Bad Boy's Last Race (12 page)

I hunch my shoulders and don’t budge from my spot propped against the wall. Eventually, I’ll have to come clean. These are my friends—hell, my family. They deserve to know I’m the one who put them at risk. But I want to have a plan, first. A way to make things right. Sophie’s been through this before—been through hell and back—but she must have some idea of how Tyler can be stopped. If I can get her to open up, tell me what she knows . . .

Drazic catches my eye as the others shuffle out of the shop. “You got a minute, Jags?”

I nod reluctantly. “Come on up.”

I lead him up into my apartment. The door was still locked—as far as I can tell, the agents never did make it inside. That’s one small relief, knowing that Tyler’s nasty stare wasn’t sweeping over my room. Knowing he wasn’t running his grubby hands over the bed where I fucked Sophie . . . I smirk to myself. At least I’ll always have that over him, no matter what else he does to me.

I toss Drazic a beer from the fridge and settle onto my couch. He leans against the kitchen island and takes a long pull from his bottle. My stomach tightens, knowing just what he wants to ask me.

“It’s about Sophie, isn’t it?” Drazic asks.

I rub my jaw, the stubble bristling. “I’m afraid so.” I take a sip of my beer. “The agent in charge—Tyler Brennan. He’s her ex. She’s not—she wasn’t a plant or anything, like you thought. He’s just fucking loony tunes.”

“You sure about that?” Drazic asks.

I nod. “She told me the whole story. Control freak, dominating, gaslighting her, the whole kitchen sink of dysfunction. She finally broke free of him and came back to Ridgecrest to try to let things cool off. But he stalked her here, and now he’s looking to make her life hell until . . . until I don’t even know what. She sees the error of her ways?” I shrug.

“Or until he kills her,” Drazic says. “And everyone she loves.”

I shudder. I mean, it’s not like we’ve said we—well. It’s not like we’re that serious. But I try to picture myself leaving her, hooking up with someone else, and it just tastes dry and boring on my tongue.

“You feel something for her. I know, Jags. Really, I do. And she seems sweet, cute, clever as a whip . . . Hell, even Elena likes her, and you know how picky Elena is.”

I try to laugh, but can’t quite bring myself to do it.

“But this chick’s trouble. Maybe it isn’t her fault, maybe it is, but the fact remains—she led this douchebag to our gates. She set him on our scent, and now he’s going to hunt us as long as he can. The more we look scared, then if he really is this psychopath she claims, the more he’s going to push us.”

“I know.” I close my eyes. “I get it, D. I’m trying to think of a way out of this. I just need a little time.”

“No, Jagger. I’m telling you the way out of this.”

I square my jaw. I already know what he’s going to say.

“She could wreck everything we’ve built here. Everything we’ve fought so hard to own.” Drazic drains his beer and sets the empty on the counter. “I need you to stop seeing her. It’s the only way to shake him off.”

But he’s wrong. It’s too late for that. And Sophie needs me more than ever. She’s got a fucking maniac hunting her down, and no one else is watching out for her. Not the police, not the feds, and apparently, not even our crew. I’ve got to take care of her—like I’ve never wanted to watch out for someone before. My heart aches at the thought of not being able to help.

Yet I can’t argue with Drazic—I owe him my life and then some. As I hear the door slam behind me, I know he’s right. It’s the only way.

I
t’s been less
than a week since Tyler returned, and already, I’m falling back into my old habits. I catch myself scanning every parking lot while I cross it, searching it for idling cars or men lurking behind the wheels, watching me. I’ve picked up a new burner phone, just in case Tyler had something planted on my old one—was somehow using it to track me down. No matter who I’m talking to or where I am, I keep careful watch on my body’s language. I don’t want to look like I’m flirting, or soliciting help, or giving off any indication that I’m afraid. All things that used to set Tyler off.

Basically, I want to live as boringly as I can. I know he’s watching me, but I can’t put on a show. I can’t give him any reason to intervene in my life. I just want to be invisible.

But even being invisible is exhausting.

While Darla and Hank deal with tax season at Cartwright Industries, I’ve picked up what extra duties I can to help them out with the kids, and that includes picking them up from school on the afternoons that I don’t work at the Youth Center. After a refreshing day holed up in the carriage house, working on my thesis, I take a long shower and drive toward Ella’s preschool to collect her. My muscles feel relaxed and my mind is as clear as can be, given everything going on. I want to hold on to that feeling for as long as I can.

“Did you know that elephants can paint?” Ella asks me, as soon as I get her buckled in. “We watched a show about an elephant who paints. He holds the brush with his trunk!”

“That’s awesome, Ella Bear.” I turn down Willow toward the elementary school. “What kinds of paintings did he make?”

“Happy ones, mostly.” She swung her legs back and forth in the backseat. “He was a happy elephant. I think.”

I’m glad someone could be. I drum my fingers against the steering wheel as I enter the pickup line for the elementary school. I’ve been so busy trying to avoid Tyler and disappear that I haven’t had a chance to speak with Jagger since the other night when I told him the truth about Tyler. I’m not sure where we left things, though he obviously seemed worried about me. We were doing better. I mean—I was being open and honest with him, finally. It certainly felt better than the lies of omission, as much as it pained me to tell him the truth. As much as it hurt. I don’t know if he can ever forgive me, but I’d like to believe I deserve a chance.

Once I don’t have Tyler watching my every move, at least.

“There’s Jack’s friends.” Ella points toward the stairs where Jack usually sits waiting for me.

Except Jack isn’t with them.

I frown and start scanning the whole front of the school. The mother in the minivan in front of me stops to let her kids climb in, buying me a little extra time. Did he forget I was picking them up today, and hop on the bus? The buses are long gone. Maybe he’s still waiting inside the school. Something twists inside my gut, a warning sign, but I shrug it off. No need to panic. There’s a perfectly good reason Jack isn’t out here.

Finally the car in front of me moves, and I pull out of the pickup line and park in a visitor’s spot. “Wait here,” I tell Ella, and crack the windows for her before storming up toward the front of the school.

“I’m here for Jack. Jack Masters.” I approach the playground monitor, a young and overstressed-looking teaching assistant probably the same age as me. “Is he out of class yet?”

“Jack . . . Oh, right. Yes, he should be.” She glances up and down the front of the school. “Huh. I know I saw him earlier. I’m pretty sure he left at his usual time.”

“You’re
pretty sure
?” I echo.

She blanches and rocks back on her heels. “Well—yes. I—I thought you or his mother picked him up.”

“His mother? Did you see her pick him up?” I ask.

“Well, no, I—he was with his friends, and then he was gone, and I—”

“Thanks so fucking much.” I take note of her name on her name tag in case I need to file a complaint, twist away from her, and storm over to a couple of boys I recognize sitting on the front steps. Jack’s friends. “Hey, guys. Have you seen Jack?”

They barely glance up from their handheld games. “No.”

“Was he at school with you today?”

One boy swears under his breath, then looks up at me with a sigh. “He was here, but then he left.”

“With who?” I ask, my voice straining.

The boy’s shoulders punch in the air. “I dunno. He saw somebody and told us he’d see us later.”

Fuck.
I charge back to the car, fighting back a rush of tears.
He saw somebody.
That could mean anything. One of his school friends? His mom?

Someone else?

I pull the burner phone out of my purse and dial Darla’s number. “Darla Masters’s office,” her executive assistant answers.

“It’s her sister, Sophie. Is Darla available?”

“She’s in a meeting with Mister Cartwright. I can take a message.”

I’m about to tell her to pull Darla out of the meeting. But I can’t start panicking yet. There are still plenty of other places I can look. “No, please just tell her to . . . to call me as soon as she’s out.”

“Okay, no problem.”

I hang up, wracking my mind for what else I can do. I know exactly who to call, but I don’t know how he’d take it. But what other choice do I have? I have to find Jack. I take a deep breath, then dial another number. Jagger’s.

His voice sounds rough and hesitant. “Hello?”

“It’s Sophie. New phone number.” I clench my jaw. “Listen, I . . . I need some help.”

“What’s going on?” Instantly his edge is gone and he sounds focused. Ugh, god. I don’t deserve his kindness.

“It’s . . . It’s Jack. I went to pick him up from school, but he’s missing.”

“Ridgecrest Elementary?” Jagger asks, and I can hear keys jangling in the background.

“That’s the one.”

“I’ll be there in eight.”

I let out my breath and slump against the roof of the car. Darla will never forgive me if I’ve lost her son. But the problem is, I’m not so sure he’s lost.

“Aunt Sophie?” Ella asks, from the backseat.

“Hey, Ella Bear.” I open the rear door and slide in next to her. “Thanks for being so patient. It’s really helpful to me.”

“Why?” she asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing’s wrong.” I boop her on the nose. “Just taking a little longer to find Jack than I thought it would.”

“Why isn’t Jack here?” Her voice goes watery and thin. Shit. I didn’t mean to get her upset, too.

“Well . . .” I tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “That’s what I’m trying to find out. But if you can stay calm, we can find him in no time.”

With a squeal of tires, Jagger’s Firebird pulls up next to me. Even in a hurry and laser-focused on helping me, he looks like a goddamned saint climbing out of his driver’s side. The sun hits the mirrored lenses of his aviators and kisses all his lean muscles on display. More than one of the mothers milling around the parking lot stops to stare at him.

Jagger pushes the sunglasses up on top of his head. “Who are Jack’s friends?” he asks. “Where’s he like to hang out? Did anyone see anything?”

“He hangs out with Pedro Morales after school sometimes. They live over on Aspen Street. Or sometimes I’ll take him to the playground on Ash Grove on our way home.”

“Pedro . . . is that Alberto Morales’s kid?” Jagger asks, and I nod. “Yeah, I know him. Fixed his transmission once. I’ll check the Morales’s house and the playground. You follow the route from here to home—maybe he tried to walk it or something. Start searching the neighborhood streets.”

“Right.” I’m clutching my keys so hard they’re cutting into my palms. “Thank you. I . . . I didn’t know what to do.”

“Don’t worry.” Jagger runs the back of his hand against my cheek. “I’ll get Elena and Lennox to help me, too. We’ll canvass the neighborhood, but I promise you—we’ll find him.”

I nod, but I can’t ignore the part of me that fears that Jack—or whoever took him—doesn’t want him to be found until they’re good and ready.

* * *

W
hile Jagger
, Elena, and Lennox head off to search for Jack at the playground, I start driving along the grid of the neighborhood. I’m trying to be thorough, but my mind is frantic and I’m swerving all over the place, checking every tree and bush and clump of playing children.

“Maybe Jack figured out how to fly like Superman!” Ella exclaims at one point. “I think I’d like to fly. Sometimes I’ll run really fast and jump off the bed and try to fly.”

“I don’t think Jack flew away, honey.” I can barely stand to devote any attention to her right now. I don’t want to be distracted. I peer down an ivy-covered walkway between two houses, but there are no signs of Jack.

“Well, then he should stop hiding.” She starts swinging her legs again, just barely able to jostle the back of my seat. “I don’t like this.”

“It’ll be okay,” I tell her. But I’m just barely holding it together myself. Darla still hasn’t called me back. Jagger hasn’t called with good news.

Where the fuck did he go?!

And then the waterworks start.

“I want to go home,” Ella wails, tossing her head back. “I want my brother. Why isn’t he here?”

God dammit, Ella, that’s all I want, too. I’m about to snap. I slam on the brakes, squeeze the steering wheel like I’m strangling it, then slowly, slowly force myself to answer her with something besides four-letter words.

“I’m trying to find your brother,” I say through clenched teeth. “But I need your help. If you’ll be very quiet—”

“You’re a bad aunt!” she screams.

Great. Now I’m going to fucking cry.

Ella’s whole body heaves with great, wracking sobs. “I want to go home! I want my mommy!”

“Honey, I need you to be quiet so I can find Jack—”

“I want to go home! Please, take my home!” she wails.

Fuck.
We’re only four blocks away from Darla and Hank’s house anyway. I guess it wouldn’t kill me. Maybe Darla’s headed home, then she can watch Ella while I go—While I go searching for her
other
kid, who I managed to fucking
lose—

Fuck it. I turn onto Willow Lane and race toward the driveway. Every second feels endless, as Ella screams and screams. Finally, I park half into the driveway and half into the street, rush out, yank Ella from the back seat, then carry her, screaming and kicking, toward the kitchen door. I fumble with my keys for what seems like forever, only to find that—

The kitchen door’s already unlocked.

The hairs raise on the back of my neck. As I grip the doorknob, I can’t help but think back to countless times I’ve stood at a door, desperate to get out, only to find myself locked in, Tyler standing on the other side, holding me in place.
It’s for your own good,
he’d say.
You know if you go out with those girls, you’ll just get sloppy drunk and embarrass yourself. I’m looking out for you.

No. Tyler can’t be here. He wouldn’t, not after Darla’s warning. He’s smarter than that. Isn’t he?

I shove the door open.

“Hi, Aunt Sophie!”

Jack sits at the kitchen table—by himself, thankfully—hunched over a bowl of ice cream. He waves the spoon at me and Ella. Ella immediately stops crying, so I ease her to the floor and rush toward Jack, then wrap my arms around him.

“Ow,” Jack says. “You’re squeezing me.”

“What in the world were you thinking, Jack?” I can’t seem to let go of him. “Where have you been? I was worried sick!”

Jack squirms out of my arms and digs his spoon into the ice cream. Caramel swirl. My favorite—not that I remember Darla having any in her freezer. Once more, I get that cold crawling sensation on my skin.

“Why are you so worried? I was just fine,” Jack says. Then he smiles, ear to ear. “Tyler took care of me.”

My knees buckle underneath me. I grab hold of the back of his chair to keep from sinking. No. Please, no.

“He picked me up from school in his truck. It’s a really cool truck—he has this fancy radio he can use to talk to other police guys! He even showed me his gun, though he wouldn’t let me hold it yet. He says I have to wait until I’m older. But . . .” Jack pauses a moment to catch his breath. “He says when I’m older, then maybe I can. If you and him get together again, he said I can take a gun safety class with him and he’ll teach me how to shoot.”

The world is swirling around me. Someone’s standing in the doorway, and for a moment, I’m scared it’s Tyler. I open my mouth, but only a strangled yelp comes out.

“Sophie?”

It’s Jagger—he dashes toward me, Elena and Lennox in tow. His arms slide under my elbows, and he pulls me to my feet. “Thank you,” I whisper. Then I pull away. “Tyler. Tyler took him—Jack? Is Tyler here still?”

“No, he said he had to go, but he wanted you to know he’s looking out for me.”

The fucking psycho. He wanted me to know he could get to me and my family, more like. That I’ll never be fucking free of his control.

“Aunt Sophie?” Jack asks. “Could you please please please do what Tyler asked? I really like Tyler.” He scoops up another spoonful of ice cream. “He said he’d be good for you.”

“Jack . . . Listen, honey, I don’t think you understand . . .”