Pretty Stolen Dolls (22 page)

“
D
OES IT HURT
?”

My hand lifts to the bruise on my cheek and I raise a nonchalant shoulder.

“It’s what happens when a man tackles you.”

“Who was the man?”

“What does it matter?”

She shifts in her seat and I stare at the water. Today, she’s added a celery stick to it. I want to scream at her, ask why, but I don’t. Instead, I gaze at it, tiny bubbles collecting in the bottom. It must have been sitting out a while.

“You appear sad today,” she says. “Why is that?”

Flicking my eyes to hers, I will her to burst into a fiery ball of flames, but she doesn’t.

You appear sad.

I can’t believe we have to pay for this crap.

“Maybe I am sad,” I offer, pinning her with my stoic stare.

“Can you tell me why that is? What’s happened to make you feel this way?”

She crosses her legs and places her pen down on the arm of her chair. She’s back in one of those gutsy pantsuits.

“Can I ask you a question?” I muse, leaning forward and rubbing at a scuff on my shoe.

“Of course.” She smiles, picking up her pen.

“Have you ever wanted something so badly, you envision it, but don’t know whether what you’re seeing is reality or just your own need for it to be real?”

She looks off into her sparse apartment, contemplating my question. “When a person has been through something traumatic, it’s not unusual for them to seek a resolution in their mind. It’s a coping mechanism—a way for them to finally be able to move on. You’re not crazy.” She smiles again.

“I didn’t say I was crazy,” I bite out, standing abruptly.

Placing her pad down, she leans forward, clasping her hands together. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You suck at your job.”

I leave her open-mouthed.

I’ve had enough of her for one day.

M
Y CELL PHONE CONTINUES TO
light up with Dillon’s name, but I can’t bring myself to answer it. I discharged myself from the hospital and have been curled up on my couch ignoring his calls. Nothing makes sense. I feel as though I’m sleepwalking through a nightmare and can’t find a way to wake the hell up.

Ding.

I lift my head to see a text from Dillon, but I don’t read it.

“So, you
are
alive and you
are
getting my calls.” His baritone booms through my apartment, startling me. “You’re just choosing to ignore me.”

“Uh,” I groan. “Ouch.” My rib throbs in pain.

He stalks over to me and drops to his knees beside the couch. “Shit, I’m sorry.” Dark brown eyebrows furl together as he assesses me for damage. When he reaches out to stroke at my hair, I swat him away.

“What the hell are you doing in here, Dillon. How did you get in?”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a key. My key. “You gave it to me when I went for beer the other night.”

Crap, I did do that.

“Well, this isn’t the other night and it was a one-time only use,” I snap, snatching it from his grasp. The movement makes me wince when my rib throbs again.

“I won’t let you shut me out and yourself in, Jade. I won’t do it.”

“Leave me alone, Dillon.”

“Right. Well, if you’re going to be a brat, then we can do this the hard way.” He grabs at some of my discarded clothes slung on a chair. “Get dressed. You can’t leave the house like that.”

I skim my gaze over my black panties, the bandage around my ribs, and a cut-off Pink Floyd tee.

“You look like an eighties cardio instructor.” He smirks, and it’s annoyingly cute.

“Why do I need to be dressed?” I whine, already feeling defeated. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He sighs and places his hands on his hips. “Phillips, get your fucking clothes on and then down to my car. I have to take you in to see the chief.”

This gets my attention and I sit up a little too quickly, causing pain to rip down my side. Oh God, he’s going to fire me, or arrest me, or commit me. They can’t possibly believe the asshole who said I almost beat him to death.

“Did the guy make it?”

Nodding, he runs a hand through his hair and dark circles that weren’t there before are beginning to form under his eyes. He looks tired. This is what I do. I’m like a poison, polluting the people I care about.

“He’s still critical, but he’s going to make it. Get dressed and meet me downstairs in five.”

I can’t stop the bouncing of my knee. I’m nervous and don’t want to be here. Everyone stalked me with their eyes across the precinct once I arrived. Holding my hands up and asking if they wanted to take a picture so it would last longer didn’t go down well either. Now Dillon is glaring at me from a seat three feet from my own.

“Stop fucking bouncing your leg, Jade.” He pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and I fight the smile wanting to lift my lips. I like when he calls me Jade. His tough love and silent treatment I got the entire ride over here didn’t last.

The office door slams shut and Chief Stanton walks past us. Once behind his desk, he drops his ass into the chair and plonks a folder on the desk before shoving it toward me.

“What’s this?”

“Medical report on Adam Maine.”

I grab the file and see the picture of the asshole from the flea market.

Adam Maine.

“His injuries were too substantial to have been carried out by someone of your size,” he says gruffly. “Him being hit with a truck is a hell of a lot more likely.”

“Just like I said,” I mutter under my breath, earning a nudge of warning from Dillon’s foot. I flip through the medical report. There’s a bunch of jargon I don’t understand sandwiched between the words that do stand out: collapsed lung, broken femur, shattered ribcage, broken breast bone, collar bone, hip bone, internal bleeding from a punctured kidney…the list goes on and on.

“How he’s alive is anyone’s guess,” Stanton says. “The doctors are baffled, but it’s good for you that he is. When he recovers, we can question him.”

“So I’m cleared?” I ask. “I can come back to work?”

“I’m not going to lie, Phillips,” Stanton grumbles, “you going all Mad Max at a fucking craft fair full of civilians—mostly grandmas and shit—and this whole bit with the crowbar where a half-dead guy ends up in the hospital is not the best news to come out of this precinct. It won’t be the last either. However, I am going to need you to take a longer leave of absence until this case is resolved. You’re too close to it. Too damn involved. So, no, you’re not cleared. Not yet.”

My mouth pops open, but he holds his hand up to stop me.

“Don’t argue with me on this,” he warns. “This is not a request.”

“And me?” Dillon asks him.

Stanton leans forward on his desk, clasping his hands together. “You will work this fucking case and find out if that maniac from Phillips’ past has come back to toy with her. If he has, we take this sonofabitch down.”

My mind is racing.

I can’t think or sit still.

All I can do is pace and pace and pace around my living room.

I’m driving Dillon bonkers.

“I can’t just do nothing,” I complain to a fatigued Dillon.

He scrubs his now scruffy jaw with his palm and shoots me a firm glare. “You don’t have a choice in the matter right now, Jade. This fucker is out there trying to set you up. Who knows what his end game is. It’s too risky,” he growls. “I won’t risk
you
.”

I know what Benny wants.

Dirty little doll.

“I want you to promise me you’re going to stay here, rest, and let me do my job.”

“Fine,” I huff, waving my hand in the air, defeated.

“Jade,” he warns.

“I promise.”

He places a kiss on my nose and leaves me. As much as I want to go after Benny, I don’t have any leads. The events of the day catch up to me and I barely make it to my couch before I pass out.

I wake with a start and for the first time, I’m not shrieking when a man touches me in the dark. The rough fingertips threading into my hair are familiar. Peppermint with a hint of coffee envelops me and I recognize the scent to be Dillon’s.

“What time is it?” I murmur, attempting to make out his form in the darkness.

His full lips press against mine and I part my lips, granting him access. He kisses me hard until I’m gasping for air.