Chapter Two
Detective James Scott's, or Jay as his friends call him, feet hit the ground with a thud as he jumped over the worn-out chain link fence. His phone fell out of his pocket but he didn't stop. This SOB wouldn't get away from him again. He'd chased his perp for almost an hour through the maze of buildings in downtown Nashville. The sun was setting over the Cumberland River and he was losing daylight. After six blocks, he took a second to catch his breath, and out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a green hoodie. Gotcha!
"Stop! Police! Put your hands up and get on your knees, now!" Jay yelled.
Thankfully, the man stopped and did as Jay suggested. He radioed in his location to his partner, Mike, and slapped the cuffs on his perp.
"Why the hell did you run from me, Scooter? You know how much I hate running," Jay asked the young man.
"I ain't got nothing to say to you, man," came his reply.
"Well, you just earned yourself a trip to the station now."
Mike pulled up with a squad car behind him to escort Scooter to lock-up.
"Next time, you are running after the perp, Mikey, I'm getting too old for this shit," Jay told his partner, rubbing his right knee.
Jay was feeling all of his thirty-four years after that chase. He old knee injury, from years of playing football, was catching up to him. After high school, he was offered a full ride to play football with the University of Tennessee but the car crash changed his plans. Ten days before his nineteenth birthday, he received the call that both his parents were killed in a four car pile-up on Interstate 40, outside of Nashville. They were on the way to see him play his first game of the season as a starting quarterback. He was so focused on the game that he didn't notice they weren't there until the game was over. Thank God, his little sister, Grace, was spending the night with her best friend, at the time, and not in the car with their parents.
He remembered driving the three hours to Nashville to his childhood home, rehearsing what he would say to Grace. When he walked inside, it was as if they were just out for the day and would be back any moment. His dad's favorite UT coffee cup was in the sink, and the house still smelled like the blueberry muffins his mom had baked to bring him. She knew they were his favorite. Jay never realized how many pictures of him and Grace adorned the walls. He would never forget the look on his baby sister's face when he told her. Or the guilt he would carry to this day. He sat and held her for hours while she cried on his shoulder, never letting his own tears fall. He was the man now. He had to be strong for her.
Unlike a lot of his friends, he'd had a great family life. His parents were hardworking and loving people. He would butt heads with his dad, from time to time, but they always worked it out with a handshake or a hug. He didn't have any other family, and Jay knew he had to be there for Grace. So, he gave up his scholarship with UT, entered the police academy and took night classes to get his degree in Criminal Justice. He knew he had to work and take care of both of them, and he didn't regret it. Grace followed in their father's footsteps and became a firefighter, after graduating high school.
His world nearly shattered again when Gracie almost died in a warehouse fire set by an arsonist. She was trapped in the fire and they lost her twice in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, but Rachel brought her back. Rachel Webber was his sister's best friend, and the night of Grace's wedding to Zach, he'd slept with Rachel—something he promised himself he would never do. She was his sister's best friend. She'd stayed by Grace's side at the hospital when they thought she wouldn't pull through and had been there for her every step of the way during her long recovery.
Hell, Rachel had taken care of him, too. She had made sure he ate and rested. She was a great person and he knew she had feelings for him. Jay didn't do relationships and didn't want children, plain and simple. He had a few girlfriends, from time to time, but he never let it get serious. That's the biggest reason he'd stayed away from Rachel. She made him feel things he wouldn't allow himself to feel. Maybe it was the fact that he lost his parents so young and he raised Grace or the fact that his job was dangerous. Whatever the reason, it's just how he was, and Rachel deserved so much more than he could ever give her.
Jay walked into the police station and slapped his broken iPhone down on his desk. After the chase, he'd doubled-backed, hoping he would find it in one piece. Mikey sat down across from him, shaking his head.
"That's the second phone this month, Jay, no way Cap will authorize another replacement."
"Yeah, but unlike the last one, I have insurance on this one," Jay replied, smiling as he leaned back in his chair.
"What do you want to do about Scooter?" Mikey asked Jay.
"Let him sit in a cell and cool off overnight before we talk to him. My gut tells me he knows more than he's letting on about the gas station explosion."
"Sounds good to me. Hey Jay, you want to get a beer before you head home?"
"No, thanks, Mikey. Not tonight. I'll see you tomorrow morning."
They were getting nowhere with this case and it was grating on Jay's nerves. Luckily, no one died in the explosion, but the clerk was seriously injured. She'd stepped out back to throw the trash away and was thrown clear of the blast but was in the hospital in a coma. He'd worked nearly twenty-four hours straight and was exhausted from lack of sleep. He left the station and ran by Verizon on the way home. He had fifteen minutes before they closed, and he really needed a new phone. His sister, Grace, was due back next week from her honeymoon, and he didn't want to miss a call from her.
If he was being honest with himself, he secretly hoped Rachel had tried to call, too. He hadn't bothered to go by her apartment or even call her after the night they spent together. He knew she was leaving for Dallas the next day and would be gone for two weeks training. But that was just an excuse he used. He knew he messed up big time; Rachel deserved better than him. But why did the thought of her with another man gut him?
***
Jay opened his apartment door, an hour later, and grabbed a beer out the refrigerator. He opened the lid and took a long swig. The cold brew tasted so good, he nearly drained the bottle with one swig. He locked his Glock in his gun box and plugged his new phone in to charge while he ate a quick bite. He'd picked up a burger on the way home and sat on the couch with his beer and wolfed it down. Jay flipped through the channels on his 65-inch flat screen but nothing interested him. Maybe he should have gone out with Mikey. He turned the TV off and threw the remote on the couch. A shower and bed was what he needed, so he could start fresh in the morning.
By the time he showered, shaved and crawled into bed, it was after midnight. He contemplated calling Grace to check on her and Zach, but it was too late. He would call them if he had a chance tomorrow. They were due back in a few days from their honeymoon. Jay loved seeing his sister so happy. After her accident, he wasn't sure she would allow herself the happiness she deserved. She and Zach fought hard to be together, and seeing her so in love made all the sacrifices worth it. He stared at his phone and hovered his thumb over Rachel's number. He wanted to call her—needed to call her—but didn't. He would do it tomorrow.
***
It was just eight a.m. and Jay was on his third cup of the black sludge they called coffee at the station. He had a restless night's sleep so he came in early. Now, he was waiting on Mikey to arrive so they could interrogate Scooter. Nearly an hour later, his partner finally showed up. Mike just turned fifty-five and was still spry for his age. He had a head full of brownish-gray hair, which he kept closely cropped, and he reminded Jay of Clint Eastwood. He had natural muscles from hard work, not a gym. In his spare time, he worked with horses. Unlike Jay, who preferred jeans and a black t-shirt, Mike wore a shirt and tie every day.
"You look like crap, Jay. Did you sleep at all?" Mike asked as he sat across from him.
"The hospital just called; the clerk died from her injuries this morning," he told Mike somberly. "Let's get some answers out of Scooter now."
Jay walked in the small integration room with Mike following behind him. Scooter was handcuffed to the scratched-up metal table. His legs were moving up and down, shaking it. Either he was nervous, or he was coming down off a high. Mike sat in one of the gray chairs and placed a cup of coffee in front of Scooter. Jay stood by the door and watched as Mike took the lead. He crossed his arms over his chest, getting frustrated at the run around Scooter was giving them.
Finally, he'd had enough. He grabbed the other chair, turned it around, and placed it right beside Scooter. Jay was so close to him, he could smell the urine odor that permeated Scooter's clothing.
"Stop bull shitting us around and tell us what you know now! You know something about the gas station explosion, and this is your one and only chance to make it right or you will be facing homicide charges."
He watched as understanding finally gleamed in Scooter's eyes. Maybe Jay could have been a little easier on the guy, but his patience was wearing thin. Their case had just turned into a homicide. Mike, who was normally the calm one, stood up and slammed his chair under the table, and Scooter jumped.
"If I tell you what I know, they will kill me," Scooter said in a shaky voice.
"We can protect you; just tell us what you know," Jay encouraged him.
"I was in East Nashville, on Harding place, at the hotel there, getting my fix, you know. I overheard these guys talking about selling explosives to some crazy man who wanted to blow up some gas stations."
"Go on," Mike encouraged him.
"The guys saw me and told me if I repeated what I heard, they would kill me, man. So, I got my shit and left. You gotta protect me, right?"
"I need names, Scooter," Jay said, standing.
"I told you what I know, man, I swear. I don't know who they were."
Jay put a pad and pen in front of Scooter and instructed him to write everything he told them and anything else he could remember.
"I am sending a sketch artist in here, and I want you to describe the men to him. Then, we will see what we can do about protective custody."
He and Mike left the integration room and, after filling the captain in, they headed out to follow up on the leads from Scooter. Jay checked his phone—no missed calls or messages. He knew he should call Rachel, but he didn't.