Chapter 31 Jagg
JAGG
I lowered my right hand to my holster, wanting nothing more than to come face to face with the gang-banging bastard sitting behind the steering wheel of a blue sedan.
I rolled to a stop and climbed out of my Jeep, my headlights illuminating Sunny, and all her wild hair, twisting her neck to see who was coming. She was flat on her back, half her body under the front of her truck, her head next to a flat tire.
I walked up, glanced at the tire, then took a moment to soak in the view.
Wearing a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a V-neck T-shirt that read Girl Power, Sunny avoided eye contact and continued doing whatever she was doing—correction: trying to do.
She had a flashlight propped on a rock, illuminating under the truck.
Her hair was a frizzed mess around her head, speckled with grass and dead leaves.
I was pretty sure something was crawling in it, but considering I could practically feel her vile mood, I decided to keep that to myself.
A smattering of dirt stuck to her sweaty forehead, making me wonder how long she’d been stranded.
Regardless, one thing was obvious, Sunny Harper had absolutely no clue what she was doing.
I’d be amused if not for the fact that I was angry that she obviously hadn’t stayed at home as I’d instructed her the evening before.
Anger aside, something about seeing such a strong woman vulnerable did it for me—along with everything else that was Sunny.
“What seems to be the problem here, Miss Harper?” I said, a tug playing on the corner of my lips.
I could feel her eye roll more than I could see it.
“Oh, you know, just decided to have a quick looksee under my truck.” She huffed out a breath. “I’m trying to change my damn tire. Obviously.”
“Are you? Because by the looks of it, you’re trying to change the axle.”
Her body stilled.
A moment ticked by and I would have paid my next paycheck to see the expression on her face.
“What were you doing leaving your house?” I demanded.
“Getting a salad.”
“I told you not to go out. Where did you go?”
“Gino’s.”
I grit my teeth and shook my head. Right in the middle of town. The woman didn’t listen and was going to get herself hurt. Again.
“Three things, Sunny,” I growled. “Three things I have an issue with right now. One, who leaves their house for a salad? Two, I told you to stay out of public and away from people until everything blows over, and on top of that, the doctor told you to be resting. And three, how is that screwdriver in your hand going to help you change your damn tire?”
She looked at the screwdriver, a second passed, then released a hefty sigh. She set the tool on the ground, craned her neck to get a better view of me and met my gaze with a fire of her own.
“One, have you ever had Gino’s Flaming Farro salad?
It’s Italian perfection. Artichokes, peppers, onions, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers over a bed of farro—a gluten free Italian grain for your information, because I’m assuming your fridge holds nothing more than boxes of bacon and cases of beer. Pbr if I had to guess…”
Ouch.
“And,” she continued, “Gino’s does curbside delivery so I didn’t even have to get out of my truck.
Two, I don’t take orders. From you, or anyone.
When are you going to get that through your head?
And my ribs are a lot better today. I’m fine.
And three, I thought I grabbed the wrench, thank you very much. ”
“Liar.”
“I don’t lie.”
“Liar.”
“Fine. I only lie about hand tools.”
“Ever consider just learning how to cook?”
“No offense, but I get the feeling you’re not whipping up three course meals on your own, Jagg.”
“Hey, a breakfast burrito takes multiple steps.”
“That’s your idea of gourmet?” She squinted.
“Honey, it’s every man’s idea of gourmet.”
“Whatever. Look, do you mind? I’m kinda busy here.”
“Scoot over. Better yet, get out of my way.”
“Are you always this demanding?”
“It’s part of my charm. We’ve already been over this. Scoot.”
“No. Just tell me what to do.”
“I just did. Scoot. Get out of my way.”
“You’re unbelievable, you know that? They should bottle your testosterone.”
“If you don’t get off your back, I’ll give you a free sample.”
That got her up… and I don’t know if I should have been pleased or offended.
I watched her shimmy out from under the fender—absolutely no clue what she was doing under there—her chest jiggling and hips swaying in a way that had my pants tightening.
I helped her up. Based on her smooth movements, she hadn’t been lying that her ribs were better, but she still should have been resting.
I took a moment to look at the injury on her arm.
It was clean, with a new bandage. The swelling was gone.
Good.
I rolled up my shirtsleeves and squatted down. She handed me the flashlight.
I looked the tire over, searching for a nail or whatever had pierced the rubber. I got nothing.
“Looks like you’ve got a faulty valve.”
“What? No. I just bought these tires.”
“How long ago?”
“Two months.”
My gaze shifted to the rest of the tires, each of which were low. The bottom left would be flat by morning.
I pushed off the ground. “You got four new tires?”
“Yes.” Her eyes locked on the back left tire. “That one’s almost flat, too, isn’t it?”
“New or used?”
“New.” Her brow furrowed as she looked at me, and although I already knew what I was going to find, I circled the truck, examining each tire with Sunny quiet on my heels.
“What’s going on?” She asked, concern evident in her voice. “Why are all the tires low?”
“Someone tampered with your tires.”
“What?” Her eyes rounded. “This is ridiculous. I didn’t kill the pastor’s son. You mean to tell me that redneck from Frank’s Bar keyed my car and ruined my new tires? Unbelievable. He’s got another thing coming because I’m not going to put up with—”
“Sunny, this wasn’t done last night.”
“What—how do you know that?”
I leaned in closer, to triple-confirm. “Each tire valve has been punctured. Same spot, every one. The tires have been losing air for days.”
“Days?”
“That’s my best guess.”
“But I haven’t been anywhere long enough for someone to do it.”
Aside from your house, I thought, but didn’t say it. My mind was racing.
“Leave your truck here. Don’t touch anything. I’ll get it towed and taken care of—and also get that scratch fixed like I told you I would before you ran away from me.”
“No way. I live just a few more miles down the road. I can—”
“Leave it. It’ll be taken care of. I need to make a call. Get in my Jeep.”
“No, I—”
“Sunny. I’m not doing this. Get. In.”
Two minutes later, I slid behind the wheel. “Buckle up.”
I fired up the engine, took one last look at the truck, then pulled onto the dirt road.
My call wasn’t to the station, or to Colson, it was to Phoenix Steele, oldest brother and CEO of Steele Shadows Security—someone I trusted with my life, because right now, I didn’t know who to trust. Colson wanted me locked in a padded room, Darby was following me for reasons I had yet to figure out, and the Chief of Police wanted my badge.
My list of people to call for favors was running short.
Phoenix promised to have one of his mechanic buddies pick up her truck within the hour and have new tires on it by morning, no questions asked.
New paint would be another story though.
He’d also promised to wear gloves, avoid each valve as much as he could, and bag up all four tires so I could have them scanned for Kenzo Rees’s fingertips first thing in the morning.
The evening air tore through the open Jeep, hot and restless, like something was coming for us and couldn’t get there fast enough. We rumbled deeper into the woods, the gravel kicking up beneath the tires like gunfire.
I glanced at Sunny.
She hadn’t said a word since we’d left her truck on the side of the road.
Not one. Her body was still, shoulders stiff, jaw locked tight.
Her curls whipped across her face, those wild strands catching on her lips, and still…
nothing. She didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.
Just stared straight ahead, her green eyes darkened with fury.
Not fear.
Fury.
And that pissed me off. My hands squeezed around the steering wheel.
I didn’t want Sunny to be fearless. I wanted her to be scared.
Fear was a good thing. It kept people from making stupid, irrational decisions.
I assumed Sunny didn’t know her former boyfriend had been recently released from prison because she would have connected those dots like I had—her attack, Seagrave’s murder, the missing scroll—and Kenzo Rees.
He was out. And I was almost certain he was coming for her.
The thought made something coil in my chest. Not just protectiveness—possession. I didn’t want anyone touching her. Looking at her. Thinking about hurting her. Not again.
Not ever.
It was him. I knew it in my gut.
I just had to figure out the right time to tell her.
I was about to get that chance.