Chapter 44 Jagg
JAGG
Max whimpered in the back seat as my Jeep bottomed out in a pothole.
I gripped the wheel tighter, barreling down the dirt road, a thick cloud of dust spinning up behind me, dissolving into an evening air that was as still as a rock.
The sun hung low over the mountain peaks, a burning orange ball teetering on the edge of dusk.
The full moon was rising.
The Moon Magic Festival was tonight, and if the last twenty-four hours had taught me anything, it was that the stars were aligning for something big. Something bad.
My pulse hadn’t slowed since I’d left Deja Brew, and in fact, had only gotten faster as I’d tried to dance around the red tape to get a warrant for Briana Morgan’s files.
I’d left a voicemail with the judge, who’d called the chief, who then called my boss and had me stonewalled, engaging in a pissing match about who should submit the warrant.
McCord was trying to delay it, to spite me.
He wanted me off the case. He wanted me out of a job.
Well, he had another thing coming.
I went to the judge’s house myself. His wife answered the door in a silk robe, told me he’d get back to me “as soon as possible”—then slammed it in my face with a tight-lipped warning never to bring work to her doorstep again.
The Max Jagger popularity tour was alive and well.
By the time I got pulled over for doing seventy in a forty-five on my way out of town, I knew I needed to cool off before I lost my badge—or worse, my temper.
To top all that off, I hadn’t taken a pain pill all day. Every time my hand slid to my pocket, I’d look at Max and think of Sunny and her subtle way of suggesting I was addicted.
My back was knots, new pains in my hips that I hadn’t felt before.
The woman was in my head. In my bloodstream.
My Jeep seemed to drive itself in one direction.
Not Frank’s Bar.
Not the gym, or my apartment.
Not to my brother’s.
To the bungalow where Sunny Harper was waiting for me.
I didn’t think, just drove. Just a few minutes with Sunny, a reprieve from my terrible afternoon, then I’d take Max back to my brother’s and then head back into town and sit in the Chief’s office until he pushed through the warrant.
The meeting with Briana Morgan hadn’t been a total bust. I learned that the Black Bandit had something to lose. Something that made him cut a deal.
A weakness—and I was good at exploiting weaknesses.
Two things bugged me, though. One, why didn’t she just come out and confirm that Kenzo Rees was the Black Bandit? Why so protective of him? Two, most importantly, what was she hiding?
Why?
I made a mental note to spend the evening looking into Miss Morgan, her social media, public records, where she went to school; anything to find a link that could lead to the Black Bandit, which could lead me to Kenzo Rees.
I needed to find the bastard.
I needed food.
I needed a shower.
I needed a freaking pain pill.
I needed… something.
A reflection in the rearview mirror caught my attention. My gaze narrowed as the bumper of a truck edged around a corner behind me, disappearing as I took another corner.
I was almost half way to the bungalow and hadn’t passed a single car since turning off the highway. No one lived down that road. Aside from the occasional hunter or wandering stoner, no one drove down it either.
I shifted my focus back and forth between the rearview mirror and the road ahead of me.
I slowed.
Look closer… Briana’s words echoed in my ear.
I peered in the mirror.
Look closer…
And then I saw it, the dented hood of Darby’s truck.
Dammit. I was not in the mood to deal with the kid. The rookie who was following me and didn’t have the balls to tell me why.
I gassed it, sending Max stumbling backward, clawing at the seat.
I pulled a U-turn, my tires spinning out as I skidded back onto the road and hit the gas.
Beams of the setting sun blurred the truck just ahead of me.
My jaw clenched as I accelerated, lining up for a perfect head-on collision.
A cloud of dust burst into the sky suggesting Darby had slammed his brakes. A horn blasted through the air.
I kept on the gas, faster, faster, until finally slamming the brakes and skidding to a stop an inch from Darby’s hood.
“Stay,” I growled at Max as dust blurred everything around the Jeep.
I climbed out, my heart pounding. I pulled my gun from my holster as I hurled myself onto the hood of his truck and threw myself over because there wasn’t enough room between the vehicles.
“Out.”
Dust swirled around us.
When the door didn’t budge, I reached through the open window, grabbed Darby’s shirt collar and dragged him onto the dirt road. I dropped him, sending him stumbling away from me.
I slammed the truck door and squared off with him, gun in hand.
“What the hell are you doing, son?”
Beads of sweat rolled down the side of my face, but that was nothing compared to the flush of heat on the kid’s cheeks.
“I… uh…” His gaze remained fixed on my gun. “Put down the gun, dude.”
“Not until you tell me why you’ve been following me.”
Darby ran his fingers through his oily hair, muttering something under his breath.
“You have two fucking seconds, Darby.”
“I was told to, alright?” He blurted. “Colson asked me to keep an eye on you.”
“Why?”
“Because he thinks you’ve gone over the edge. That you’re a loose cannon. Wanted me to keep a bead on you, that’s all.”
Loose cannon.
“I promise,” he stammered. “That’s all.”
I holstered my gun. “Well, you failed him, kid. I saw you the moment I walked into Frank’s the other night. Seen your every move since.”
“Shit.” Darby began pacing. “Freaking shit.” His steps were quick, erratically changing positions. I narrowed my eyes and watched him. I wasn’t the only man on the edge.
A breeze swept past, clearing the dust and sending a flurry of sable fur shooting out of the Jeep like a cannon, sharp, quick barks.
Familiar barks.
Darby froze, eyes rounded in terror as the dog barreled toward him, stopping inches from his untied shoe.
Max bounced, pawed, his nose in the air, sniffing, sniffing, sniffing.
Exactly as he had done earlier while Sunny was training him to sniff out the third person from the night of her attack.
The frantic sniffing was nothing like when he’d met Darby at Sunny’s house the night of the vandalism. This was different.
This was the turning point.
For a moment, I stood stock still in shock. Max had been trained to sniff out the mystery third person involved in Sunny’s attack.
Darby?
Darby’s scream in fear of the dog shook me out of it.
“Max, settle!”
The dog stopped instantly, recoiled, and joined me at my heels.
Darby gaped at me.
My pulse roared in my ears. I couldn’t believe what was happening.
“What did you do after photographing the Voodoo Tree in the woods?” I pulled the gun from my belt, kept it low, but it kept it loud.
The flush drained from the kid’s cheeks.
“The evening of Seagrave’s funeral,” I repeated, seething. “The night of Sunny Harper’s attack in the park. The night some mystery person ran out of the woods and shot a hole through Julian Griggs’ face. Answer me, Darby, what did you do after meeting me at the shrine?”
“I…” his gaze drifted to my gun.
“Where. Did you. Go?”
I inched closer. Max growled at my hip.
“I did it!” His scream exploded out of a pale face, bulging eyes, wild with adrenaline. “Okay? I did it! I killed Julian Griggs. Pastor Griggs’ son. I’m the third person. I freaking did it.”
The confession poured from his lips like an inmate on death row.
I fisted his uniform collar and pulled him off the ground.
“Did you hurt Sunny?” With my other hand, I lifted the gun to his face. “Did you fucking hurt Sunny?”
“No.” His answer was barely audible. “No… I promise… no… I pushed her to the ground to get her away from Julian. I saved her life. No… Jagg… please…”
My body shook with rage. “I’m going to ask you again and I swear to God I will put a bullet in your head if you don’t tell me the truth. Did you hurt Sunny?”
He tried to shake his head against my choke hold. His feet kicked back and forth, dangling above my own.
I released my hand and watched him crumble to the ground gasping for breath.
And began sobbing. Blubbering, heaving sobs.
I holstered the gun for the second time, took a few steps back and gave him a second to catch the breath I’d stolen from him. Finally, he shifted onto his butt, pulled his knees to his chest and looked up at me.
He was absolutely terrified.
“Did you also vandalize her home, Darby?”
“No.” He swiped the tears from his cheek. “No. I promise. I was only close by that night because I was following you.”
I heaved out a breath, dragged my fingers through my own hair.
I squatted down in front of him.
“Okay, calm down and tell me, Darby. Tell me everything. And I’m not in the mood for bullshit or beating around the bush, so tell it how it is. Nothing more, nothing less. What happened that night?”
It took a solid ten damn minutes for the kid to get his full story out. It went something like this:
After photographing the shrine at the Voodoo Tree, Darby had taken it upon himself to search the surrounding woods for more signs of witchery.
What he got was someone bolting out of the woods and attacking Sunny Harper.
He claims he hesitated, not sure what to do, but once the man—we know now to be Griggs—started beating Sunny, Darby took action.
An honorable act and one that saved Sunny’s life.
Once Griggs engaged Darby in hand-to-hand, Darby pulled his gun and shot.
Twice. After realizing he’d blown the kid’s face off—and seeing his first dead body, by his own hand—Darby lost it and bolted while Sunny was dragging herself up from the ground.
He said he watched old man Erickson pull up. The man never even saw him.