Wrong Side of the Tracks by Ashley Zakrzewski
ChapterSeven
After some much-needed coffee and a cream cheese bagel, I take another shower and change into something comfortable. It’s not like I’m out to impress anyone in my lounge pants and hoodie. I have things to do, people to see, and a vendetta to plan for the mayor. If the people of Mountview knew what he was doing, they’d run him out of town. But it’ll be hard to get people to listen. Politicians are known for telling lies, but people voted for Booker because he grew up here. They trust him and are disillusioned into thinking he wants the best for them and this town when all he really wants is to line his own greedy pockets. But for some reason, Sheriff Dan keeps calling him out on his bullshit, so I’m hoping there’s still one guy left in Mountview with a shred of integrity. I dial his number and wait for him or either one of his deputies to pick up the call.
“Hello, Sheriff Lopez speaking,” Dan answers, but he sounds breathless like he’s just stopped running.
“Oh, is it a bad time?” I ask, hoping I haven’t unwittingly aided and abetted a criminal’s escape or worse, disturbed him during happy time with Liv. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. It’s Keira Blake. You said to call you if I ever needed anything.”
Nah, there’s no way Dan would answer the phone if he was that busy. He was probably working out.
“It’s fine, Keira. What’s the problem?” he answers exhaustedly.
I start awkwardly pacing around the kitchen, thinking about how best to explain this. “I have some information about Mayor Booker and Marcus Jackal,” I say, hearing Dan’s weary sigh rattling down the line. “What if Booker helped Marcus with an alibi the night of my brother’s murder because Marcus is working for him? Uh . . . I heard through a friend that Booker is paying the Jackals to scare people into leaving town. They seem to think he’s got something going on with the developers who want to buy the land around here.”
“They’re not developers,” Dan says flatly. “They are oil miners. Hence the reason the Jackals are being so pushy. Booker is set to make a fortune from this.”
“If you knew what Booker was up to, why haven’t you done anything about it?” I ask critically.
“Look, Keira,” Dan says with a resigned sigh. “I’m gonna need you to drop it and let me handle Booker.”
“I don’t know who’s worse. You or Jason,” I retort with an annoyed huff. “All I’m getting is a wall of secrecy. Your influence has rubbed off on him.”
“You ought to listen to him. Don’t go poking your nose around in Booker’s business. You’ll only get hurt,” Dan warns me.
“Like my brother, you mean?” I snap back.
Dan’s exasperated exhale rattles down the line like crackling static. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you to stay out of it and let us handle it. Just go about your business and keep your head down. Jason knows what he’s doing. You should listen to him.”
“Well, thanks for nothing, asshole.” I hang up the phone and slump against the kitchen counter, weighing up my options.
It seems like Sheriff Dan and Jason have made plans. I just wish they’d share them with me. Those Jackal bastards have caused Mountview enough misery. They took my brother from me, from Ivy and their child, and from Mom and Dad too. I want retribution. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. I want to see Marcus Jackal take his last breath, then I can spit on his grave. Maybe then I’ll find peace.
My phone rings. It’s Jason. I roll my eyes, inwardly cursing at Sheriff Dan for calling him. There’s no way it can be a coincidence. When I don’t answer the first time, he calls again, and again. When I don’t answer those calls, that’s when the texts and voicemails start rolling in. I’m not interested in being told what to do. My mind is spinning, absorbing all the information I brushed off as nothing. The time those Jackal assholes came into the garage and threatened Bodie should still be on the CCTV recording unless someone has deleted it. So, that’s the first place I go.
The roads are quiet. I don’t see anyone loitering around as I let myself in and gather the pile of mail from off the floor. Just a handful of bills. Nothing else. I go into the office and skim through the files. Everything is on the computer, all saved on the cloud account. There’s no reason for anyone to have tampered with it. I’m pleased to find the file I’m looking for, but all I can make out from the audio is just muffled voices and the occasional word. Why do guys mumble when they talk? Their hands covering their mouths when they scratch their stubble makes it harder to lip-read what they’re saying.
A metallic thump like the sound of a gas canister falling onto concrete alerts me to the workshop. There’s no way anything could have fallen on its own. It had to have been pushed.
“Hello?” I call through the open doorway, getting up from the desk chair. “Is there somebody there?”
I hear the rustling of clothing like someone is walking quickly, and I dart to the window to see who it is. Movement catches my eye behind the hydraulic ramp as if someone just crouched down behind a small stack of tires. I send a quick text to Jason, telling him where I am and hoping that he’s on his way over to find me.
“We’re closed,” I feebly shout, my eyes following a long, wet trail on the floor and seeing the top of the crouched person’s head moving toward the exit behind all the shelving racks.
Gasoline fumes reach my nostrils, sending my senses on high alert. Another splash of clear liquid hits the floor as whoever it is leaves. I can tell it’s a guy from his build. His face is covered with a bandanna, and he’s not alone. His accomplice is wearing a similar face covering, and he tosses the plastic canister into the garage, then flicks open a lighter, his gloved finger resting on top of the flint wheel.
“Please, don’t do it!” I beg.
With all the flammable liquids stocked here, the garage will go up like a rocket.
“You can thank your boyfriend, Havoc,” the masked moron replies. “The boss wants to send him a message.”
“Well then text him like a normal person,” I plead, hoping I can keep him talking long enough for me to hit the fire alarm button and set off the sprinkler system. I’m not bothered about fucking up the machinery because I’m insured to the hilt. Unfortunately, my life doesn’t have a reset switch.
I’m about to break the glass with my elbow as he tosses the lighter onto the floor, igniting a whoosh of yellow flames. There should be water pouring from the ceiling, but the sprinklers aren’t working. Someone has disabled it. The smoke and heat swallow the air within seconds.
“Help!” I shout, diving onto the carpet as the front door slams shut. There’s no way out from inside the office. The back exit is on the opposite side of the workshop. I call Jason, but the call goes straight through to voicemail. He read my text, so he must be on his way. Stretching the neckline of my hoodie, I use it to cover my airways and crawl beneath the choking smoke to escape. I can’t see past the end of my nose, eyes streaming, throat closing, and my lungs ablaze. Breathing is impossible. But then the rear door flies open, siphoning half the smoke. I don’t see my savior until we’re outside in the yard after they drag me out. The leather-clad biker is wearing a helmet with the visor down, so I don’t know who it is, but they’re wearing the same outfit as the mysterious stalker who’s been keeping tabs on me since Bodie died. My eyes roll into the back of my skull, and I hear sirens wailing somewhere in the distance. I must have passed out cold for a while because when I open my eyes again, I’m in the hospital. My throat hurts, and every breath I take feels like my lungs are filtering shards of glass.
“Keira, thank God.” Jason’s voice makes my eyes dart to the left of me, and I see him sitting beside me, slumped over my bed, and holding my hand. “What the fuck were you thinking, going to the garage alone? Dan called, and he said you sounded upset. I thought we resolved this. We went over it this morning, and you said you trusted me enough to handle things.”
It takes me a while to answer, grimacing with tears. But when I eventually start to speak, my voice is strained and hoarse. “How was I supposed to know that Dan knew? I just wanted to help. So, I went to the garage to check the footage from the day those guys showed up and threatened you and Bodie. I thought they might have said something that Dan could use in court. The next thing I know, the garage is on fire, and I’m in the hospital.”
Jason kisses my hand, presses it to his cheek, then looks at me, his brows dimpled with worry. “You could have been killed.”
“I know.” The reality of it churns my stomach with nausea. “But thankfully, someone saw what was happening, and they were quick to pull me out.”
“Who?” Jason asks, bristling with suspicion.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t see who it was. But I recognize the biker leathers and helmet as the same person who keeps cruising past the garage.”
Jason’s eyes twitch questioningly, not liking the idea of someone watching me. “You were alone when I got there seconds before the cops showed up.”
“I didn’t drag myself out. I know what I saw,” I reply bluntly.
Jason blinks. “I know you did, baby. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you’re safe.” He reaches across the bed to stroke my hair, then hovers over me to kiss my forehead. “I’m just gonna step outside for a minute to check on something. I’ll be right back.”