There was always a
catch. A leopard doesn’t change its spots.
Clar’s endless need to baby Levi, like he was totally incapable of
doing so himself drove him crazy. Levi was a grown man, not a lost boy. Jimmy
thought about a few of the scrapes Levi had been in. Well, maybe he was lost.
What did she expect him to do? Fight law enforcement and find out who in the
hell laid Levi up in a state of who knew what? To find out why a few of her
candy wrappers were left at the scene? Figure out why the sicko wanted to lure
Clar back to LA? Well, he wasn’t going to do it. Clar and her posse could go in
on their own and find the damn killer. He wanted no part of it…not anymore.
He’d disappear from the face of the earth just like his dad had.
No word. No trace. No way for anyone to contact him. Go to work one day to
never return. After all, the killer wasn’t after Jimmy. No, the killer’s target
was Clar—plain and simple.
Jimmy sped past cars and landscape, his mind shaking off the
painful image of his dad. The Chicago PD brass came to his house with some
story about his dad going down in the line of duty. His mother cried for days
until they laid Sean O’Brien in a six-foot hole as the family and the Chicago
PD paid homage. Jimmy didn’t buy the hero story back then any more than he did
today. His dad deserted them, that’s all he knew—all he remembered. He’d always
sworn he’d never take the same easy route. So, what the hell was he doing
running away?
Suddenly a vision of Clar, laying in a pool of blood, pink candy
wrappers strewn over her violated body flashed through Jimmy’s horrified mind.
His shoulders tightened like an overwound clock. The muscles in his thighs
twitched. His stomach convulsed. Good gawd, what the hell was he doing running
away again, leaving her alone and vulnerable at a time like this?
“Fuck, not on my watch, you bastard!” Heart racing, Jimmy gripped the wheel then swerved into the far-right lane traffic, horns blasting one after the other. He sped up the nearest off ramp, over the bridge, then down the on ramp and headed north back on the 110. The rush hour traffic increased as he continued to weave in and out of vehicles; the drivers giving him the finger, and brakes squealing and horns honking like crazy. He didn’t give a damn.
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