Page 58 of Cruel Debts
"I'm still not talking to you," I huffed as I snatched the plate from the counter and marched into my room.
Their newfound eagerness to please did nothing to negate the fact that they'd fucked up. And it wasn't enough to convince me to stay.
The second an opportunity arose, I wouldn't be here anymore. They could do whatever they wanted, but I wouldn't come back. And they'd have nobody to blame but themselves.
Won't let me work? Fine. Won't let me leave? Okay. Won't treat me with some basic respect, tell me the truth, or apologize? Whatever.
But don't expect someone to sit around and wait for you to change on your schedule instead of the one they're on. We didn't all have the same amount of time left to us to do with as we wished.
I couldn't stay here forever, looking for a brother I didn't know how to find, playing house with three assholes who'd given up on him and me, pretending I could avoid the perfect fucking life back home if I pretended hard enough.
Something had to change.
TWENTY-FIVE
HAWKE
"What do you mean,you can't give me that information?" I slammed my hands down on the counter, but it did nothing to goad the police officer behind the damn thing into some sort of action other than refusal. "That's bullshit and you know it."
"What Iknow,"the burly man said with a look at me down the bridge of his nose, "is that you've got ten seconds to get the hell out of my precinct before I forcibly remove you from it."
If this shitheel pig thought for five seconds that he could bullymeinto submission, he had another thing coming. I wasn't the type to just roll over and play good boy for someone just because they waved a badge around and made threats they couldn't back up.
I was a member of the Guild. He ought to know what that badge on my shoulder meant?—
Then again, I wasn't in Port Wylde anymore. No, I drove half the day to get back to where Trinity and Keehn came from, to pester and prod the local precinct that he worked at before he disappeared, hopefully into giving me information on whatever case he had worked on last.
His disappearance could be related to it. It was vital information.
And according to the laws of this fucking place, I, as a citizen, was entitled to information.
"One," the bloated fucker behind the counter spat at me, his brows furrowed in what he thought was a threatening manner. "Two."
"Ten, motherfucker, come and get me."
I dodged his long arms with ease, slipping right past him to pop a little USB drive into the side of his computer. Once that was secure, I let him herd me out of the bullpen, throwing my hands in the air before I pretended to bow out and leave like he asked.
Little did he know, I didn't need his help anymore.
Back at the car, laptop in hand, around the corner from that stupid hicktown police station, it took me about ten seconds to break down their firewall.
And another ten to search their database and find Keehn's name all over files that were scattered everywhere.
"What the actual fuck?"
There was no way. Not a chance in hell. This wasn't real.
Keehn's name was not only listed as the presiding and investigating officer, but there were files where he was listed aswitness,some withinformant,and one withvictimbeside his name. That one had to be when the McCoys filed their missing persons report. Or the station.
But the others were confusing.
At first glance, this all looked like small-town shit—a breaking and entering, an accidental shooting, a few domestics, a missing person, one or two speeding tickets, and a reckless driving and public intox. Nothing seriously out of place for someone who'd been on the force for a while.
Wait.
Missing persons report.
But this wasn't Keehn's missing persons report. This was one he filed, regarding a Kimberly Dawn Hashfeld. Sixteen, blonde, involved in sports, she was a star athlete at the local high school until she disappeared one day, and never came home from a shopping trip with her friends.
