Defending Pacer - Hamilton T. J. (читать книги онлайн бесплатно без сокращение бесплатно txt) 📗

“Just wait.” I press my way through to Chelsea’s contact details in my phone. “Zero, four, zero, one, eight, three, four, eight, zero, two.”

“Ten minutes.” The call ends.

Ten minutes goes quicker than I anticipated, and my phone buzzes with Scott’s number displayed.

“What did you get?” I answer.

“That number keeps bouncing between three towers in the city.”

“What does that mean?” I don’t know how bad this is.

“It means I can’t get a direct location, just a triangulation. It’s probably underground so when it drops out of one tower’s frequency, it will bounce to another.”

This doesn’t make sense. What is she doing?

“How come Apple can pinpoint iPhone’s exact locations, but you can’t with all your gadgets and skill?” I snap.

“The phone doesn’t have Wi-Fi turned on. Nothing I can do.”

My anger builds. “Just give me the triangulation then.”

Why the hell wouldn’t she have her Wi-Fi turned on? What the fuck is she doing? It’s driving me insane that I don’t know what she’s up to. What if something’s happened to her?

“It’s in the vicinity of Sussex Street. Between Liverpool and Druitt Street.”

I frown as I think about the location. “There’s a fair distance between those streets.”

“It’s all I’ve got.” He abruptly ends the call, in true Scott fashion.

If Reed has gotten to her, I will commit more than just murder. I will sell him off, piece by piece. There are plenty of people who will pay me good money to have their chance to get at the corrupt motherfucker.

Our deal has worn thin since he double-crossed me with Collins, so I’m in no mind to negotiate anymore with the asshole.

Grabbing my keys from the dining table, I race out the front door and down the hallway to the elevator. Stabbing my finger vigorously into the elevator’s call button isn’t enough to stem the fury bubbling inside me. My temper is getting the better of me today. No matter how much I try reminding myself that my feelings for Chelsea will only lead to a lifetime of running from watching eyes, I can’t help what’s happening. It’s beyond my control.

The wandering mind can be a cruel enemy when uncertainty lingers. The sinking feeling something that something bad has happened keeps edging its way in. By the time the elevator has reached the ground level, I’ve practically convinced myself that Jackson Reed has Chelsea in a room somewhere. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her. It’s my fault that my temper spiralled out of control and I left her like that. I should’ve ignored Michael Lawson’s bitch of a wife. She knew what she was doing, and I let it rule my anger. I wasn’t man enough to stop it. I was weak.

Making my way out of the front entrance to the apartment I rented across the road from Chelsea’s house, I catch sight of her getting out of a cab.

Thank fuck for that!

The looming images of her gagged and tied to a chair in a dark room dissolve from my mind. I step back into a darkened alcove next to her building entrance. She looks around the empty street and makes her way to her front door. Leaning back into the darkness, I watch her.

She’s still in the same clothes that she was in when I saw her last. Where have you been, honeybee?

When you invest so much time and effort into knowing everything about someone like I have with my honeybee, not knowing something now is like driving without lights at night.

Chelsea closes her door, and a light flicks on inside. She pulls down her blinds for once. Finally, she’s starting to take her privacy more seriously. She used to keep the blinds open. You never know who might be watching, honeybee.

Satisfied that Chelsea’s now home and safe for the night, I make my way back inside and head to Franco’s car parked in my basement car park. I need to find out why she was over that part of the city.

Was it for work or something else? I have the feeling she’s not going to give up on Reed, no matter what I threaten her with. Which means I’m going to have to deal with the parasite sooner than I had planned. This has been coming to him for a long time. When people like Jackson Reed try to run with the big boys, they always fuck up one way or another. I told the others that it was only matter of time before he made a deal that he couldn’t fulfil. Reed’s days on this earth were always going to be limited when he started playing both sides of the fiddle.

Driving through the city at this time on a Monday night is only asking for trouble. The only people out past midnight tonight are cops and crooks. With my curfew just being lifted this morning, the cops will be on the look out for me too. But at this point, I don’t care. I need to find out what Chelsea has been doing for the past five hours, so I take my chances and drive as casually as possible towards Sussex Street.

Sussex Street is a one-way street, so I start at Druitt Street and make my way along it, watching out for anything that might give me a clue as to what she was doing. The street is dark and empty. There’s nothing in particular that strikes me about this location. Crossing over two blocks, I slow when I make out the figure of a guy walking along the footpath. As I pass, I stare at him behind the concealment of my blackened windows. I recognise him from somewhere. Looking along the buildings for an idea as to where he came from, I note that nothing looks significant. Roller doors to loading docks, closed entrances to office buildings and vacant shopfronts—there’s nothing along here that provides an answer.

I’m sure that guy was a cop. Is that who you were with, honeybee?

My interest has now piqued, even more than it had before. What are you up to, honeybee? Whatever she’s doing, I hope she’s not putting her trust in the wrong people. There isn’t a single cop in this city that I would trust. They’ve all proved to be as crooked as a dog’s hind leg. Particularly the ones who deal with Reed—their snouts are deep in the trough.

Making my way back over to Chelsea’s house, I decide I need to go straight to the horse’s mouth for the answers I need.

***

She’s soundly sleeping in her bed when I finally get past her barricaded set-up. I watch her for a few minutes. She is absolutely beautiful, even more so when her hair covers half her face in her slumber. I could never stay angry with her, no matter what she might be up to. She’s that final missing piece to my heart’s puzzle of emotions.

I kneel next to her, and carefully brush her hair away from her face. Her eyes spring open and stare at me, wide as saucers.

“Hey.” I try to calm her. “It’s me.”

She shoots straight up. “What the fuck?” Her voice is jittery.

“I’ve been worried.” My justification is terrible.

Rubbing at her eyes, her voice sounds irritated. “You were worried, so you thought performing a home invasion would solve it?” A naked breast welcomes me, even if she isn’t.

God, I love your sharp tongue.

I laugh. “You haven’t left me much choice. Your phone was off all night.”

I pull my grey woollen sweater over my head, and clasp my belt.

“What? You think you can just break in here, and start having sex with me?” Frowning indignantly, she pulls the covers up over her naked body.

My pants drop to the ground. “Chill, honeybee. I’m just getting into your bed. No one said there has to be sex. You disappear on me and won’t answer my calls or texts—I think I’m entitled to a little spooning.”

She grins. “Entitled?”

“Entitled,” I repeat and slide into the comfort of her bed.

I hold my arms out for her to fold into. She doesn’t fight it and her warm body nuzzles against mine, my tension instantaneously decreasing.

“And what’s my entitlement for you telling me to shut the fuck up and looking at me as if you were about to rip my head clean from my body today?”