Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
A vibration from my iPhone on the dashboard skyrocketed my blood pressure. I snatched the phone and groaned. “What?”
“Did you watch the news?” Officer Walsh asked.
“Yep.” I knew adding another cop into this might get tricky, but I thought highly of Walsh. Thought he’d get the job done. Angered, I said, “My mark got away by scurrying into the drainage system. Instead of going after them”—I let out a dry bark of a laugh—“they waited for SWAT.” What do you want? ’Cause you’re on your own now.
“I sent you an updated segment, man. I think IA wants to—”
“Why are you mentioning Internal Affairs?”
“IA might investigate me! The clip where I said the guy was going for the gun—it’s all over social media. Every angle! Kids had cameras. Someone else leaked my bodycam footage. Had to be Brown!” Walsh hurled a racist comment about the African American police officer. “I texted you TikTok, IG, even Facebook. What do I do? I need this job. I can’t go to jail!”
I gulped, and the sound rocked my eardrums. “Calm down. I’m checking it out now.” I pressed the speaker, navigated from the cellphone app, and clicked onto a stream of text messages. My thumb popped the link for TikTok, and I watched a short clip. Ten million friggen views. “Fìor cho-fhaireachdainn,” I muttered in Scots Gaelic.
“What?”
Meant sincerest sympathies, and I had a pack of those cards for all the elders in my clan dying off in my homeland. Would I get a similar card? “Gotta call you back. I’m working this out.” For me.
I mashed the Off button to a background of the rookie cop’s crying and dialed the number the skinhead gave me for Elrick. Hours ago, I’d had the Nazi call when giving Jordyn’s location in Santa Barbara. The numpty had given Elrick the wherewithal to find Aleksandr’s girl and the man who took her from him.
Elrick answered on the third ring. “I’m listening?”
“Is your team en route to MacKenzie Freight?” My knuckles tapped against the center console, excited about the prospect of the Russians doing my dirty work. Maybe even eliminate any potential suspicion coming my way. On any given day, both Brodys, Camdyn, and that little broad he upped and married, along with a handful of cousins, came through their business.
“Dah.”
“How long will it take you to—?” The Russian had terminated the call.
Nervous, I talked to myself. “Alright, Nolan. You’ve covered your bases. If Jamie comes home, it’ll be his execution.” Unless he already called them, you nugget.
No. That couldn’t be true. There’d be movement in the house.
And another call. A call from someone I feared a heck of a lot more than straight-and-narrow Leith MacKenzie.
I cupped my hands at my brows, placed my forehead against the driver’s side window, and searched for any signs of light in the darkened windows framed by black shutters. Such a beautiful house. I’d envied my old friend Brody for it. Every time they gutted a room and refurbished the furniture, that envy twisted until it had pulverized my gut.
Envy.
Aye. It was the reason I was in this mess. I reached for my flask and the package of Rolaids.
20
DOMINGUEZ HILLS
Jamie
My longing for Jordyn transcended the physical realm. Why was it so easy for me to fall into the trap where I correlated feeding her mind, her heart, and her soul with stolen touches and kisses?
My shirt was off by the time she lifted her legs around me. Not sure how that happened because our lips never left their locked and loaded position. It was like we were trying to speak to each other through the heat of our mouths to solve the ache with contact.
I planted Jordyn onto the office desk, swiping the table calendar, a glass jar, and a telephone handset to the floor. The jar shattered on the cement. The pens clattered like a warning. My hands gripped her thighs like they were the last solid thing anchoring me to earth. Jordyn reached down to pull off her hoodie. I stepped back for much-needed air.
Head bowed, I dragged a hand through my hair, trying to steady my breathing. Steady my heart.
And there it was. A faint splotch. Blood. Perfectly inlaid in a Fourth of July rug. Mam came to the office every season and spruced up the place. She never must’ve gotten around to swapping the firework holiday rug with something more festive for Christmas. Heck, for Halloween and Thanksgiving.
You did this to your mam, Jamie.
I shook the truth from my mind. Mam had a knack for finding colors that would conceal a smidge of blood, even after slapping her sons and nephews who left said blood.
My weak spot had just removed her hoodie. Hands stopped at the hem of the shirt she hadn’t pulled up. A look that could turn my heart into glass and shatter it flashed over her face. Shame. She murmured, “Is it … me, Jamie?”