Page 5 of From the Shadows

A charcoal gray work van comes to a stop at the edge of the playground with a black and white sliding in behind it, blissfully silent but with the lights flashing.

I shove my phone in my pocket and give the traffic stop my full attention. Officer Devin Dustman is a piece of shit with a power complex. Even if that wasn’t a very familiar van, I’d keep an eye on what’s going down strictly because Dustman is a douche.

He steps out of his patrol vehicle and saunters up to the passenger side of the van taking his own sweet time. Dude is a walking, talking, dick-clutching harassment suit in the works. From way back here, I can see him paw at his crotch as he waits for the window to roll down.

Fucker is no match for the woman he’s pulled over. That’s nothing but fact. The big surprise is the salacious male voice drifting through the air talking about getting his knob polished.

The volume on the audiobook flairs loudly before pausing entirely and leaving an almost unnatural quiet.

I take a step closer, not that I can hear the exchange between the douchebag and the siren he stopped. But I can see his arm moving and that motion looks an awful lot like self-pleasure.

Through the open window, hands flit and fly around the cabin of the van. I don’t like the way Officer Dickhead is peering into her vehicle, craning his neck to see into the back cargo compartment.

I know what’s in the back of that van. I know what the woman behind the wheel is carting, where she’s taking it, and generally where it’s hidden in her pretty little gardening van. But I’m almost positive no one else does. The boss pays her far too well for mistakes to be made. And she’s a little obsessive about making sure things are done the right way.

But I don’t like that she got stopped. I really don’t like that Officer Dickbag is all up in her space. I loathe that this traffic stop has gone on way too fucking long.

I slow the swing and scoop Evie out, settling her sleepy body against my chest. She nuzzles in, tucking her head into the crook of my neck, and heaves out a sigh that’s far bigger than she is.

I make it a handful of steps in the van’s direction before Dustman stands on his tiptoes to slap the roof of the van and send it on its way. I can’t imagine the move looks all that natural from inside the van, but from my vantage point, it’s purely laughable. He looks like a kid reaching for the cookie jar that’s just out of reach.

Our town gardening specialist and casualty cleaner takes off in the direction of the landfill at a perfectly respectable speed.

The black and white, however, flips a bitch and posts up just out of sight of oncoming traffic. Movement through the windshield looks an awful lot like he’s beating meat.

In public.

Across from a public park where kids play.

The law in this town needs a serious purge and do-over.

Chapter 3

Vibes

JESS

This fucking day can go right to hell. When I say I’m over it, I mean over it. Because this has been stupid all around.

Waiting for my contact at the incinerator was absolute torture. Because they were late. Not just delayed, but overdue and remiss. Really fucking not on time. And with bags upon bags of… substances that are biodegradable and have been literally roasting in the back of my van because it was hot today—sweltering—my van didn’t smell as fresh as it could. In fact, it got pretty nasty. And that smell permeated everything.

Everything.

By the time I unloaded, completed the immolation process, and cleaned my van in an industrial kind of way, I was done.

I’m remain done but still have so much yet to do. But let’s be honest here. After all that nonsense and having to fight off Dusty Dustman, officer of the law and public dick manipulator, I’m not checking anything else off my to-do list.

So I go home. I maneuver my van into the barn, ass-end first, and open all the windows. That girl needs to air out, but while locked up in her safe space.

Pulling the zipper of my coveralls down to my waist, I peel my arms out of the sleeves. I tie them around my waist while sifting through my remaining supplies and replenishing everything to optimal levels. Organizing is my Zen, and I could use some good vibes all up in here.

This fucking day.

When everything is tidy and clean, filled and filed away, I pull the doors of the barn closed and secure all four locks. Then I set the alarm.

As I cross the lawn to my back door, I flip my phone from my pocket and notifications are stacked on top of notifications. Good God, who died?

Instead of bothering with text, and because I’m a sucker for the aural stimulation that’s within my reach, I square my shoulders and hit the little phone icon.