Chapter Nineteen – Jack
Chapter Nineteen
Jack
After the cops arrived, all of my protests fell on deaf ears.
I was lucky not to be shot on sight, honestly—and lucky that I’d managed to get a souvenir—Daziel’s fingers proved he’d been there, and that we’d fought, seeing as everyone thought it was unlikely that a woman with a bad hip pushing seventy had managed to move a couch prior to her imminent demise.
But that didn’t stop me from being taken downtown.
I kept repeating my story, the exact same story, to a slew of different cops.
It would’ve been easier to prove if I looked like I’d been in a struggle, but other than being a little disheveled, I’d healed too fast to let on.
Then again that was better than healing slowly here, right in front of their faces.
I knew my story would check out—they’d confirm it with Paco or Angela eventually—but seeing as I wasn’t on any files and I didn’t have any identification, they were more interested in me than I liked, taking away my phone and knife.
I managed to use my whammy when they were taking my fingerprints, so they didn’t notice they were blurry smudges, but after that there were too many people around—and I didn’t dare do it anywhere I might be taped.
Over the next several hours I was in rooms with assorted officers, one, two, even three, or left completely alone, presumably to reconsider my story.
The only constant was the omnipresent sound of clocks slowly ticking down toward dawn.
When I wasn’t being interrogated or afraid of dying in public, I was worried about Rabbit. Where had Paco taken him and was it really safe? I was glad I’d gotten the chance to warn Paco about the Pack being werewolves—but if anything happened Rabbit or him—
“You look a little tense,” the next officer who came in said, in a congenial good-cop way.
It was all I could do not to strangle him. “I just found a body, so, yeah.”
I was hoping for Angela, but who I wound up getting was Mark. He walked into the room they were keeping me in sometime after five a.m., looking haggard, flanked by two cops—I instantly stood, and the cops were instantly on guard.
“Angela? Rabbit?” I asked Mark, turning their names into questions.
“They’re safe,” he said guardedly. “Paco said I needed to come vouch for you. How do you even know him?”
“Why is he watching her?”
“He asked you a question,” the officer on the right said, willing to see how this played out.
I sighed. “We’ve known each other for a long time. I spotted him there the other night when I dropped by to ask about when Dark Ink was opening back up.”
“You spend a lot of time outside your boss’s apartment complex?” asked Officer Left.
“I’m her nightshift employee. She knows me—I was babysitting her son.” I gave Mark a look. I wasn’t going to beg, but he damn well knew the truth. “I’ve worked for her, for what, five years?”
“And yet you don’t have a license to give tattoos in this state,” said Officer Right.
The three of them were a wall. “What the fuck is happening here? I did the right thing—I protected Rabbit, and I gave you assholes your only clue. I’m still wearing clothes that have some stranger’s blood on them and blood from my friend’s mom—my night has been the definition of fucked up.
” I stared, challenging them to doubt me.
“Can I please go home now?” I spoke slowly, making each word into a sentence.
The line of Mark’s jaw tightened and I realized as shitty as things had been for me, his night had been far worse. I fell back into the chair behind me. “I’m sorry about Martha, and I’m glad Angie’s safe. Just keep her safe, okay? Whoever the fuck those guys were, they weren’t messing around.”
For a moment silence reigned and then Mark shook his head. “He’s not your guy,” he told the cops.”
“Are you sure? I mean, look at him,” Officer Right said.
Mark stiffened and turned and for a moment I had some idea of how he’d act in court. “If you’re implying that someone with tattoos is always a suspect, then you’re also implicating my girlfriend.”
While Mark’s attention was occupied with Officer Right, Officer Left shrugged one shoulder like, Possibly.
“Let him go.”
“Are you offering to represent him?”
“I don’t need to, because you’re not keeping him anymore. Give him his stuff back, and a taxi voucher.”
Officer Left decided to pull Mark’s chain. “You want him to leave so bad, your law firm can pay.”
Mark bristled even further—and I realized he had some sort of relationship with these men, they were definitely not strangers. Just what kind of lawyering did he do? I’d never thought to ask.
“Here,” Mark went for his wallet and pulled out a twenty.
I waved his offer away. “I’m good.”
“Your wallet’s empty,” Officer Right pointed out.
“Last I checked, being broke in Vegas wasn’t a crime,” Mark said.
Which was technically true, but largely depended on what neighborhood you were in and how well you fit in there. I snorted. “If I can get my things back, I’m set, thanks,” I said, as calmly as possible.
Mark nodded curtly. “Officers?” he said, pressing them to do their jobs, and then left like someone who was used to being obeyed. I moved to follow him, and they blocked my path quickly.
“I know my rights,” I said, suddenly regretting calling them assholes earlier, no matter how good it’d felt at the time.
Officer Left gave me a shit-eating grin. “Aw, come on, just a few more questions.”
Officer Right, agreed. “Yeah. I think you need to tell us everything you know about the Pack.”
By the time they were convinced I didn’t know anything and stopped holding me just to piss me and/or Mark off, it was perilously close to dawn.
I had to fight not to run from the precinct—and as you might imagine, there weren’t many cabs trolling nearby.
By the time I’d hailed one and had whammied the driver to take me home I was sliding down in the back seat, half to hide from the rising sun, half because I could feel myself dying inside.
“Hurry,” I implored him, whammying him shamelessly.
He started to ignore traffic laws and pulled me into my apartment complex at full speed, his cab rattling over speed bumps, until he screeched to a halt—on the wrong side.
“Around—the back,” I gasped, and he went hurtling around—almost hitting a parking car.
I lurched out of the cab the second he parked again, shaking. Only sheer willpower kept me going—my door wasn’t that far—and if I got under the awning I’d be safe from the sun….
“Hey!” a voice shouted behind me. Likely to tell off the cabbie—and I heard the sound of feet running up behind me. Keep going, Jack—just keep going—
“Hey,” the voice repeated, much nearer and more kindly than the cabbie deserved. “Are you okay?” A man loomed into vision. Florida—Zach—him and all his young muscles and ability to withstand daylight. “Whoa there. Are you all right?”
“No—I need to sleep this off,” I said, slurring, as his arm wrapped around me and came up underneath my armpit. It was bright out, brighter than I’d seen in years. “Please—apartment thirty-six,” I whispered, handing him my keys.
“Of course,” he said—just as my vision went black.