Page 31 of Tasting Fire
Be calm. Be in control. But be ruthless.
Cash came to stand beside her, and she knocked politely on the windowless wood door.
When Jackson opened it, he had a can of Coors Light in his left hand and a TV remote in his right. “What do you want? I’m not on shift.” Then he glanced to the left and realized Cash was with her. Jackson’s lip curled up in a sneer as if to pin Cash as some kind of traitor. “I’m missing the game.”
“Who’s playing?” Cash asked him.
“What?”
“What are you watching and what teams?”
“NBA All-Stars.”
“Where were you earlier tonight?” Emmy prodded him.
“What do you mean?” He knocked back the rest of his beer and glared at her. “I just told you I was watching the game.”
“So you weren’t anywhere near the Murchison building?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve been home all fucking night. What is this, some kind of curfew?”
“Someone threw a brick through a window at the front of the building,” Emmy said, watching for any change in the man’s belligerent expression. Nothing. He was a cold SOB that was for sure.
“Okay.”
“I live on the second floor of that building.”
“Congratulations.”
“Jackson,” Cash said, his voice low and growly. “We saw a dark Ford F-150 screeching away afterward.”
Jackson repressed a beer belch behind the remote before saying, “And this is my problem why?”
“Don’t play the idiot. Did you throw a brick through that window tonight?”
“I thought you were a friend, Kingston,” he barked out. “But I can see a hot piece of doctor ass has changed that. Fuck you. Fuck you both.”
Before he could close the door in their faces, Cash caught him by the shirt collar. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Jackson gave Emmy a disgusted up-and-down. “Like I would waste my time on her.”
