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I take the opportunity to introduce myself. “I’m officer St. Clair,” I start, but asshole Dave cuts me off.
“I told you, we don’t know anything. If you’re not here to buy shit, then scram!”
I ignore him. “There’s a ten thousand dollar reward for any information to do with the trafficking ring operating in the area.”
Nevada steps in front of me. “You need to take a step back, Dave,” he growls. “There’s no need to go gettin’ rude when all we’re here to do is ask a few questions about a missing girl.” Meg just blinks and says nothing.
“Got a business to run, officer, so if you don’t mind…” He sweeps his hand to the door.
Nevada points at him as we back up. “You’ve got our card, if you change your mind about knowin’ anythin’, even if it’s a small detail, give my colleague a call.”
Dave looks like he’s been in trouble with the police his entire life, and hates them, if his body language is anything to go by. Again, it doesn't mean he’s guilty or knows anything, he could just hate cops or abiding by the law. But he definitely wants us gone.
“Got ears,” he snarls. We don’t even get the door closed when he shouts at Meg again and she jumps in the air as I watch her through the glass.
Jesus, that was a complete disaster.
“Let’s get outta’ here,” Nevada says. “Don’t trust he won’t call some of his low-life friends if he thought that badge was fake.”
We climb into his truck and take off. Nevada calls Haze on Bluetooth and tells him we just left and it was a bust. We’re gonna meet them a block from the shipping yard.
“So.” Nevada turns to me when he ends the call. “You’re offerin’ ten grand as a reward?”
“It’s a line I use to get what I want, and I would pay for information if it came down to it. That asshole knows something, I can feel it in my bones.”
“Or he just hates cops and couldn’t wait to get us out of there before he lets those killer dogs onto us. What is it about junkyards and mean dogs?”
“I guess they either have lots to protect, or lots to hide.” I stare out the window, trying to make sense of any of it, but I can’t. Everything feels like a dead end again, and even if people like asshole Dave do know anything, they won’t talk. Still, ten grand is a lot.
“The fact he didn’t even balk at ten grand for information,” Nevada says exactly what I’m thinking. “Leads me to believe that he may know somethin’.”
“Sending Kyle a message now to check him out.” I sit back in the chair when that’s done and sigh.
I feel Nevada’s hand on my thigh as he gives it a squeeze. “You still breathin’, Estelle?”
I know when he uses my real name, he’s not joking around. And right now? I’m not sure that I need that.
Here he is again, saying and doing all the right things and I have no power to stop it.
“I’m breathing.” I close my eyes, a migraine coming on. “It feels hopeless.”
“You fakin’ bein’ a cop and flashin’ that fake ID was pretty impressive. Since when did you have fake PD cards made up?”
I half smile. “I have a very forward-thinking PA.”
He doesn’t remove his hand, and I fucking let him keep it there… “Detective Jones? Couldn’t you think of a more exciting nickname like Hazard or Deep Throat or somethin’.”
This time I do laugh. “Deep throat?”
“Fuckin’ Jones, though?”
I glance at him. “Stop whining like a baby or next time I’ll call you Detective Sphincter.”
He laughs. “Touché.”
We cross the other side of town, heading toward Riot and Halo in the stakeout van. They went to the shipping yard because it was easier to see people coming and going, and they blended in better with the parking lot right across the road.
I’m sure Halo is not protesting spending time with Riot, but none of us can forget why we’re here. To save my sister.
