Playing With Fire

Chapter 21-END

Chapter 21

I shower and dress before Kayla can polish off even one of the cinnamon rolls, as for me, mine sits untouched. My appetite is the last thing on my mind right now. She's still standing at the counter, hunched over her breakfast when I come in, tossing my backpack on the kitchen table.

"What's up?" she mumbles around a bite.

I stuff my phone, tablet, and lock pick set into the empty sack. "Oliver didn't do this."

She frowns, sticking the form in the remains of her breakfast. "Look, Farris, I know you like this guy, but he's obviously guilty. I mean, Reid says they found the same chemicals in his truck that set off that explosion last week."

"And what about the crash? He was at school when it happened, we all were."

"Reid says he probably messed with the plane when he set up the explosion." She shrugs. "Oliver's got major problems, Farris. You know that."

Ignoring her comment I grab my keys. "Where is he? Oliver? Do you know?"

She wiggles her lip ring with her tongue before answering. "At his house, I think. I did a drive by. There were a bunch of MP jeeps in the driveway. Probably holding him there until Homeland can get someone out her to question him. He's a minor, so they can't really just toss him in jail." She pauses, "Either that or they'll take him to the Provost Marshal's office. It's in that plaza where the housing office is."

I nod, vaguely familiar with the area. Closing the flap on my bag I sling it over my head and across my body.

"You want a ride somewhere?" I ask.

She shakes her head, purple curls bouncing. "Nah. I'll walk home."

There's no way this ends well, I realize. Even if I go to them with everything I have, it might not be enough to clear Oliver, of setting the explosion at least. The crash, however, I might be able to shed some light on. Reaching forward in an unexpected rush of emption, I hug her quickly.

"Thanks for everything, Kayla."

She hugs me back, feeling like a doll in my arms, small, fragile, and in need of protection. "Good luck."

First I drive by Oliver's house. There are no jeeps at all, though the entire area is taped off in yellow plastic tape, a single MP watching as a tow truck driver loads Oliver's truck onto the back of a flat bed, so I drive on. As soon as I arrive at the Marshal's office, I know there's no way I'm getting in there. I dial Oliver's phone, but it goes straight to voice mail.

Knowing I'll most likely be in a shit load of trouble for this, I park and pull out my tablet. It takes me almost fifteen minutes to hack into the building security cameras. In the grainy black and white, I spot him.

Oliver sits alone, handcuffed to the wooden arm of the off-white sofa. His hair is tousled, as I'd left it, and deep, dark bags sit under his eyes. He's slumped forward as far as the cuffs will allow. The rest of the room is empty, but I see a small rectangular window above his head, steel bars seem redundant since it's barely six inches tall, less than a foot across. Still, it's my best bet.

I log off and tuck my tablet away. Slipping out of the car, I walk casually along the sidewalk until I can see the rear of the building, a set of tiny barred windows. Making a quick beeline for them, I scoop up a small rock, raise up to my tip toes, and tap on the glass with it, which has a small corner already missing.

"Oliver, you ok?" I ask. "Don't turn around, there's cameras. Just stay still like nothing is happening."

"You gonna break me out?" he chuckles, and it's a sad, ominous sound.