Without Jeremy’s help, we’d all be serving life sentences. Thankfully, he’s more than eager to help. And so are many other officers in Chicago.
“Carter’s here,”Dante barked, breaking the silence punctuated by the heavy thump of my heart.“Tell him what you told me.”
The pause that followed covered the back of my neck with sweat. I could almost picture Jeremy’s grimace before he sighed, feigning exasperation.
“We’re coming for you, Beckett. You don’t have much time to vanish if you don’t want a pair of shiny new bracelets.”
Two wrinkles dented the space between my brows, and the hum of Chicago’s busy streets muted into nothing.“We? Who’s we, Jeremy?”
“Me, for starters, because he doesn’t have jurisdiction.”
I ground my teeth, summoning my last shards of patience. Jeremy loves a tension-building pause. Considering what he does for us, we indulge him, but his penchant for dramatics was the last thing I needed in that moment. Or any other day to be perfectly honest.
I think Broadway’s the only one who enjoys Jeremy’s cryptic, short sentences. Must be his actor side.
“Who’s he, Jeremy?”I prompted, swallowing my exasperation, even though my impatience filled the Corvette’s entire compact interior, so thick it could be cut with a knife.
“He’s an annoying problem. Barged into the precinct wielding an arrest warrant like a fucking sword and making demands like he’s the fucking boss.”
“Name, now,”Dante clipped. “Don’t keep him guessing.”
“Charles Vaughn.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes briefly.What the fuck is Charles Vaughn doing in Chicago?
And, more importantly:“What are the charges?”I asked, an apple-sized lump lodged in my throat.
“Murder.”
More sweat coated my back, introducing gut-wrenching dread significantly stronger than confusion or shock.
Fuck.
Murder charges usually mean evidence,solidevidence. Vaughn wouldn’t travel all this way on a whim. He has something on me. Fuck knows what but definitelysomething.
Dante cleared his throat, the sound distorting, like he leaned over the phone. I imagined a few choice words beelining for exit on the tip of his tongue, but none made it past his lips.
Yelled orders from Jeremy’s end boomed around me in surround sound.
“Shit,”Jeremy drawled. “Time’s up. We’re rolling out.”
“Who’s dead?”I demanded, squeezing the life out of the steering wheel.
My mind opened the floodgates to worst-case scenarios and went straight toHaileywhich meant my insides werethisclose to folding inwards.
“Get ready!”Jeremy shouted, presumably to his team, but it sounded like a subtle warning forme. Then—under his breath—he added,“It won’t stick,”and the call dropped.
I raked a hand through my hair, taking deep breaths. Not that it helped curb the fear. The growl of the V8 grew louder the harder my foot pumped the gas pedal, one thought echoing inside my head on repeat.
It’s not Hailey. She’s okay. She’s alive.
Vaughn would be in pieces if my girl was dead. He wouldn’t drive from Ohio to bust my ass for murdering his daughter. He’d be damn near catatonic. Any father would be.
I run a hand down my face, cooling my temper while Broadway barricades the door leading out of thePOProom.
As if that will fucking stop me.
“The warrant won’t stick,” I say, stroking his rational side. “It’s been a week. If Vaughn had solid evidence, he would’ve been here the day after Hailey left Lakeside. I know what I’m doing, Broadway.”
