s holding cell? Because that shit would go over so smoothly with everyone here!”

Brent wasn’t getting the full picture. Maybe he needed a little help. “I’d go back to the cells, if you arrested me.”

Brent frowned at him.

“Like it would be the first time that happened,” Jax murmured, smiling.

Then Jax heard a knock at the door. Seconds later, that door opened and Sarah was there, edging carefully into the room. “Jax, I thought I saw you come in here—” She broke off, obviously catching sight of Brent. “Is everything all right?”

“Same shit as always,” Jax told her with a shrug. “Cops warning me to stick to the straight and narrow, but that’s what I do every day.” He saluted the cop. “See you around, Detective.”

Muttering, Brent hurried past them.

Sarah shook her head. “They love giving you a hard time, don’t they?”

So sweet. It sounded as if she were worried about him. “Don’t fret, princess. I can handle anything they throw at me.” But he was still ready to get out of that station. He caught her hand, threaded his fingers with hers, and stalked from the room. As they made their way out of the bullpen, he was aware of the stares on him. He could hear the mutters.

He ignored them, as usual.

Then they were outside. Cars were zooming down the street up ahead, and there were plenty of tourists filling the street.

“I . . . I need to work on this case, Jax.” Her voice was soft. “I promise, I will get LOST to help you find your family, but right now, Molly has to be our priority. I’m sorry.”

He squeezed her fingers. “I’ve been waiting years to find out about my past. You think I can’t spare a few more days?” Days that Molly might not have? He wasn’t that much of a selfish bastard.

Her breath caught. “You . . . why did you come to the police station?” She glanced back at it. “You hate being there. You didn’t have to follow with us.”

“You were there,” he said simply. “So that meant I needed to go, too.”

Her fingers pulled away from his. Sarah shook her head. “I don’t understand you.”

Who did?

“What do you want from me?”

Everything. But he didn’t think she was ready to hear that part, not yet.

“I can help,” he told her simply.

Her gaze—so dark and deep—searched his.

“You know I have contacts that you want to use.”

He could see the struggle on her face.

“Use me,” he dared her. “Because I rather think I’d enjoy having you indebted to me.”

“LOST would owe you,” Sarah said carefully.

A car whizzed by them.

He moved then, standing so that he was closer to the road. His body curled near her. “You would owe me,” he told her clearly. “You, Sarah. Just you.”

She bit her lip. Did she have any clue that he found that move fucking sexy?

“Before I went in that police station, I called my friend Carlos . . . I told him to learn everything he could about Molly Guthrie.” He waited a beat. “Want to see what he’s learned? Because Carlos is very good at uncovering secrets.” Mostly because when people saw Carlos, they knew to be afraid. At six-foot-four and weighing over two hundred and fifty pounds, Carlos was a man you didn’t fuck with.

Unless you wanted to get put down.

“I have my own ways of learning secrets.” Then she backed away from him.

Sighing, he took out his phone. Called Carlos. His friend answered on the second ring. “Hello, Carlos,” Jax murmured, just loudly enough for Sarah to hear. “Where’s the girl?”

Sarah glanced back at him.

“Last night, she was washing dishes on Bourbon Street,” Carlos told him. “I’ve got her leaving work—on foot—at around 4 A.M. No one saw her after that.”

“The name of the bar,” Jax murmured.

“Voodoo Night.”

He knew the place. Hell, he’d almost bought the joint six months ago. “What else?” Jax asked.

“No boyfriend, no angry exes. She attends the community college during the day, works at night, and, no, her neighbors have not seen her this morning.”