Page 53 of The Rookie's Second Chance

She looked up, those fierce eyes of hers telling me she was pissed to still be in that bed. “What’re you doing here?” she croaked. “Thought you’d be out there kicking ass by now.”

I couldn’t help a half-grin. “Just making sure you’re not playing hooky. I’ve got a lead on The Vault.”

Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go get the bastard.”

“I plan to,” I said, leaning down to press a quick, hard kiss to her forehead. “You just keep getting better, alright?”

She grabbed my hand, her grip strong, all things considered. “Be careful, Jake. I can’t do this without you.”

I squeezed back, that knot of worry in my gut pulling tighter. “I always am.”

I left her with a promise to call and update her, but the truth was, my mind was racing, playing out every possible scenario. The drive would give me plenty of time to plan, or to drive myself crazy with ‘what ifs.’

I hit the road, the cruiser eating up the miles. The engine's hum and the blur of the passing scenery were a dull backdrop to the noise in my head. Every now and then, my phone would buzz with a text from Mandy, each one a variation of ‘How’s Kayla?’ or ‘Be safe.’

It was nice, I guess. Mandy trying to show she cared, but my head was in the game, not on her well-wishes.

As the miles ticked by, I found my grip on the steering wheel getting tighter, my jaw set hard. The closer I got to the meet, the more I felt it – that itch between my shoulder blades, the one that says you’re either onto something big or you’re about to step in a pile of shit.

The sun was dipping low when I pulled into the bar's parking lot, a shack of a place that looked like it was held together with spit and prayers. I checked the piece at my side. It was both a comfort and a reminder of what was at stake.

I fired off a quick text to Kayla, letting her know I was there and that I’d call her as soon as I was done. I didn’t mention Mandy. I didn’t want Kayla thinking about anything but getting better.

The engine cut, the car's silence was a contrast to the riot in my head. I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying to ease the tension in my muscles.

As I stepped out of the cruiser, the gravel crunched under my boots. I locked the car and pocketed the keys, my senses on high alert. The bar's neon sign buzzed in the growing dusk, a beacon calling me to whatever waited inside. I squared my shoulders, ready for whatever was coming.

The bar smelled like spilled stale beer and broken dreams. I grabbed a stool at the far end, where I could keep my back to the wall and an eye on the door. A waitress with a tired smile came over, slid a menu towards me, and popped her gum expectantly.

"Just a beer, thanks," I said, not even looking at the menu. I wasn't here to eat.

She nodded and sauntered off, hips swaying to some silent tune. I scanned the faces in the bar. No one stood out. No one screamed, 'I've got dirt on The Vault.' Every tick of the clock had me wound tighter. Was this a setup? Was Kayla's stalker trying to flush me out?

The beer arrived, beads of condensation trickling down the glass like sweat. I took a sip, the cold hitting the back of my throat but not easing the heat in my gut.

I waited. One beer turned into two. The crowd thinned out, leaving just the die-hard drinkers and a couple so wrapped up in each other they might as well have been alone.

"Shit," I muttered, slamming the empty glass down a little harder than I meant to. The bartender shot me a look, and I raised a hand, part apology, part signal I was done.

I stood up, feeling my gun against my side, and made my way to the door, the feeling of being watched crawling up my spine like a line of ants.

The night air hit me, a slap of cold that had me shrugging my jacket tighter around me. I scanned the parking lot; my cruiser was just a lonely island in a sea of asphalt.

That's when they came at me. Three shadows, moving fast.

"Fuck!" I managed before a hand clamped over my mouth and an arm locked around my throat.

I tried for my gun, but one of them pinned my arms while another kicked behind my knees, bringing me down hard on the gravel. The sharp stones bit into my skin, and I could taste blood in my mouth.

"Go on then," I spat, the words muffled against the hand still clamped on my face. "Do it like you did Kayla."

The one in front of me, the leader, I guessed, let out a dry, humorless laugh. "We didn't touch your detective."

"Bullshit," I hissed, my heart pounding a rhythm of pure, uncut fear. "Then who the hell did?"

"Don't know," he said, and a note of sincerity in his voice gave me pause. "But it wasn't one of us."

I struggled, trying to see the faces behind the masks, but it was no use. "Ethan said The Vault's dangerous," I grunted, calling on every shred of defiance I had left.

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