Sweet Jayne Read Online Free Page A

machine, I nearly fucking died. I’d always heard police departments were lacking on funds.
    Not ours.
    Somehow, Logan manages to garner substantial support from the community. With his inherent charm and good looks, he smiles his way into some big-ass donations.
    Hell, I’m not complaining.
    I hit the button to unlock the vehicle and it beeps in response. As I climb into the car, my thoughts go back to her . The one who was too stupid to remember a license plate. Or to recall one tiny fucking detail that could have led the police to my sister. Anyfuckingthing.
    Picking up my iPod, I flip through my music until I find “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” by Blue Oyster Cult and then set off on my ride.
    I wonder where the hell she’s been these last three years. I’ve stalked her social media accounts and even watched Donovan’s office at the lodge, hoping she might show up there one day. Nothing. She’s completely gone off the grid. I even briefly considered interrogating Donovan on her whereabouts, but I know he would only lawyer up and refuse to answer like he does with everything else. Then, I’d have Logan on my ass which I don’t need. If Logan knew I was still obsessing over this case from nearly a decade ago, he’d probably order a psych evaluation.
    I don’t need a psych evaluation.
    I just need my sister back.
    I’m lost in thoughts of her while I make a pass through Jimmy Salem’s parking lot. A few beer cans litter the place, evidence of some kids having a recent party, but nothing looks disturbed. After a quick sweep, flashing my light to the dark corners of the building, I pull back on the road to head toward The Joint. My mind is numb once again as I contemplate where she’s gone.
    As I slow at a four-way stop sign, something big and white comes barreling through off to my right, headlights bouncing as it nears. My eyes zero in on the big-ass Ford 250 which is speeding toward the intersection with no signs of stopping. It plows past me and as it flies past, I recognize the vinyl king’s crown decal on the back window that’s revealed under the red brake light.
    No fucking way.
    I pop my flasher on the dash and peel out after the vehicle. Sure enough, as I follow behind it, I recognize the truck to be Logan’s. Problem is, I know he’s driving the department issue Tahoe today, not his truck.
    Did someone actually steal the police chief’s vehicle?
    What a fucking moron.
    Adrenaline surges through my veins as I speed after the truck. It doesn’t show any signs of slowing even though I’m tailing its ass with my red and blue lights flashing. I end up following it for a half mile before I realize that whoever’s behind the wheel is just driving faster and has no plans to pull over. Knowing there’s a curve coming up soon, I yank my wheel to the right and gas it past the truck. As we reach the curve, driving side by side, I start inching into the right lane. I don’t want to damage mine or Logan’s vehicle but I’m not about to let this person get away. When I barely bump the side of the truck, it jerks off to the right and sails into a ditch. Slamming on my brakes, I pull off to the side a little ways ahead of the truck and jump out of the car. Headlights blind me, so I draw out my 9 mm Glock and aim it at the vehicle.
    “Hands on the steering wheel!” I shout as I slowly make my way to the truck.
    Since it’s getting dark, I can’t see through the windshield. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck as I approach. Whoever it is, the fucker is going to pay for making me scratch up my car.
    When I reach the driver’s side window, I peer in. A woman with dark hair is slumped over the steering wheel. My heart thunders in my chest as I tap the glass with my weapon.
    “Ma’am,” I bark out, “put your hands where I can see them.”
    Her body quakes and I wonder if she’s having a goddamned seizure. With eyes on her, I yank on the door handle. The door swings open and all hell breaks loose.