Page 60 of Jinxed

Instantly, his tone shifts from rage to cold, calculated fire. “Why?”

“You need to dig Vallejo up. According to the DEA, he was killed and buried five years ago. Autopsy supports that, and burial records will, too.”

“You think he buried someone else in his place?”

“I dunno, Malone. But something is going on, and until we figure it out, Rory’s life is in the crosshairs. Bring Vallejo up and see who’s inside. Then we can move on to the next step.”

“Fine.” He exhales a deep breath and groans in the back of his throat. “My M.E. probably won’t have jurisdiction to work someone else’s turf. But if she can’t, she’ll know who to talk to. When are you back?”

“On my way now. I’ll be thirty minutes or so, to make sure I’m not being followed. You gonna talk to your M.E. tonight?”

“Yep.” He starts walking, thethud-thud-thudof his boots on tile, audible through our call. “Just as soon as you’re back and I can go, I’ll get the next steps moving.”

“Great.” I step out of the elevator and stare directly at the place Officer Clay was shot today. The very place Rory would have died if not for him standing in the way. Shaking that gloomy reality off and starting toward the car, I slide in and set my call on speaker so I can drive. “If Vallejo isn’t where he’s supposed to be, then I don’t know what the fuck we’re gonna do.”

“We find him,” he counters easily. “We eliminate the threat. We move on to the next case and do it again.”

Move on to the next case?

Fuck. But I’m not sure there is a next case for me.

Rory

TODAY’S AS GOOD AS ANY TO SHOOT A MAN WHO DESERVES IT.

Ihate that I overheard Detective Malone’s worry last night.

His very real fear that Drake might be dead.

Because although the panic lasted only a minute, maybe two at the most, they were the longest two minutes of my fucking life.

Humiliation still burns in my veins. Rage still pumps directly after. I was rejected, and then I was taunted and promised I willneverget to experience what we both want so badly.

It’s easy to be angry. Vindicating, even. I have oodles of pent-up frustration sizzling just beneath my skin, so when that bastard thinks he can embarrass me, I cling gleefully to the anger and stomp-shuffle my way through our time in this prison we’ve found ourselves in.

But when I find out the prick is possibly dead?

Jesus. The nausea that washed through my belly while I sat on the stairs and watched Archer’s panic, his pacing along the hall, dialing, and redialing, to speak to a man who we’re both vested in keeping safe. The ache I felt in my stomach, and the fear that we’d already said goodbye without realizing it.

If I’d known earlier that it would be the last time we’d speak, then perhaps I’d have been nicer. Or more assertive. Or more understanding of his point of view.

If I’d known, I’d have acted differently.

But of course, he answered his phone and, soon after, arrived back at the house safe and sound. He watched me while I worked through the emotions bubbling in my blood, and he kept vigilance when I went to bed and attempted to sleep off the ridiculous feelings circulating in my veins.

I like him. So friggin’ what? I don’t want him to die.

Now it’s the next day, and though I’m still not ready to let go of the humiliation I feel, I keep close. Same section of the house. Within earshot always. Because as it turns out, I worry about him about as much as he worries about me.

Bastard.

“Come on.” He strides into my room and tosses a fresh pair of shoes on my bed. Another pair of Nikes, like they’re the official sponsor for my time in witness protection. The box corners dig into my mattress and threaten to hit my bad leg. But of course, Drake’s aim is perfect and the package stops just inches shy of touching me.

Slowly, I bring my gaze from the box and look up at the man who is, once again, dressed in jeans, a button-up shirt, and a leather holster that holds two ridiculously scary guns close to his heart.

Is he not afraid of them going off by accident?

His hair is neatly combed, his jet-black locks a direct contrast to the playful shade of green in his eyes. He folds his arms, like he’s impatient and I’m entirely too slow for his liking.

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