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Her kindness is a temporary relief from my shock, flashes of that picture of Redix and Angie firing across my mind.
Opening a bag of Skittles—because fuck Lemonheads now—I’m looking down as I walk out of the sliding doors and bump into another force.
“Easy there, Sergeant.”
That voice ruins my life more and I have to rein it in; every ounce of strength I have to act like I’m not ready to murder someone in two seconds. Because I am. His hand on my hip makes it justifiable.
“TJ.” The smile on my face is as fake as a beauty queen’s tan. “Fancy seeing you here tonight.”
“Just grabbing some smokes.”
Fuck, he reeks of it and cologne. A gag grabs my throat while I glance past him.
Jameson’s clocking our every move while TJ commands, “I’ll grab a six-pack, and you’ll join me.”
This man is obsessed, powerless to stop himself. He’s after me like my shadow, my dark hell.
“I’m on duty.” I wink. “Some other time.”
“You owe me a good time, remember?”
The yellow tobacco stains on his teeth; I gag again.
“Oh, I remember.”
The pen in my back pocket? It’d look so good stabbed in his right eye. Or left. They’re both on my tits.
His nose lifts.
“You don’t smell like me tonight. Did you throw away my gift because you’re back with him?”
Evil bends his eyes, his pupils carving over my cleavage. God, he’s twisted.
“I’m not back with anyone.” That was about Redix and painfully true.
“You behave tonight,” I say; really, I pray as I turn around and walk across the parking lot.
Normally, eyes on my body, I can feel them and don’t care. I’ve been eye-fucked all my life. But TJ’s glare? It’s more foul than the stench of the putrid dumpster I’m walking past in June.
“You know TJ?” Jameson asks when I plop into the passenger seat.
The entire Sheriff’s office knows TJ. He’s a local legal legend. Drugs are his most notorious offense. But somehow, TJ keeps walking free out of every courtroom. Must be nice having Senator Gentry Evans as your best friend.
“Yeah. We went to high school together.”
Jameson can’t know more.
Or what happened.
Or what’s next.
“His prints were on that lighter we found at the scene,” Jameson says. “We got him on camera smoking there hours before Kayla was found.”
“Believe me”—I pop a green apple Skittle in—“that may not be the evidence you need yet, but TJ is wicked like Gentry. One is just more high-class about it.”
And TJ comes here at ten to buy smokes every night, I note.
While Jameson drives us back across the bridge, I fill him in on the details Mai Le shared. I also text him and Penny the photo of her missing sister and the other deputies on shift.
