Tracy Hayes, Apprentice PI

Chapter Eighteen

Jackson ended his phone call and came to me. "Come, let's get you on the sofa." He helped me up and to his office. I wasn't even embarrassed that my feet wouldn't carry me properly and he had to support me. I'd been held at gunpoint. It was a wonder I hadn't wet myself.

"Do you need a nip of whiskey?"

"Yes, please." I dropped onto the couch, the lovely, safe couch. There was a pillow and a blanket on it – I guess this wasn't the first time Jackson had slept here – and I took the blanket and wrapped it around me. I would never get up. Jackson could sleep on the floor for all I cared, without the blanket, because I was keeping it.

Jackson went to a cupboard at the side of the room and pulled out a bottle and a glass. He poured me a hefty dose that would put me under if I drank it all.

My hands were shaking and I had to concentrate on not spilling the contents when he handed me the glass. The first sip burned my throat, making me cough. Second sip went down slightly better, and by the third it was like drinking water. The whiskey made my blood course faster and warmed me all over. It was tempting to drink it all and welcome the oblivion it offered, but I wanted to be sober when the police arrived.

I don't know how long I'd sat there in silence when Jackson spoke at the door, cutting into my contemplation of the floor pattern. "Can you keep an eye on this piece of shit while I go let the cops in?" He was assessing me, and I tried to look sharp and capable.

"Absolutely." My voice slurred a little. "What should I do if he tries to escape?"

"You have the pepper spray, don't you?"

I dug into the pocket of my sweater jacket and pulled it out. "Yep."

My feet were only slightly tottering as I walked to the reception room. Lonnie was still on the floor, but Jackson had helped him upright and he was leaning against the wall, sulking. I kind of wished he would give me trouble; my finger was practically itching to release the pepper spray. But he wouldn't even look at me.

Jackson returned with two uniformed officers, both sturdy, hard-looking men who gave Lonnie such an ugly glare that I had no doubt he would end up behind bars. But they weren't the only ones arriving. Following at their heels was my brother.

Trevor didn't even glance at Lonnie. He came straight to me, full of concern, and pulled me into a hug. All the tension I'd bottled was released and I started crying.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, worried, holding me tighter.

"No, just relieved," I said past my sobs.

"What the hell happened?"

I pulled myself together and wiped my eyes on the sleeve of my sweater. I watched Lonnie being escorted out by the officers – not very gently – and I waved my hand towards him. "I think he followed me tonight. He attacked me outside York Street station and forced me into his car at gunpoint."

"What the fuck for?" Trevor's hand twitched, as if he were reaching for his sidearm to shoot Lonnie. Luckily the asshole was out of sight already or he might've actually done it.

"He wanted Pippin."

He stared at me amazed. "I think you'd better tell me everything."

So I did. I hadn't even told Jackson the whole story yet, so both men listened, interested.

"Why were you in Dumbo in the first place?"

Since Trevor didn't know about Jarod, I had to tell that story too, which took considerably longer, as – predictably – he wasn't too happy about my decision to take a housemate without consulting him.