Page 56 of The Rookie's Second Chance

The road stretched out before me, the night clinging to the edges. But inside, there was a fire burning, a fire that wouldn't be put out until I caught the bastard who dared to terrorize my sister.

Chapter Twenty-Six

KAYLA

Iwas barely through the hospital doors, the discharge papers still warm in my hand, when the itch to get back to the case settled in. The doc had been clear—rest, no stress, and definitely no work for a few days. But hell, that wasn't happening, not with the bastard who put me here still out there and my mind racing faster than my heart on a treadmill.

I'd barely made it through my front door when my cell buzzed. Jake. I hesitated for a second, knowing what I'd hear in his voice—worry, frustration, that protective edge that had him treating me like I was made of glass.

"Hey," I answered, keeping my voice steady, almost cheerful. "Just got my walking papers."

"Kayla, tell me you're heading straight home to rest," he said, and I could almost see him running a hand through his hair like he did when he was stressed.

"Of course," I lied smoothly. "Already there. Couch-bound for the foreseeable future."

There was a pause, and I knew he didn't quite buy it. "Good," he finally said. "Because I met with some guys from The Vault last night, and—"

"The Vault?" I interrupted, my brain kicking into high gear. "You find something?"

"Maybe," he said, and I could hear the caution in his voice. "They mentioned a guy—Jude. You ever heard of him?"

The name was new to me. "Nope, first I'm hearing of it. Who is he?"

There was a shuffling sound like Jake was moving papers. "Bad news, from what I can tell. Lots of arrests but no convictions. He could be in Silver Creek; timelines match up."

My pulse quickened. "Jake, I can help—"

"No, Kayla," he cut me off, his voice firm. "You need to recover. I'll handle this."

I bit back a retort, frustration simmering. "Fine," I said, but I was pulling out my laptop as soon as we ended the call. Time to see what the internet knew about Jude.

His last arrest popped up a few months back, and the trail went cold after that. No more run-ins, no current address. He was a ghost, and that made him dangerous. But if he was in Silver Creek, then so was I, and I wasn't about to sit back and wait.

I started digging, tapping into databases and public records, looking for any thread to pull. Hours slipped by, the taxi ride long forgotten as I hunched over my screen. By the time I realized it, the sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across my living room.

A knock at the door startled me, and I closed my laptop with a snap. I wasn't expecting anyone, and every visitor felt like a potential threat.

Peeking through the peephole, I saw it was just the delivery guy with dinner. I'd forgotten I'd ordered food. With a sigh, I opened the door, exchanging a few bills for the bag of greasy sustenance.

Back to my research, I ate without tasting, my focus narrowing. Jude's name kept popping up, a specter in the background of several incidents, always slipping away before he could be pinned down.

The realization hit me—Jude was careful, meticulous. He didn't get caught because he didn't make mistakes. And if he was the one who'd come after me, who was stalking Lexi, then we were dealing with someone who knew how to play the game.

I leaned back, rubbing my temples. The pain was a dull roar now, my head full of information and possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last.

I glanced at my phone, contemplating calling Jake back, telling him I wasn't just sitting around. But I knew that conversation wouldn't go well. He'd be pissed, and rightly so.

Instead, I got up, pacing the room. Resting wasn't in the cards—not with Jude out there, not with Lexi's safety hanging in the balance. I needed to be in this, even if I had to do it from the shadows.

The evening wore on as I continued my search. I was a detective, dammit, injured or not, and I wouldn't be sidelined. Not by Jake, not by the doctor, and certainly not by some asshole like Jude.

I clicked through the digital maze of reports and records, my finger hovering over the mouse with an urgency that was becoming all too familiar. I shouldn't have been doing this, not with the stitches still fresh on my scalp and the doctor's warnings echoing like an annoying bell. But shit, when did I ever do the should-dos?

And then I saw it—a concealed police report, buried under layers of bureaucracy and, dare I say, intentional misfiling. The name on the report sent a cold shiver down my spine: Officer Kilkenny. That name again, cropping up like a bad penny.

"Son of a bitch," I muttered, zooming in on the screen, my eyes scanning the text as fast as they could while still making sense of the legalese.

The report was a labyrinth of insinuations and half-mentions, but it was clear as day to anyone who knew how to look. This was about Lexi's stalker case, and Kilkenny, that damned cop from Miami, had his fingers all over it.

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