"Reyes," the patrol officer manning the front desk bellows.
"Yeah?" I bark back.
"I think you need to take this phone call."
I glance up from my computer screen and look at him. He better not be interrupting Candy Crush for some bullshit he doesn't want to deal with. "Yeah, all right, transfer it back here."
My desk phone rings, and I grab the receiver, "Sergeant Reyes."
"Hey, it's Turner." Kevin Turner is one of my buddies from high school. We still keep in touch since we both went into law enforcement—just different areas. Turner's a guard at the state pen for as long as I've been on the police force.
"Hey, man, it's been a while. How's life with convicts?"
"Stimulating as ever," he quips. "Except we have one less—escapee from the infirmary. Someone you know."
That catches my attention. The hair at the back of my neck lifts, and a chill runs through me. I've put many men in prison, but I have a feeling I know who's escaped. "Who?"
"James Wells.”
I knew it. I run my hand down my face. "Christ, when did this happen?"
"A few hours ago. The Warden's trying to keep a tight lid on it. The marshals have been called in, but nothing's gone public yet. Thought I'd give you a heads up, though."
I take a deep breath. "Thanks, I owe you. Call me so we can get together for a beer or two—I'm buying."
"Well, you've got yourself a date," Turner jokes, and then hangs up the phone.
I drop back in my seat and try to wrap my brain around this. Fucking poetic justice—Kylie works her ass off to keep Wells in prison, and a month later, he slips out and is free. Considering how things have ended up with her, I'm not sure if I give a shit. If it were just Stone affected by this, I wouldn't care, but—damn—that woman is still under my skin.
I'm not obligated to tell anyone about this, we have nothing to do with the case at the moment. So, why do I feel the need to let Kylie know? Because she could be in danger, and I want her to be on the lookout? If Wells is smart, he's on his way out of the country.
I pick through the leftover pizza in the breakroom, and grab a slice of pepperoni, so cold there's an orange layer of grease covering the meat and cheese.
Am I so desperate to talk to her again, I'm looking for any excuse to get in contact with her? That's probably closer to reality, but I don't want to deal with it right now.
One of the other unfortunate detectives tagged for duty tonight comes in, shakes snow off his jacket, and hangs it on the hook in his cubicle.
"Snowing out there?" I ask, take a bite of pizza, and quickly regret that decision as the grease coats my tongue.
"How'd ya know? You must be a detective or something?"
"The best one here," I state, and puff out my chest for added effect.
He snickers. "Right, that's why you pulled the shittiest duty of the year."
"Fuck you." He blows me a kiss.
I toss the pizza in the trash and take a sip of the coffee hoping it will somehow get rid of the disgusting taste in my mouth. "Where've you been?" I ask.
He grunts. "Up to the state looney bin. Some doctor misplaced one of his patients, and they asked me to come look in all their closets. Didn't find him and had to drive all the way back since it's not our jurisdiction anymore."
My stomach drops as if I swallowed a fifty-pound boulder. "What's the patient's name?"
"Uh," he pulls out his note pad, "John Sysco. It looks like he just walked right out the front door, and no one stopped him."
"Do they think he has an accomplice?" Sweat covers my body, and I'm breathing fast now.
"Has to—surveillance camera shows him in street clothes. Don't know how he got them, no one suspicious visited him twenty-four hours prior to him leaving."
I take a deep breath, and exhale.
"I heard the dude's loaded," the detective says. "He's probably on some tropical beach, never to be seen again."
"Yeah," I mutter, "probably right."
I head back to my desk, sit, and stare at the wall. Sysco and Wells both escape on the same day—hadn't expected that. It's too much of a coincidence for them not to be cohorts. I wasn't aware they even knew each other, although, they share a thirst for revenge and a severe hate for Alex Stone—something I can relate to very well.
I glance at my watch. Almost midnight. The party's still underway at Stone's, I'm sure. Matt Gaines got an invite, so he'll be there, rubbing elbows with the rich, and fundraising for his next campaign.
I pull up my text messages, and shoot one off to Matt.
Are you still at Stone's party?
Yes, he replies.
I hesitate. I'm pretty sure Matt figured out my feelings, so this just makes me look pathetic. Is Kylie there?
You mean the soon-to-be Mrs. Stone? Yes, she's here, and sporting the Hope diamond on her ring finger.
Fuck!
A picture pops on my screen, that bastard Stone putting a ring on Kylie's finger, and her smiling like this is something to be happy about. I'm pretty sure I'm going to blow chunks.
Something up? Matt asks.
My blood is boiling, and the last thing I want to do is give them a heads up of what may be coming around the bend. It's not my problem. She's not my problem. They'll figure it out when Wells and Sysco show up.
Nothing that can't wait.
I toss the phone on the desk. She's engaged to that prick! I pick up my phone, find the name in my contact list, and type another message.
Alex Stone and Kylie Tate just got engaged. Thought you'd want to know.
I press send and turn off my phone.
Happy fucking New Year.