Play It Again Page 12

  “So you, uh, it was just you helping her through it?” I ask incredulously.

  “What else was I supposed to do?” he asks, arching an eyebrow in question. “It’s what she wanted.”

  “You could’ve told me and Kim,” I say. “Even if she didn’t want our help, we could’ve been there for you. My God, Jimmy, I don’t ... I can’t even imagine how hard it must’ve been on you both.”

  “I could have, but I didn’t.” He hesitates for a moment, his expression turning guarded. “Look, this is probably going to make me sound like an insensitive jerk, but we were over a long time ago. I stuck around because she begged me to, because of all the shit she was going through, but you know what, she’s not my problem anymore, and her spewing these goddamn lies about being pregnant is not going to change anything between us. It’s over and I’m done letting her guilt me into sticking around.”

  I stare at him as his words sink in. Ignoring the fact that I’m completely in shock, and that I don’t know how to process all this, I feel a strange sense of relief. If what he’s telling me is true, and I have no doubt it is, then he isn’t turning into a deadbeat dad. He’s just a guy, trying to end things with a girl who isn’t ready to let him go.

  “So she’s not really pregnant,” I say. “She’s just what ... using it to try and force you to come back to her?”

  He merely nods.

  I eye him peculiarly, and once again, I’m at a loss for what to say. I feel a little foolish, just sitting here while one of my best friends clearly needs something, but I honestly don’t have a clue what that is.

  Jimmy’s phone buzzes once again, and he lets out a stream of curses as he sets down his laptop and stands, thumping across my office to retrieve it. He taps the screen, bringing up the message that just came in, and swears again, this time, under his breath, before powering the phone off completely and shoving it into his pocket.

  “Sorry about the wall, Pipes,” he mutters, turning back to me. “I’ll pick up some paint and touch it up.”

  I shrug. “I want to change the color in this room anyway. You just gave me the perfect excuse to do it.”

  He smiles at that, a real genuine smile, and lets out a light laugh. “Thank you.”

  I nod, suddenly not trusting my voice. I know he’s saying thank you for more than just the wall. I can see the emotions brimming in his eyes, hear the sincerity, and all the meaning behind those two words in his tone.

  He’s saying thank you for listening.

  Thank you for not judging.

  Thank you for being his friend.

  Silence hangs in the room as he crosses back over to the chair and takes a seat. He picks up his laptop and opens it back up, before looking back at me.

  He laughs awkwardly, biting down on his lip ring. “I should probably already know this, but Vance’s cop friend got an ID on the guy who loosened your tire, right?”

  I hesitate, not responding right away. I don’t want to burden him with my problems when he’s already dealing with enough of his own, but Jimmy just sits there, eyebrows raised, regarding me patiently, if not a little pleadingly.

  He doesn’t want to talk about Tara anymore.

  He wants a distraction.

  “Yeah, he did,” I say after a moment. “The guy’s name is Chad Miller. He’s like some career criminal or something like that. Theft, robbery, drugs. He got out of lock up like three weeks ago, right around the time all the vandalism started.”

  “Do you know him?” he asks curiously.

  I shake my head, looking away from him, glancing around the room, not wanting him to see the sudden unease twisting me up. The whole thing is befuddling. I stared at a copy of his mug shot for hours on Monday, hoping for some kind of recognition to spark up, but I’ve never seen the guy before in my life.

  I don’t know who he is.

  I don’t know why he’s messing with me.

  It’s frustrating, outright maddening.

  The worst part about it is, he’s still out there. Vance and the guys are looking for him, so are the police, but so far, they’ve come up with nothing. Not that I expected them to find him overnight or anything. It’s Thursday, a little more than ninety-six hours since Detective Cruz provided Vance with the guy’s ID, and tracking down someone who most likely doesn’t want to be found takes time, but still ...

  “Can you get a copy of his picture?”

  “Um ... yeah,” I say. “I’ve actually got it. Vance emailed his mug shot to me on Monday to see if I recognized the guy.”

  He grins. “Awesome. We can make some reward posters. Offer up like five hundred bucks to the person who can provide the information that leads to his location and arrest. We can post them around the neighborhood, pin them up in stores. I bet that’ll help find him quicker.”

  I’m quiet for a moment, pondering the idea. “Do you think five hundred is enough?”

  Jimmy shrugs. “I think it’s enough to get some people talking. Why don’t you send me the picture and I’ll draft something while you work. It’s easy enough to change the reward price later if you decide to.”

  I grin at him, feeling a peculiar sense of excitement as I turn back to my computer and bring up my email. Although Vance has let me be a part of a few things, like canvassing my neighborhood, or the briefing meetings with the guys, he’s kept me out of the majority of the investigation.

  Right now, he’s out following up on leads to Chad’s location. I tried everything I could think up this morning to convince him to let me come along today. I pleaded, I bribed, I nearly got to my knees and begged, but nothing worked, he wouldn’t bend, wanting me to stay home and rest.

  His worry, although completely sweet, is extremely annoying.

  I’m fine. Feeling great, actually, aside from the painful pinch of the stitches in my scalp and the bruising on my cheek and ribs.

  But even if Vance doesn’t want me out working on the case with him, a reward ... that’s something I can do to help.

  I send the picture to Jimmy, considering how much to give for the reward. Aside from buying my house and paying off my student loans, which barely made a dint in my trust fund, I haven’t touched the money. My design work pays the bills and gives me a little extra to have fun with, so I’ve just been saving it for a rainy day.

  And if this isn’t a rainy day, I don’t know what is.

  So what’s a good number? Five hundred ... A thousand ... Two? Maybe I should just wait until tonight and ask Vance what amount he thinks would be enticing enough. I’m sure he’s offered rewards before in his line of work; he’ll know better than me.

  Right, okay, just ask Vance.

  Decision made, I pull up the photo stock site and get back to work, starting my search again.

  An hour slips by in a blink. I actually make progress, finishing off a draft and sending it off to the author for approval. Jimmy shows me a couple of options for the flyer, and I end up settling on one that has both, a picture of Chad and a close-up of his Trixie Starr tattoo. The caption is simple, reading: Reward for information leading to discovery or arrest.

  I’m just about to shut down for the day, and go take a shower, when my phone chimes. I pick it up, tapping the screen, and bring up the new text message.

  Vance: Sorry, freckles, I’m gonna be late. Found Trixie Starr.

  Vance

  Trixie Starr is not a stripper.

  The short brunette standing before me, dressed in pink floral scrubs, is so far from what I expected, it’s almost laughable. She’s pretty, small, and a little timid looking, and although her name hints at a career working the pole somewhere, in actuality she’s a nurse and works at a retirement home in the city.

  Certainly not the kind of woman I would expect to hook-up with Chad Miller, a low life druggie who’s spent more time in county lock-up than out of it since he became an adult.

  Trixie looks apprehensive, holding the door only partially open with half of her tiny body shielded behind it, her eyes shifting
from me, to Jase, to Wes, to our vehicles sitting at the curb at the end of her driveway.

  I smile at her, hoping the gesture will put her at ease. “Ms. Starr, I’m Vance Rutherford, and these are my partners Jason Pierce and Wesley Gates. We’re looking for—”

  “I know what you’re looking for,” she says, cutting me off. Her voice is short, but soft with a subtle southern lilt. “Chad isn’t around. He hasn’t been home in a few days.”

  I stall at her abruptness, wondering just how often this woman has to put up with strange men coming to her house looking for her boyfriend.

  Probably far too regularly.

  She doesn’t seem all that surprised that we’re here, almost as though she’s been expecting us. But then, I guess when you decide to play house with a man like him, you’re always expecting something or someone.

  Raising a questioning eyebrow, I ask, “You happen to know where we can find him?”

  “That depends.” She opens the door a little further, her eyes narrowed, scanning us over. “What do you want with him?”

  Huh.

  Perhaps I misjudged her timidness.

  I consider how to respond to her question, wondering how much of the situation I should divulge. I have a feeling she’s not going to be surprised to hear that her boyfriend has a warrant out for his arrest, but I can’t get a solid read on how far she’s willing to go to protect him.

  “He’s a person of interest in a case we’re working on,” I say after a moment. “Just hoping to ask him a few questions, is all.”

  She eyes me skeptically, not believing me for a second. “Are you the police?”

  “No, ma’am,” Wes says, shaking his head. “We’re private investigators.”

  His words make her laugh. “Well this is new,” she says and opens the door the rest of the way, stepping out onto the porch. She shakes her head, amusement flashing in her wide blue eyes. “Private investigators.”

  “Not quite sure why you find that funny,” Jase says, scowling down at her. “But yeah, we’re private investigators, and we’d really like to find Chad before the police do.”

  “Sorry,” she says laughing again. “It’s not really funny, it’s just ...” She shakes her head. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. I don’t know where he is. Chad comes and goes whenever he wants. When he goes, he doesn’t check in. He doesn’t tell me where he’s going or how long he’s going to be gone. He just vanishes.”

  She’s lying, I think, as I watch her turn away and pull the door closed, locking it. I think she knows exactly where he is, or at least she has a pretty good idea of where to start looking.

  “I really wish I could help you guys,” she continues, “but I can’t. I have no idea where Chad is.”

  Jase snorts out a laugh. “I call bullshit. You know exactly where he is.”

  Trixie shrugs. “Believe me or don’t, I really don’t care, but I’ve got to run, so ...” her voice trails off as she turns away from us and starts for the steps.

  I just stand there, watching her for a tick, not sure what to say or do. I don’t know if I should tell her anything, because anything I say she could use to tip off Chad. But if I say nothing ...

  Fuck.

  I cut my eyes at Jase and he nods, silently agreeing that we need to lay it all out for her.

  “He’s been vandalizing my girl’s house and freaking her out for a couple weeks now,” I say quietly, and her footsteps stall immediately. “Friday night he loosened the bolts on the back tire of her truck. I was driving when it came off. The truck flipped and she wound up getting a concussion and stitches. She landed back in the hospital because of that concussion on Saturday and was kept overnight.”

  “Who’s your girl?” she asks curiously, turning back to look at me.

  I cock an eyebrow, folding my arms over my chest. “Does it matter?”

  She shakes her head. “Not really, but I’d like to know.”

  “Her name’s Piper Owen,” Jase says, before I have a chance to make up a name. “She’s a sweet girl, keeps to herself. She sure as fuck doesn’t deserve the bullshit your man’s been dishing out.”

  Trixie says nothing, but her eyes widen, recognition flaring within their depths.

  “You know her,” Wes says. It’s not a question. He caught the recognition in her gaze as well.

  “No,” she says quickly, backing up a step. “Sorry, but I really can’t help you guys and I have to go or I’m going to be late for work.”

  “If you change your mind, then give me a call, yeah?” I say, fishing out my wallet and retrieving a business card, handing it to her.

  She doesn’t say a word, but she accepts the card before she walks away, not bothering to look back. I stand on her porch, watching as she gets in her white Honda Civic, starts it up, and pulls out of the driveway. Shaking my head, I turn back to the house, scoping it out.

  “He hasn’t gone anywhere,” Wes says. “My guess is he’ll be back at this house tonight.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Guess we’re in for a long night.”

  “Wonder how Piper’s gonna feel about a stakeout instead of a steak dinner?” Jase asks, his voice full of amusement.

  I groan, thinking about how much she wanted to come with me this morning, and briefly, I wonder if there’s any way I can get her to stay home without flat out lying to her.

  Not likely.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Piper

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Kim shouts over the sound of my hair dryer as she comes into the bathroom. I’m bent over at the waist, blow-drying my wet hair, with a plush orange towel cinched around my chest. She hops up on the countertop across from me, her legs swinging in my line of sight. “It’ll be fun.”

  “I’m sure it will be,” I shout back, not looking up as I work the dryer over my hair. “But I think I’m just going to stick around here for a bit.”

  She’s heading out for a drink (or ten) with Jimmy, a kick-off celebration of the start to her vacation. After my Saturday night stay in the hospital, Kim pulled some strings at work and managed to secure two weeks off. She claims it’s so she can help find Chad Miller, but I’m pretty sure it’s an excuse to get out of work. Her boss is an ass and he creeps her out, always hitting on her, making her uncomfortable, and she’s had enough. I’m certain she’s going to spend some time job hunting over the next couple of weeks, since she’s already been hinting at becoming my assistant.

  “If you’re worried about Vance, you could—”

  Before she can finish that sentence, I turn off the dryer and straighten up, looking at her. “Why would I be worried about Vance?”

  My response makes her laugh as she starts fiddling with my various body sprays and scattered hair products, lining them up along the mirror. “Because it’s Vance and you’ve worried about him in one way or another since you first met him.”

  I cringe inwardly at her flippant statement, because this (unfortunately) is true, but it’s more than that, too.

  The truth is, this new hanging out thing I’ve been doing with Vance is driving me insane.

  He pushed his way into my life, forcing me to look at him as a possibility—not just some fantasy—and I don’t know what to do about it.

  Half the time I don’t even believe it’s really happening.

  More often than not, I find myself wondering what will happen when he finds Chad and life goes back to normal. Will he get bored with me? Will things just go back to how they were?

  Ugh. I hate this. Hate the uncertainty. Hate the not knowing. Hate all of it.

  “I’m not worried,” I say, thoroughly impressed that I manage to sound semi-confident. “He said he’d be late, not that he wasn’t coming.”

  She makes a face at me, somewhere between excitement and pity. I’m sure she’s feeling both. Kim is an all-out advocate for me and Vance making a go of things, but she doesn’t do well when people around her are stressing. And I’m sure she doesn’t believe I’m
not stressing.

  I don’t blame her. I don’t believe me either.

  It’s seven-forty, and I haven’t heard a peep from him since his last message. So far, he’s only ten minutes late, which really is nothing, but the silence, the not knowing, is stressing me—just a little.

  “He’ll be here,” she says. “You said he found that girl from that jerk’s tattoo, right?”

  Her serious tone startles me. “Uh, yeah, that’s what he said.”

  “Then he’s working,” she continues. “He’s probably talking to her right now, finding out everything he needs to know about that Chad guy.”

  I nod again, not sure what else to say, and flick the switch on my hair dryer, bending back over. She’s right. I shouldn’t be stressing. I have no reason to worry. Vance will be here at some point and we’ll go out.

  He isn’t going to change his mind.

  He isn’t going to get bored.

  He isn’t …

  Okay, enough.

  Enough doubting.

  Enough stressing.

  Enough.

  Kim finishes straightening up my cosmetics and hair products, lining them by size along the edge of the mirror. She’s stalling, I think, waiting around so I won’t be here alone.

  It’s pointless, but sweet.

  Things have been relatively quiet since Sunday and aside from Vance hanging around and the constant updates on Chad, life’s been moving on, getting back to some semblance of normal since the tire incident.

  But even if it weren’t, Vance is still monitoring my house. There’s no need for her or Jimmy to wait around, just in case something happens.

  “You don’t have to hang around,” I say, turning off the hair dryer once more and setting it down on the countertop beside her. “Go have fun. I’m fine here. Promise.”

  “I know you are,” she says and lets out a deep, theatrical sigh, before she hops down and wraps her arms around me in a tight hug. “Try not to stress too much, okay? He’ll—”