Busted: Promise Harbor, Book 3 (22 page)

Jackson fished his cell phone from this pocket, started to dial his friend, then remembered how busy he probably was since he’d asked Hayley to stick around for a bit. Josh was still out of town, leaving him few options aside from a tow truck.

Absolutely fucking perfect.

Hayley nearly kept driving past the rink even though she’d spotted Jackson inspecting the engine in the rain. An hour spent pouring drinks at Stone’s hadn’t been nearly long enough to cool off, not even after Brent told her that Jackson had stepped in when his brother, after drinking too much—again—had picked a fight.

That was probably the only reason she found herself turning the truck around.

Jackson lifted his head, giving the truck a weary glance when she pulled up, but quickly went back to studying whatever he found so fascinating under the hood.

She stepped out of the truck, shielding her face from the rain as best she could. “Get in.”

“Waiting to use a billy club on me next?”

Knowing she probably deserved that made her even more determined to get him in the truck. “I’m not going to ambush you.”

He crossed his arms, clearly comfortable with having a conversation in the rain.

Fine. She wouldn’t melt. “Look, I talked to Brent. I’m sorry for assuming you picked that fight.” Though they would have been hard-pressed to find someone who wouldn’t have believed that. His reputation as a fighter preceded him, unfortunately. And he hadn’t exactly said otherwise. “And I’m sorry for what I said about you not playing hockey.”

His shoulders stiffened, and she waited for him to tell her to go. He didn’t. He closed the hood, locked the car and walked toward her. By the time he reached the truck, she’d slid back behind the wheel.

He settled into the passenger seat and met her gaze. Was he waiting for something?

“What?” she prompted.

“Just thinking that your apology would be even better if you were naked.”

The tension dissolved between them instantly. She laughed. “You’re sick.”

He grinned, and the sight of it warmed her stomach, even if something about it felt a touch forced.

Focusing on the road, she pulled out of the rink parking lot. “You’re staying at your parents’, right?”

“Is that your way of saying I’m not staying with you tonight?”

Her cell phone rang, buying her a few seconds before she’d have to answer. With a glance at the screen, she knew it was work. “Detective Stone.”

While she listened to Mabel ask her to check out a house a few blocks away, she watched Jackson from the corner of her eye. He was thoroughly soaked and a layer of white grime clung to his clothes from the fire extinguisher. He fiddled with his seat belt, his expression guarded, and when he glanced her way, she fixed her attention straight ahead and focused on Mabel.

“Possible robbery in progress. A patrol car was dispatched to check it out but was tied up at an accident scene, so I need to check things out. Probably nothing,” she told him after Mabel hung up. She turned the truck in the opposite direction of both his parents’ and her grandfather’s. They reached the two-story Cape Cod-style home in under three minutes.

“Do you usually get a lot of false alarm calls?”

“No, but the robberies have made people more leery of anything out of the norm.” It also meant they were receiving more calls that turned out to be nothing, and this wasn’t the first time she’d taken a turn following up on a call from a concerned neighbor.

Jackson peered through the rain-splattered window. “Nobody’s home, I take it?”

“Owners are apparently visiting family in Kentucky. The neighbor saw some suspicious lights.”

Suspicious lights they saw for themselves a few seconds later. Flashlight maybe. The outside light at the front door was on, probably on a timer. The house had power then, making it unlikely a family member was stumbling around in the dark.

She reached down between Jackson’s legs.

“Couldn’t wait until we got home, huh?”

Hayley snorted and tugged a small black bag from under the seat. Inside it, she keyed a combination into a lockbox and withdrew her Glock. She checked the magazine and made sure the safety was on.

“Don’t you wear a gun strapped around your ankle?”

“You watch too many movies. I spend too much time around curious kids to carry a gun when I’m not on duty.”

“What about the Taser?”

She slipped her weapon into a holster she clipped at her side. “I need to be within fifteen feet or less for optimal use.”

He mulled that over. “So if I’d been another five feet away the other night, I could have escaped the shock of a lifetime. Good to know.”

Hayley got out of the truck. “Stay here. I mean it. Watch the front door and tell the patrol car that’s probably on its way by now that I went around the back. If it’s our guy, he might have let himself into the house at the rear.” She flicked a glance at the house partially obscured by the front hedge and two towering trees, then nodded to his pocket. “Call me.” She rattled off her phone number.

Confused, he dug his phone out. “You seriously can’t expect me to just sit here like an idiot?”

Oh, yes she could. “Do I get on the ice and tell you how to play defense?”

He said nothing, but didn’t look happy about it as he punched in her number.

She set her phone to vibrate before she answered, then tucked the phone under her bra strap, near the top of her shoulder, and clipped it in place. “If anyone comes out the front, tell me. Do not get out of the truck,” she repeated again. And so help him if he didn’t listen…

The rain was only a light mist as she darted across the street and made her way around the back of the house. No immediate signs of forced entry. The door appeared intact. Same for the door to the walkout basement. A window then?

“Headlights pulled up behind me. I think it’s the patrol car.” Jackson’s faint voice came through her phone.

Good.

“Someone’s in the house, Hayley. They were about to come out front, then slammed it shut when they spotted the cops.”

She slipped her gun from the holster, tuning Jackson out. She scanned the rear for signs of movement, blinking through the thickening rain. A sound behind her spun her around.

A cat burst out from under a stack of patio furniture, shooting her heart rate up. The commotion was enough to set off the German shepherd in the yard of a property bordering this one. More movement behind her brought her around as the back door banged shut. A dark blur darted past her.

“Police! Stop!”

The perpetrator tripped, but caught his balance and tore across the lawn.

Fuck
. Hayley took off after him.

A flash of light near the right of the house—another cop—forced him to change direction and cut a direct path through the backyard.

Hayley sprinted after him, adrenaline spurring her muscles into action. The guy dodged around a play structure, whipping a swing back at her. The wooden seat just missed her head, pissing her off.

He scrambled across the small gazebo, the last obstacle between him and the neighbor’s privacy fence. He’d need to make a solid jump to heave himself over it, but it wouldn’t come down to that.

She launched herself forward, grabbing a hold of the guy’s black hoodie enough to slow him down. They both crashed onto the gazebo’s wood floor. There wasn’t time to do more than drag in a sharp breath before her suspect scrambled to his feet. Another quick grab and his sweater ripped in her hand, giving her the precious few seconds to regain her own footing and follow him down the gazebo stairs.

A splash of red shot past her peripheral vision, and pain arced across the front of her head. The blow made her stagger and she hit the ground, her vision graying. She shook it off, her gaze following the perpetrator, who stumbled like he didn’t know what to do, his face obscured by the hoodie he wore.

His hesitation gave her time to recover enough to go after him. Planting her hand in the wet grass, she propelled herself to her feet, nearly tripping over the flower pot she’d been hit with. She changed directions as the guy made it over the fence. One of the cops from the patrol car heaved himself over the boards to pursue.

She cut across the next yard, knowing their suspect would have to run to the right. To the left was the Marshalls’ dog, well known for catching even the squirrels that dared to cross the dog’s electronic fence. No one would be stupid enough to go in that direction.

A short fence loomed ahead, and she cleared it. Barely.

She burst across the backyard in time to see their guy dart around a shed, the other cop on his heels. They were into the next yard, and she circled around the house to cut off their suspect.

Hayley rounded the last corner, and she found herself barreling toward the other cop.

What the hell?

“Where is he?”

“I lost him.”

Hayley twisted around, a burst of dizziness making her head swim. She paused, still surveying the street for any sign of movement. Where the hell had he gone?

“Backtrack,” she told the other officer, a rookie she knew the rest of the station had nicknamed the Tank.

He retraced his steps, and she lingered out front in case their suspect was waiting for a calm moment to burst from his hiding place.

Thirty minutes later they still hadn’t found him, even after checking with neighbors. She’d spent twenty-eight of those minutes avoiding Jackson, who kept insisting she go to the hospital.

After she wiped blood from her eyes for the fifth time, Jackson stopped being so nice about it.

“We’re leaving.”

“No.”

“He got away, Hayley. There’s nothing else you can do.”

Screw that. She walked back toward the house. Inside the front door they’d recovered a nondescript black sack with four thousand dollars inside.

“These guys have it,” Jackson insisted. “And Phil just arrived.”

“I’m fine.” She had a vicious headache, but it was manageable. The dizziness had subsided to the point she was doing okay as long as she didn’t move too quickly.

“You need stitches.” It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned it. “Get in the truck or I’ll be on the phone with your mother.”

Her annoyance over losing their suspect spiked to a new high. “I’m having one of the others drive you home.” She’d used the threat to keep him at a distance since he’d noticed she’d been injured, but it was time to make good on it.

“I’m not leaving without you, and how good is it going to look if I have to be taken back to the station?”

“We’re almost done, Hayley.” Phil stood with his hands on his hips, his gaze trained on her forehead. “Go.”

“Please,” Jackson added. The worry in his eyes was the only thing that kept her from snapping at him.

“Fine.” She glanced at her partner. “If you find anything…” she began.

“You’ll be the first to know,” Phil agreed.

Grudgingly, she let Jackson usher her to the truck. With one more frustrated glance at the house, she slid onto the seat, stewing all the way to the emergency room about having been so close to wrapping up the investigation.

They must have been expecting her and motioned her through the doors, past triage, getting her settled on a gurney in record time. She wanted to apologize to the teenager with his arm in a sling and an elderly woman for being seen before them, but Jackson didn’t give her a chance.

He could be a pushy son of a bitch when he wanted to be, apparently. Almost intimidating. No wonder some players would drop with an exaggerated injury to avoid getting into it with him on the ice.

Jackson stayed right by her side, glaring at her impatiently when she wanted to get up instead of sitting while she waited for a doctor to check her out. It was the dizziness, she told herself, that kept her on her butt, and not the warning look Jackson shot her for moving.

“I’m fine,” she said. A few stitches was minor, and everyone knew head injuries bled like a bitch, making them appear much worse than they were.

“You gave me a scare tonight.”

The comment surprised her. She’d been expecting him to make some smartass comment offering to help her change into a hospital gown or something else that involved her being naked.

A doctor she recognized from being a regular at Stone’s pulled back the curtain and stepped inside. “Rough night, Detective?”

“I’ve had better.”

He looked her over. “Could be worse. Could have ended up with another cracked rib like the last on-foot pursuit of a suspect.”

No one was ever going to let her forget the boardwalk incident. She’d had an opening and took it. Any other officer would have done the same in her position, regardless of the guy being armed.

She knew she was better off staying quiet while he did his job. Jackson picked up the slack, chatting about the NHL draft, all the while staying right next to her. The sight of the needle required for the anesthetic didn’t worry her, but Jackson still slipped his hand into hers, giving a reassuring squeeze when she cursed at the icy burn from the drug.