Busted (Promise Harbor Wedding) Read online

  The pair talked too low for Jackson to hear, but there was no missing the hard shove that knocked Brent into the car at his back.

  “Take it easy.” Jackson moved in their direction, stopping just shy of being considered a threat, but making his presence felt nonetheless.

  The douche’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck off.”

  Jackson had heard it before, had in fact heard a slight variation of it the other night. It hadn’t taken much to resist the moron’s verbal baiting before, but picking on a kid smaller and younger than him? Not a chance.

  Maybe he was still pissed at where their last confrontation had landed him. Or maybe he was still stewing about his and Hayley’s argument. Either way, Jackson didn’t hesitate to make the first move.

  He plowed the guy in the face, nailing him in the jaw with his fist.

  Chapter Nine

  Blood spurted from the corner of the moron’s lips, and he spat a mouthful on the gravel, but Jackson was already moving, taking a swing at his friend wearing a Red Sox ball cap before he jumped in to cover his friend’s back.

  He made contact with his fist, but only a glancing blow deflected by a hand thrown up at the last second. Leaving him wide open for the punch he took to the gut.

  Jesus.

  Doubled over, Jackson saw Brent dart away from the fight, retreating to the deck. Likely a safe distance to watch Jackson go two-to-one with Brent’s brother and friend.

  Dragging in a sharp breath, Jackson launched himself straight at the older brother. They both hit the side of the Jeep and toppled hard to the gravel. His palms scraped the rocks as he fought his way back to his feet.

  Red Sox hung back to help his friend up. More blood dripped down the guy’s face. He’d look really pretty in the morning.

  Jackson grinned and flexed a fist, knowing he’d need to ice it later. Wasn’t much point in worrying about it now when they were far from done. Brent’s older brother used the Jeep to propel himself the rest of the way to his feet.

  Fists swinging, he moved fast for a guy of his size, but Jackson caught him, spun him around and planted him face-first against the truck parked next to the Jeep.

  Shit. It was Hayley’s truck. And the new dent in the passenger-side door was his fault. He might have noticed her truck sooner if the rain weren’t coming down in drenching sheets that plastered his shirt to his chest.

  Brent’s brother slid along the wet truck, his knees wobbling when he tried to stand this time. Just as pissed, Red Sox charged Jackson.

  White foam hit them both in the face, and he coughed when he tasted some on his tongue. The foamy deluge continued until all three scrambled away from one another. Jackson followed the end of the hose to where Hayley stood, clutching the fire extinguisher she’d used to break up the fight.

  “You’ve got one minute to get lost or you two will be arrested this time.”

  Brent’s brother and his friend took off, pausing long to glare at Brent, who still stood at the edge of the deck.

  Jackson wiped at the foam, glad for the rain that was helping to wash the white stuff away.

  Hayley motioned to the people who’d stepped out onto the deck to watch. “Show’s over.”

  When the onlookers shuffled inside, he wiped at the foam on his pants. “Would have preferred a Taser for a backup, but you got the job done.”

  “Don’t,” Hayley warned. She turned away from him. “Go inside and call your mom, Brent.” She waited until the teenager followed the others inside, then shot a furious look at Jackson. “They look up to you, damn it.”

  Adrenaline from the fight still pounded through his system, making it all too easy to snap at Hayley. “I didn’t ask to be anyone’s role model.”

  “Tough shit. It comes with the territory. You know that.”

  “I’m not that guy anymore.” Did she get that by now?

  “Screw that.” She set the extinguisher aside so hard it fell over. “Just because you’re not playing professional hockey anymore doesn’t mean you’re some washed-up loser.”

  “Says who? You?”

  She threw her hands up. “Someone needs to.”

  “It’s not that simple.” He closed the distance between him and the bottom of the stairs. “Your dream isn’t over.” She still got to do what she was good at. No one looked at her wondering what would become of her now. No one waited until she walked by and talked about what a shame it was about the accident.

  “And your life isn’t over because you can’t play hockey anymore.”

  In two steps he was face-to-face with her. “Don’t act like you know anything about my life.”

  “The life you enjoy splashing around the Net for the media to mock?”

  Anger pulsed through him. “You should know better than anyone that there’s a lot more to any picture that shows up online.”

  Vulnerability flashed across her face. She pressed her lips into a firm line. “I’m not so sure I do.”

  That struck a nerve. Jackson walked away, refusing to look back and see if she remained on the deck watching him or if she’d already gone back inside.

  By the time he reached his car, most of the foam had been washed away. He dug his keys from his pocket and shoved them in the ignition. It took two tries to get the engine turned over, and then he was tearing out of the lot, probably giving her another reason to arrest him.

  He drove aimlessly, circling blocks with no destination in mind other than not going back to his parents’ place. He could leave town now. Go home to his condo hundreds of miles away, where he didn’t have to worry about living up to anyone’s expectations but his own.

  His empty condo.

  Fuck.

  He let his head thunk back against the headrest. He wasn’t ready to go home yet. Wasn’t even sure where home was anymore. Returning to Promise Harbor wasn’t supposed to have complicated his life.

  On his third pass by the rink, he pulled in to the empty lot. He sat staring through the windshield at the building he’d helped renovate with a generous donation.

  When the rain slowed to a sprinkle, he got out of the car. Still way too keyed up, he wandered around the paved lot where the Zamboni usually dumped everything after cleaning the ice surface. He leaned against the hood of his car, trying to sort through the chaos in his head.

  Once he wrapped up a couple things, he could be on his way. He needed to make sure Josh was good and he needed to see Coach. Hayley needed professional help getting everything done to her grandfather’s place. There had to be someone he could call about that.

  Then he could go. Maybe travel down the eastern seaboard until he heard from his agent. There. A plan he could work with.

  Mind made up, Jackson felt himself relax. He didn’t rush to get back in the car, not until the rain worsened, leaving him no choice but to take shelter inside the vehicle. Even then he stayed in the rink parking lot until he felt something close to normal.

  This time, however, when he was ready to go, the engine refused to turn over.

  He waited a minute and tried again, his earlier frustration instantly surfacing. He flipped the button underneath and threw open his car door. In the pouring rain, he lifted the hood and stared at the under workings of the car, wishing he’d paid more attention to all the time spent in Matt’s garage as he tinkered on his first car.

  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.
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  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 d
art 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.