GIRL JACKED (Crime and Punishment Mystery Thriller Series)
Girl
Jacked
A Detective Jack Stratton Novel
Christopher Greyson
Greyson Media
Novels featuring Jack Stratton in order:
GIRL JACKED
JACK KNIFED
JACKS ARE WILD
JACK AND THE GIANT KILLER
DATA JACK
and coming soon…
JACK OF HEARTS
Contents
Chapter 1 - The Boar’s Butt
Chapter 2 - You Suck
Chapter 3 - Drama Queen
Chapter 4 - Fish Out of Water Dance
Chapter 5 - You Will Know Pain
Chapter 6 - Perpetually Weird
Chapter 7 - Mommy
Chapter 8 - Inking
Chapter 9 - She Slimed Me
Chapter 10 - The Downs
Chapter 11 - Try to Out Shout Me
Chapter 12 - Killer Reindeer
Chapter 13 - Anyplace Can be Dangerous
Chapter 14 - Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’
Chapter 15 - Chicken Head
Chapter 16 - It Was Me
Chapter 17 - Sometimes…We All Do
Chapter 18 - First Dibs
Chapter 19 - Good and Bad
Chapter 20 - So Much for Green
Chapter 21 - Homecoming
Chapter 22 - The Void Beckons
Chapter 23 - Aluminum Foil and Other Kitchen Stuff
Chapter 24 - Ask a Better Question
Chapter 25 - But by the Grace of God Go I
Chapter 26 - Dirty Dancing
Chapter 27 - Iron Man
Chapter 28 - Drunken Grasshopper
Chapter 29 - The Tape
Chapter 30 - Following the Bread Crumbs
Chapter 31 - Girl Jacked
Chapter 32 - Speed Kills
Chapter 33 - Loose Ends
Chapter 34 - The Pit
Chapter 35 - Stupid but Brilliant
Chapter 36 - Pendulum
Chapter 37 - Box Full of Memories
Chapter 38 - Under the Rocks
Chapter 39 - You Are Sick
Chapter 40 - The Beast
Chapter 41 - I Got This One
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
The Boar’s Butt
“Jack?” The dispatcher’s voice crackled over the radio.
“Copy.”
“We got a ten-ten in progress at the Boar’s Butt.” The Boar’s Butt was a local bar and pizza joint that mainly catered to the same crowd of rowdy guys. Jack always laughed at the name.
“Any other info?” Jack swung the car around and hit the lights.
“Bartender called it in. No other details. Backup is going to be delayed. What’s your ETA?”
“Ten minutes.” Jack grinned.
“Ten-four.”
The smile on his face grew as the car’s speed increased. Jack loved driving fast and relished this perk of law enforcement. As he raced to the opposite side of town, he looked down at the clock: 11:35 p.m. There wasn’t another car on the road in Darrington County. The sleepy backwater community had little to offer in excitement and nightlife.
As he sped down the deserted streets, Jack felt alive. The leather creaked as he gripped the steering wheel and settled back into the seat. He always drove the refitted Charger when he went out on patrol; its V8 engine with 368 horsepower and 395 pounds of torque roared to life. He loved this car.
The other cops knew Jack had practically claimed it as his own. To Jack, the car did belong to him, which was why he’d almost gotten into a fistfight with Billy Murphy when someone saw Murphy doing doughnuts with it in a deserted parking lot.
Jack cut down a side road that ran straight for a mile. He pinned the gas pedal flat to the floor, and the Hemi roared with pleasure at its freedom. A rush of adrenaline surged through him as telephone poles whizzed by at the speed of light. Keeping his hands slightly loose on the steering wheel, he made minor corrections. All too soon, he neared the end of the street and had to slow down, his momentary escapism ended.
A minute later, Jack killed the lights and rolled into the bar’s parking lot. Jack had a knack for getting into trouble, so he decided to angle the Charger so it pointed toward the woods and not toward the front of the bar. He was already in enough hot water with Sheriff Collins. No need for the dash cam footage to end up on his desk.
There were less than a dozen cars and trucks parked outside. He scanned them quickly. Two stood out: an old Chevy Super Sport and an enormous red Timberline work truck. Jack knew the guy who owned the Chevy had an attitude. Jack had pulled him over a couple of times. He fancied himself a tough guy and a ladies’ man. Jack didn’t think he was either.
The Timberline truck meant he’d find other lumberjacks inside. After three years of being a police officer—and his tour of duty in Iraq—Jack had seen some tough guys, but a lumberjack made his short list of guys he didn’t want to fight.
He grabbed a backup set of cuffs and jumped out. Instinctively, he reached back in and snagged his hat. They taught you at the academy how to use something as simple as a hat for crowd control—from the gold shield on top, to the trick of angling your head to hide your eyes. He ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, before he pulled the hat down a little lower than usual.
It’s a fight. Crowd control: investigate, intimidate, dissipate.
He climbed the steps that led to the outside deck of the bar and made sure not to touch the railing. Made out of two-inch rusted plumbing pipe screwed directly onto the porch, the thick railing turned the palm of your hand an instant rusty orange if you touched it.
Jack pushed the heavy wooden door in as a young couple hurried out. Jack noticed the door had a similar heavy pipe for a handle. He tested it as he held open the door for them.
“Thank you, Officer.” The man nervously looked over his shoulder back into the bar as he prodded his girlfriend to move faster. She flashed a smile at Jack. The guy hustled her down the steps.
Jack was a good-looking guy, definitely not a pretty boy, but he never had to work too hard to attract girls.
As Jack walked through the door, he scanned the room. The entire restaurant was a large and open area with a kitchen at the back. There were booths against the wall and next to them were five large tables, each covered with a checkered red and white vinyl tablecloth. Dwight Yoakam’s version of “Little Sister” played over the jukebox. The smell of pizza and beer filled the air. On the opposite wall was a long serving bar with a dozen stools. Jammed into the corners were two pinball machines and a jukebox. They had painted the brown floor so many times it was hard to tell it was wood.
Calling the Boar’s Butt a restaurant was a stretch. It served a few different types of pizza. If you asked for an appetizer, the waitress pushed a bowl of popcorn closer to you. They served beer, hard liquor, and cheap wine for the rare girl who dared to ask.
Jack could see the problem the moment he walked in the door. No one could miss the three drunken lumberjacks in the back laughing.
Figures. Paul Bunyans. Wonderful.
None of the men stood less than six feet, and one was a giant of a man—three hundred pounds easy.
Jack cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. At six one and a hundred ninety-five pounds, he could intimidate most guys, but that wouldn’t work with these three.
The bartender, a big guy with a round belly, ran over to Jack. He looked pale. “I didn’t serve them. They showed up stewed. They said they ain’t leaving without a drink.”
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Jack nodded.
“These same guys were here last season. They smashed the place up when the owner kicked them out.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Jack looked around at the other people in the room. Some stared at him blankly. Others just peeked up. A few even smiled. The one emotion that they all seemed to share, though, was hope. Jack looked down at his badge.
They expect me to handle it. That’s what cops do. We come and bring the peace.
As an uncomfortable silence settled over the bar, the three men stopped laughing and turned to look at Jack. The bartender swallowed and moved away. Jack noticed a nine-inch hunting knife in the giant’s hand.
Backup is going to be delayed, Jack cautioned himself.
“Hello, Officer,” the drunken goliath hollered out. “We’re just playing darts.” He looked at his buddies. “They didn’t have any, so we had to use our own.” He laughed and launched the blade across the room at the tattered dartboard. The knife hit with a thump. The three men cheered wildly.
“Are you here for a game?” mocked the tough guy who owned the Chevy.
Jack glanced at the wall and saw two other knives sticking out.
Both missed.
He scanned the hands of the lumberjacks. Empty. Jack knew he needed to get them outside, away from everyone else.
“Can I have your attention?” Jack’s voice was calm as he held up his hands. He didn’t have to shout. Everyone was already looking at him. “Would the owner of a red pickup truck please come to the front of the building?”
“Why?” one of the lumberjacks asked with a sneer. He put his hands behind his head and leaned back.
Jack lowered his arms. “Because their truck is on fire.”
The three lumberjacks looked at one another in bewilderment and then scrambled for the front door. The smallest of the three reached it first. He yanked it open, and the giant pushed him aside. Jack let the monster pass by. Then the tough guy charged through, leaving the small guy holding the door.
Perfect.
As the last man stepped outside, Jack’s hand flashed like lightning. He slapped one-half of the handcuffs over the man’s wrist and the other end onto the pipe handle on the outside of the door. The lumberjack’s mouth flopped open.
As the second guy started down the deck stairs, Jack yelled, “Watch your step.”
In his drunken stupor, the man panicked and grabbed for the railing. While he looked down, Jack dashed up behind him, snapped one end of the handcuffs to the pipe railing and the other onto the man’s thick wrist. Jack was relieved when he heard it click into place.
Two down—one to go.
The giant stopped in the middle of the parking lot. He looked at his truck. “It’s not on fire.” He turned to Jack. “It’s fine, dammit.”
His confused look quickly turned to anger when he saw that his friends were handcuffed. He crouched slightly and prepared to charge. “You stopped my dart game,” he slurred. “I’m gonna stomp you.” The hulking man rushed forward.
Jack stepped to the right, and his forearm crashed into the side of the man’s head. He grabbed the stunned man by his collar and belt.
This is gonna hurt.
Jack pulled the guy against his leg, twisted his body, and pivoted his hip. He lifted the three hundred pounds into the air. Both men groaned. The lumberjack’s feet went straight up. Jack’s back strained as he supported the man’s weight. As the lumberjack reached the pinnacle of the flip, Jack stepped aside. His adrenaline rush, pushed into overdrive, caused everything to slow. The man seemed to hang in the air like a basketball player whose slam-dunk had gone terribly wrong. The judo flip that Jack used could be finished in one of three ways. He could let him fall to the ground. He could try to support some of the man’s weight and soften the impact. Or he could push him down and increase the force that his body would suffer as he collided against the asphalt. Jack stepped aside and let him crash to the ground. He landed flat on his back with a thud. An explosive groan burst from the man’s mouth as all of the air in his lungs blasted out.
Jack flexed his shoulders and took a deep breath. The man’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as he gasped for air. Jack took a step forward and leaned over the man. “I’m sorry, sir. It seems you tripped. You’re okay, right?” Using a little Jedi mind trick, Jack nodded his head up and down.
The lumberjack on the ground winced.
“You’re going to leave now, and everything will be fine.” He waved his hand like Obi-wan. “If you give me any lip, I’ll take the three of you in right now.”
The large man nodded his head.
Jack tried to look menacing as he walked over to the other lumberjacks still handcuffed to the porch. They’d remained silent as they watched the scene unfold. The tough guy, who no longer looked tough, held his free hand up. “We’ll go. We’re sorry. We’ll go now,” the man babbled.
A slight smirk flashed across Jack’s face. He’s surrendering. Cool.
After Jack set him free, he hurried to his friend on the ground.
Jack crossed his arms and furrowed his brow at the last one who stood cuffed to the door.
“Sorry,” the man sheepishly muttered as he looked at his feet.
Take out the big guy and the little ones fall into line.
“How many drinks have you had?” Jack unlocked the cuff.
“Two, sir.”
“You’re the designated driver. Got it?”
“Yes. Thank you, Officer.” The man kept looking back over his shoulder at Jack as he rushed to his friends.
The men helped the giant lumberjack to the truck as another police car, with lights flashing, skidded to a stop in the parking lot. All three nervously looked back at Jack. He waved them on. Jack held up his other hand and gestured to Officer Kendra Darcey as she jumped out of her cruiser.
Kendra carried her shotgun in her right hand and came over to Jack. He gave her a quick nod to let her know everything was under control. Both of them watched the red truck slowly pull out of the parking lot.
She turned and frowned at him. “I missed it?”
Jack stood on the top step and looked down at the twenty-four-year-old rookie police officer. Kendra was an all-around athlete and an adrenaline junkie; she loved the outdoors and being on the go.
He tilted his head. “If I had known you were on tonight, I’d have left one for you.”
“Yeah, right.” She smiled. “If you’re all set, then I’ll let you handle the paperwork.” She rested the shotgun on her hip. She had her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and when she smiled, her blue eyes flashed. A four-inch scar ran from the corner of her chin to her eyebrow. She was beautiful in spite of the scar. Few people knew how she got it, and Jack was one of them. While she walked her enormous Labrador retriever, the dog spotted a coyote and took off after it. The retractable leash snapped and caught her in the face. The rope burn never healed quite right. The truth wasn’t the kind of story that earned a rookie cop respect. When she told Jack she got it in a fight with four guys during a bust, he knew it was a lie right away. He called her on it, but he also gave her an alternative version. One guy and a broken bottle. They became good friends after that.
“I was hoping you’d volunteer to fill out the forms for the both of us?” Jack walked down the stairs and leaned in close to her.
Kendra laughed. “Don’t go flashing those baby browns at me, Jack. I’m not one of your girlfriends.”
Jack knew she was teasing him. They were friends, and Jack wanted to keep it that way. He also knew that friends could easily change into something more. He’d had enough problems with ex-girlfriends to know he didn’t need one at work.
“You riding solo?” He changed the subject.
She lifted her chin. “Collins thinks I can handle things by myself now.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“And…Donald called in sick.” She blushed.
“Don’t rush solo. May
be we can team up again soon.” Jack winked and headed up the steps. “I have to go back in and talk to the bartender. Thanks for the backup.”
She lingered as she watched him go. “I’ll watch your backside anytime,” she joked before she headed to her cruiser.
Jack wrapped up the interview in the bar as quickly as he could. It was easy, because no one wanted to press charges. After he finished, he walked back to his cruiser and made a mental note: Buy some extra-large handcuffs.
He muddled through the monotonous paperwork at the station. When he glanced at the clock, he grinned, glad he’d be home before two a.m. He finished his shift, thinking about the night’s events, and then headed to his car with a smile still clinging to his face.
CHAPTER TWO
You Suck
Jack walked into his apartment and stopped short. His girlfriend Gina, probably just back from some bar, stood in the middle of his crappy living room with her hands on her hips. Four-inch heels, tiny miniskirt, silk top opened low to show off her cleavage, fake fur jacket hugging her waist, a mane of blonde hair—all topped off by shiny ruby-red lips. She could have been the cover girl on any hot-rod magazine, but as it was, she worked at the beauty salon two blocks down.
She threw her head back and burst into fake tears. “You suck!” She stormed off. The echoes from the slammed door blended with the shudder that rippled along the paper-thin walls. Jack tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter.
Anniversary, birthday, some promise… He ran down a list of possible screw-ups he could have made, but drew a blank. I haven’t been on a bender in a long while, so it’s not that. I’d never cheat. Take that off the list. Caught in a lie? You have to talk for that to happen, and Gina wasn’t much for conversation. Talking wasn’t quite why they were together anyway.
He replayed the events of the last two minutes in his head. No bags. Pocketbook, but no bags. She might be back.
Jack shrugged and walked over to the refrigerator. His reflection brought him up short. Stupid mirror. Who puts a mirror on a refrigerator? Gina. She said it would help her lose weight. She likes to eat, but she isn’t fat.
As he looked at his reflection, his brown eyes became darker. “Way to go, Jack. Another one gone.”