Page 85 of Jersey

"Wait for your team, Jersey."

"He was touching her," I pant, feeling more and more out of control as the seconds tick by. "She doesn't like to be touched."

I peer around the side of her car. I don't know if the lack of activity is a good or a bad thing.

"Who the fuck is he?"

"I'm working on it. I've got several good images from the camera system and I'm running them through facial recognition."

"It doesn't matter who he is," I remind myself out loud. "He's here to hurt her. This never ends well. All I have is this fucking .380," I say, pulling the handgun from my boot. "I'm so fucking unprepared."

"We can't go through life prepared for war every single second of the day," he argues, but hearing it and knowing it to be true doesn't calm anything inside of me.

"I didn't check her cameras," I mutter. "I should've checked. We should've had someone at her house."

"We've been spread thin working all these leads we got from Adair's paperwork."

"Doesn't fucking matter," I grind out. "We fucking failed her. I failed her."

"ETA three minutes. Hemlock called in local law enforcement, but I think our guys will get there first."

"I don't fucking have three minutes," I growl.

"Two and a half," Casper says. "Let Hemlock take the lead. You're too invested."

"I have to save her," I manage, the sting of tears making my vision blurry. "I can't fucking lose her too."

"You won't, Jersey. You won't."

How the fuck does he even know? He can't possibly predict the future.

My hands tremble as I fight the urge to run toward the house and kick in the front door. I'll be met with a rain of bullets, but if he plugs them all into my chest, then he won't have any left for her, and that is a deal I'm willing to make.

"A minute and a half, man. Hold tight."

I swallow against the lump in my throat. I know going in there half-cocked and full of ego will only end badly. I've seen it too many times before. I'm no fucking superhero, and I know, for a fact, I'm not bulletproof. I don't even have my vest on. It would've been cumbersome as fuck to drive to Ohio and back with one on.

I was prepared to drive by her house and make sure she was safe, not get into a shoot-out with an unnamed man holding her hostage.

"Good job, Jersey. They're pulling in now."

I breathe a sigh of relief before ending the call. I know someone else on the team will have Casper on the line, so there's no sense in pulling him in two directions.

Three SUVs pull up outside of her house, each one strategically placed for optimal sight on the house and protection for us standing on the opposite side of them.

"Casper is working through facial recognition," Hemlock says when I join him beside one of the vehicles. "We have—"

The crunch of gravel draws all of our attention, and I know I'm frowning when the lone police car pulls up. I'm ready to spit nails when a guy climbs out who looks like he just graduated from the academy this past weekend.

He struts toward us like he has plans to save the world today, and it grates on every exposed nerve I have.

"The house isn't on fire," he says, his eyes sweeping over each of us.

I can tell the second he decides he doesn't like us. His shoulders hitch up a little higher as if he thinks he can take us all on in a fight and come out the other end victorious.

I know he was told there was a fire because nothing moves cops up a mountain like the threat of dry trees lighting the tourist destination up.

"It's a hostage situation," Hemlock says, standing at least four inches taller than the sheriff's deputy. "Where are the rest of your force?"

---