Chapter 23 What to do with Drew #2
“Easy, baby,” he murmured as he finally helped Jenna out of the cage.
He’d gotten the cuffs off her with the keys he’d pilfered from Parker, but her arms were shot from the aggressive treatment.
And he realized quickly she was favoring one foot, or perhaps ankle.
Once she was clear of the metal box, he scooped her up and carried her to the nearest vacant chair.
It wasn’t ideal, but options were rather limited. The chairs were gathered in the best portion of light, and he wanted to check her injuries.
Billy moved in behind him to help Steph from the cage, and Billy would probably follow his lead if the girl was cooperative. She’d been trapped there much longer. It was likely her condition was worse.
In better lighting, Jon could easily see that Jenna’s wrists were an angry shade of red and a bit torn into on the outer curves. Parker had definitely cuffed her too tight.
Jon ghosted a thumb beneath the swollen skin on one wrist and pressed his lips to the heel of her hand. “I’m so sorry I let this happen, Jen,” he whispered. He was the one who’d insisted she not be home. He was the one who hadn’t thought it was a good idea to leave her at the hospital for the day.
“Don’t do that,” she whispered back, her voice strained. “This … is his fault.” She paused to swallow, but her lips lifted in a faint smile when he looked up to meet her eyes. “Not yours.”
“Boss-man,” Billy said as he stepped into Jon’s periphery. Something rustled. “I got the med kit. Thought your lady might need it.”
Jon leaned back and took the bag from Billy’s hands. “Thanks. How’s the girl look?”
“Shaken up, probably hasn’t eaten in a couple days, might have a bruise or two I didn’t see on first glance,” Billy replied. “Nothing obvious. Asked if she can go home.”
Jon glanced aside and saw Billy had set Steph down in a chair a few paces away.
The girl had pulled her legs up so her feet balanced on the canvas edge, her arms wrapped around her knees and half her face hidden.
He looked back at Billy. “Tell her we’ll have her back with her mom by sundown.
” He couldn’t promise home. She likely needed a hospital.
But she’d still be safer, and surrounded by loved ones.
Billy clapped him on the shoulder and stepped away.
“Sundown seems awfully close,” Jenna said quietly.
Jon offered her a smile as he squirted some wound cream onto his fingers.
“I might have put in a call to that deputy who insisted his badge means something and suggested that he bring emergency services up this way. They should be here soon.” Which meant if he wanted Parker dead by his hands, he needed to get to work.
First, he needed to provide at least basic treatment for Jenna. She was his priority.
“This’ll sting,” he warned as he raised her arm a bit so that her wounded wrist was accessible. “But it’ll help you heal and prevent infection. I’ll get your wrists wrapped to cover them up, and that should be good until we can get out of here at least.”
“Okay.”
She didn’t struggle, or try to pull away, though he heard her hiss of pain as he smoothed the cream over her torn skin.
“Not to rush you, Johnson,” Alex called from somewhere behind him, “but I’ve got a splitting fucking headache.”
Jon ground his teeth. He was well aware time was of the essence.
He’d been shocked as shit to learn Alex was like him and Lance—he had an inexplicable superpower, too.
It wasn’t elemental, though, and the way Alex described it, his was much more limited both in range and capacity.
Still, it had come in fucking handy. The Army bastard had some sort of paralyzing stare.
He could freeze anyone he made eye-contact with, holding them effectively in living stasis, but it only worked while he maintained eye-contact.
Once he looked away the effect wore off, returning the victim to full functionality within ninety seconds.
On the flip side, all Alex had to do was keep staring them down to hold them.
Easier said than done, of course. The man still had to fucking blink, and apparently the power drained him internally.
“Thirty seconds,” Jon called back as he tore into the gauze.
Foxe spoke up from where he was crouched over someone else’s travel bag. “I know you wanna kill him, man, but it might play better if we let the dirty deputy live to take a fall. All we gotta do is make sure he can’t refute bein’ here voluntarily.”
Jon kept his touch light as he bandaged Jenna’s wrists, though every muscle in his body trembled with the tension coiled inside him.
Foxe was right on both counts. He wanted to kill Parker, violently, but leaving a dead deputy could potentially be problematic.
They had the handcuffs with Jenna’s skin and blood on them, and that beer bottle would have Parker’s DNA, but if it was proven the bastard never even pulled his gun… Shit.
They at least needed him to pull his gun. Get his hands fucking dirty.
Jon gave Jenna’s hands a squeeze when he finished, pushed up to press a kiss to her forehead, and stood. “Fine. It pisses me off, but Foxe is right.”
Billy snickered.
Jon ignored him. “What we need is to make Parker pull his gun. We need evidence that he chose to be here, and chose to side with the cartel.”
“I have paralysis, not hypnosis,” Alex said with an audible strain.
“That’s fine,” Jon said, turning toward the pair who looked like they were locked in some bizarrely intense staring contest. “I’ll take the hit. He’ll shoot me even if he knows better.”
“Whoa,” Foxe said, “that’s not what I—”
“Wait.” The interruption was Jenna’s, but it silenced everyone.
Jon twisted back around to find her cradling her wrists in her lap and looking up at him with pleading eyes.
“You’re talking about … gunpowder residue, right? Or missing bullets he can’t account for?”
Jon inclined his head.
“He shot my phone,” Jenna said. “Twice. When we got here.” She licked her lips. “He parked in the lot for the tourist cave. His SUV should still be there, but his dashboard was dark the whole way, so I think he’d turned it off somehow.”
The GPS. Parker had thought about turning off his vehicle’s tracking system, but he’d still been dumb enough to park his marked SUV right in front of the main access point for the cave where he’d taken his victim.
Jon strode back to Jenna, cupped her face, and pressed a kiss to her hair. “That’s perfect, baby. Just relax.” Then he let go and reached for the handgun at his back. “Alex, walk away.”
Alex grunted and stepped to the side, immediately lifting one hand to rub at his eyes as he moved toward the nearest wall. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable resting point, but it was solid and literally grounding. And the cool rock would probably feel good.
Jon owed him big for playing his hand the way he had.
But that would come later. First, Jon strolled up, into Parker’s line of sight.
He held his own gun low—out and ready but non-threatening, the way he’d been trained.
Parker already had his pistol in-hand. He’d drawn it when Jon was taunting him, keeping the dumb fuck from noticing that someone was moving up directly behind Jon.
So, Parker’s gun was half-raised, finger not yet on the trigger.
Jon watched as Parker blinked, slow, and his chest heaved with a hard breath. His arms shook for a moment before steadying. Parker stumbled backward about half a step and blinked again, faster. That time he gave his head a shake, and when his eyes re-opened, they looked clear. Focused.
Furious.
Just the way Jon wanted them.
Rage contorted Parker’s face and he raised his gun properly as if he didn’t realize he’d been held immobile for several minutes.
“I should’ve done this the moment I saw you outside that stupid bakery,” he snarled.
“The community already thinks you’re dead.
Let’s make you real-dead.” His finger moved to the trigger.
Jon rolled his wrist to the side and squeezed the trigger, then immediately twisted his torso out of range just in case Parker got off a shot with a muscle spasm.
He did not. Parker dropped his gun completely and let out a yell as he collapsed to the ground, the pain consuming him. He never had been good with pain, or even simply receiving treatment equal to what he dished out.
Jon dropped into a crouch by Parker’s shoulders and tapped the fucker in the forehead with his handgun.
“Listen to me, asshole,” he said. He spoke quietly, but his words only stayed close because Parker was still screaming like a baby.
So, Jon reached out with his free hand and smacked the bastard across the face.
“It’s just a knee, fuckwad. I could do so much worse to you.
” He leaned closer as Parker’s eyes widened.
“I want to do so much worse to you. Do you understand me? Your badge isn’t what’s saving you.
And it’s sure as shit not your daddy. No, I’m leaving you bleeding here with a blown-out knee because killing you would make my life more complicated.
” His lips kicked up. “Also, because prison is a pretty shitty place for anyone who used to wear a badge to go, and I promise you, you’ll see every fucking day of the sentence you deserve.
I may not be active duty anymore, but I have connections you can’t dream of.
I will fucking bury you and whatever state-provided DA who gets stuck with you. ”
Parker choked, as if he were in so much pain he was gasping for breath. “Y-you can’t—”
Jon arched a brow. “Why not? Why are you immune to facing the consequences of every bullshit crime you committed just today?”
Parker stared at him, horror competing with pain on his face, and started to cry. Big, fat tears rolled down his cheeks and snot bubbled out of his nose as he became a sobbing, whimpering mess on the cave floor.
Jon shook his head and stood, tucking his gun away.
He could be satisfied with the notion of locking Drew Parker away for the majority of his life once everything came to light—and it would—but only getting to shoot out his knee was still disappointing.
Watching the piece of shit who’d tormented Jenna for years, kidnapped her, endangered her, and apparently been working secretly with the fucking cartel that was destroying families throughout the state, transform into a blubbering child was …
a strange combination of comical and tolerable. Perhaps satisfying.
Herb walked up as Jon stepped away from Parker, shaking his head. “It’s no good,” he said. “This asshole won’t squeal. He admits to knowing PJ, but that’s the best I’ve gotten out of him.”
Jon looked past Herb, to the one surviving guy from the group of six that had been holding Steph captive.
They’d left one alive on purpose, with the hope of gathering information.
But apparently their fear of retribution was greater than their fear of imminent death.
There was the odd chance the men felt actual loyalty, but in Jon’s experience, most groups like these operated on a control-by-fear basis.
“We’ll leave him alive for the authorities,” Jon said after a moment. “He might not roll on the Veracruz, but he’ll rat out Parker in a heartbeat. Make sure his hands are tied and he’s not in danger of bleeding out, we’ll let someone else worry about transportation.”
Herb nodded and Billy moved forward to help.
Jon started back toward Jenna, but paused mid-step when he noticed Steph raise her head. Her voice was entirely different from the light, comfortable tone of a young girl that he remembered from the previous Monday, but her words carried like a razor across his skin.
“They talked about someone they called ‘pretty bird’, if that helps.”
Jon stilled. Pretty bird? That seemed like an odd nickname for a group like them.
“Most of the time,” Steph continued, “they talked in Spanish, but every now and then, they whispered in English. That’s how I heard it.”
Jon replayed the words, then translated them in his mind. And it struck him, stupidly, that one of the words resembled the English word for ‘pajama’. “Bonito pájaro,” he said, speaking the translation aloud.
“That mean something to you?” Foxe asked.
Jon looked around the group and settled his stare on the still-conscious cartel guy. “That’s PJ, isn’t it?”
The cartel guy managed to glare at him, turned his head, and spat on the floor in a show of defiance. And confirmation.
They had a proper street name for PJ.