Page 68 of Hooked on Trouble

Trouble? What does trouble mean? My breathing grows shallow, unease twisting my gut. Something bad has Rose freaking out, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what. I scan the room, as though the answer will magically appear. Or Nico. I wish he were here to tuck me into his side and tell me not to worry. That this churning in my stomach will cease. But I’m alone with my galloping pulse. I race out the door.

Twenty-one

Nico

I jog into the station and catch Alessi’s eye the second I near the desks. I drag him into an empty interview room and shut the door. “What’s the deal?”

Neither of us is in our uniform blues, but Alessi has on his date attire. His eyebrows are as slick as his hair, his dress shirt and pointy shoes probably more expensive than my entire wardrobe. Arms folded, he bounces his knee. “Crenshaw knows we’ve been looking for Jericho, so he nearly blew his load when he realized who he busted.”

“Drug dealing?”

“Not even close. Robbery, fraud, and uttering threats. The fucknut pulled a fake gun on some lady outside the Pacific Centre. Full under-the-coat job. Forces her to unload cash at the ATM, then bolts. But she saw his car and called it in, and Crenshaw picked him up. For a guy lying low, Jericho needs to work on his game.”

“Are they questioning him?”

“Yeah. The victim already identified him in a lineup, and there was a witness. Pretty cut and dry.”

The whitewashed walls are stark, the desk and chairs between us as ordinary as furniture gets, but I’d swear a swarm of bees circles my head. “Have they asked him about Josh? If I know that little shit, there’s no way he’ll cop to the drugs and car.”

“Normally I’d agree, but today is your lucky day.”

I grip the edge of the chair. “Elaborate.”

“Jericho didn’t pull this stunt on his own. His kid brother was in the back of the car, playing video games, while big bro was claiming the World’s Dumbest Criminal Throne. When Crenshaw pulled them over, he booked them both, now Jericho is ready to shit out a lung. Apparently he has feelings for his mini-me.”

I shift on my feet, spinning through the possibilities. This kid is leverage. If we use him as bait, real or implied, it could be the key to getting Josh cleared. Jericho might be willing to offer information in exchange for the kid’s freedom. One brother for another.

I flex my hands and work my jaw, too wired to get excited. With my family history, not every cop would back me up. I’d kill to be the one in there instead, staring Jericho down, but I’m not a detective, and I’m way too close to this thing. “Does Crenshaw know? Is he willing to go to bat for me?”

Alessi slicks back the side of his hair, nodding. “He knows the deal. He asked some blunt questions about you, and I answered. He’s cool. I just wanted to clear it with you first. But Jericho has to give us something we don’t already know about Josh’s case, otherwise his confession might not hold up. Something specific that proves he was the man behind the plan.”

“Get it done.”

He salutes me and takes off. I clasp my hands behind my neck and hang my head, relieved Crenshaw is in my corner, but panic seizes me. If this fails, nothing changes. Josh knows the score. Life stays status quo. But there’s that stirring of hope, rumbling through me like thunder. It clogs my throat and jams my shoulders, my entire body a giant knot. I’ve never wanted anything so badly.

Unable to stand still, I walk a frazzled line, back and forth, the walls too close, my legs too long. This could take forever. If Jericho shuts down, it could be hours before they get him to talk. Fisting my phone, I text Alessi to message me the second he hears something. Hanging around will only drive me insane. Instead I hop in my car and head to the rec center.

* * *

Sanchez is volunteering tonight, and she has a group of four doing basketball drills on one end of the court. Groans and squeaky shoes bounce off the ceiling as she blows her whistle and hollers at the kids to kick it up a notch. She gives me a curt wave. A few girls are in the adjoining room, practicing a dance routine, and Tim is at the far basket, solo, shooting three-pointers.

He hasn’t been in trouble since he stole from the Legion, the lesson he learned sticking for now. If he stays focused on what’s important, he could thrive. Just like Josh. I wonder sometimes if I’ll have the guts to ban Tim from the center, or cut Josh off from the family—his nephews and home—if either boy screws up again.

Hopefully I’ll never have to find out.

Tim’s next basket bounces off the rim, his baggy shorts practically dragging the floor as he rescues it. When he sees me, he nods. “Looking for a game?”

“Looking for a miracle, but a game sounds good.”

He shrugs at that and passes me the ball. Not ideal running the court in jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, but I’ll take a sweaty game with Tim over pacing in a windowless room at the station. I find my rhythm. The ball slaps the court as I maneuver around him. He’s a quarter my size, barely able to see from under his mop of hair, but he’s quick, blocking me at every turn. Until I spin and sink a jump shot.

If Raven were watching, she’d probably wink and say, “Not bad for a big guy.” After watching our friends get engaged, I hated leaving her. Wished I could be inside her, whispering her name as my thighs clench, growling it as I explode. Sweat gathers on my back at the thought, and I play harder.

Tim handles the ball well, trying to get some space to shoot over my size, even driving into me to push me back. He’d have better luck moving a wall, but I give him an inch.

Then the shit talking starts.

“Come on, Goliath, show me what you got!”