Twenty-Nine
Erin put the phone to her ear and forced her voice to sound normal. "Russo."
"Hey, did everything go alright?"
"Everything's fine."
"Is this a bad time?"
She looked straight ahead, not letting the question get to her. "No, I have time. I can talk plenty. No problem."
"You sound strange. Are you sure that everything is alright?"
"I said it was fine, didn't I?"
"Sure. Sorry I asked."
"Thank you."
Erin laid back in the bed and waited to feel normal again. She'd been waiting for a long time, and she suspected that she'd be waiting much longer than the phone call was going to take.
"I was just worried about you. I know that things like this situation, the one with Hutchinson—it can go bad fast."
"Well, everything's fine. You pick up the blue-and-white truck?"
"Sure we did. Everything checks out with him. He's the one from Minnesota, just like you said."
"Well, that's what I figured. I didn't remember his face, not exactly, but from the cap and the fact that I knew he was on that sheet, I guessed."
"Well, it was a good guess."
She suppressed the pride at the compliment. No time for them, and no time to feel good about herself over nothing.
"Just get him dead to rights. Find Juanita Rodrigues, see if she recognizes him. She probably won't, but you never know."
"Maybe he had the window down, right?"
"Right."
The conversation wasn't going anywhere, and she wasn't sure that she wanted it to. Erin let out another breath.
"Are you sure you're okay? You sound kinda down in the dumps, Erin. Do you want to grab lunch?"
"No." She knew that she was doing a bad job of making herself sound anything close to alright, but it was hard to put aside the knowledge that no matter how much work she put into the relationship, it didn't much God damned matter.
"Are you at the hotel?"
She didn't answer. She wasn't sure she wanted him knowing where she was.
"Say I was."
"Stay there. I'm coming over."
"Don't."
"Erin, I swear—"
"Stop worrying about me, Schafer. I can take care of myself."
"Are you sure?"
"Fuck you, that's my answer. Am I sure, fuck you."
"I'm sorry—did I do something to piss in your cheerios?"
"Honestly? I don't need this right now. Just—go do whatever you F.B.I. people do."
She hung up the phone.
She could hear it in her own voice. That inner bitch that she'd never been able to shake. Why was it so easy to play the part with Craig, but the minute that someone might have taken a legitimate interest in her—
She quieted that thought. He hadn't taken a legitimate interest in her. She wasn't going to be with him, not long-term. There was no long-term for them, not really. Regardless of what either one of them wanted. No amount of trying hard was going to make up for a five-hour plane ride.
She wouldn't find the time to go to Virginia. Not the way she attacked work. He wouldn't find the time to come to California, either. Not with the short leash that the F.B.I. kept him on. Karen let out a breath.
It was smarter, and it would be easier, to just get it all out of her system now. Stop worrying about any of it, Just get used to the idea that she was going to have to get over him, and the sooner she could manage it, the less painful it would be when it happened.
She took a deep breath again.
That was the right approach, and if she was smart, that was what she'd keep in mind when he knocked on that door. She was a cop in California, and he was an out-of-town, sticking-his-nose-in, F.B.I. cop.
There wasn't going to be any compromise, not in the end. They might try for a while, waste a couple of years imagining that one day they'd spend a little more time together, or they could be honest with themselves now and admit that shit wasn't going to happen. Not in the long run. It would be less painful if they just admitted it to themselves now.
Erin rolled herself over and closed her eyes. She was tired. She had been for days now. The shooting had only made it that much worse, and having to keep Roy at arm's length took a lot out of her. If not physically, certainly emotionally.
She needed to get herself straightened out. That idea was a laugh. As if she was going to do anything remotely like that. She might get a nap or she might not, but the idea of being able to think straight for one god damned minute before Craig Hutchinson sat in a courtroom and stood trial for the murder of her sister, and whatever other myriad crimes she knew he was guilty of—that wasn't going to happen.
Erin's eyes shot open when she heard the knock. She was out of the bed like a shot, her first reflex to reach for the pistol. She stopped herself. Nobody was going to knock before they shot her, and if they did—maybe they would. She didn't know.
Maybe they would. She left the gun on the table regardless, a subtle fuck-you to the instinct that told her to make sure that she always had something ready just in case some crazy son of a bitch tried to attack her.
She was in control of her life, and if she was going to get killed, she was going to get killed. Nobody was pulling her strings. Not Craig, not the fucker in the blue truck, not her father, and definitely not—she put her eye to the peep hole.
Definitely not Roy fucking Schafer, who was standing in the hall outside.
"Go away."
"You know I can't do that, Erin."
"I said, 'go away.' "
"And I said I'm not going to."
"For how long? A few minutes? An hour? What happens when I let you in? What happens when we solve this thing? You gonna wait outside my apartment then, too?"
"Erin—"
"Don't you 'Erin' me. Go away. I don't need you here. I can take care of myself."
He took the comment like a slap in the face. The expression was every bit as satisfying as she'd thought it was, in the deep place in the pit of her stomach where right and wrong didn't matter nearly so much as making sure that people suffered when you wanted them to suffer.
He waited a minute, opened his mouth just about long enough to close it again, and then walked off. Even from the limited view of the peep-hole she could see that what started as a casual walk away quickly became frustrated, even angry.
She smiled the way that people smile when other people hurt inside. That was all she needed. Another way to fuck her own life up. It was a mess, and it was perfect, and that was all she'd ever asked for. Doing this to herself didn't even bother her, not any more.
No need to worry about whether or not there was a future for them any more, not when she could just end it now. She could almost feel the weight of doubt falling off her shoulders already. No more need to question what was going to happen between them. Nothing was going to happen between them, and that was good enough. As long as she could know where she stood, it didn't matter that it hurt.
After all, she'd always deserved to suffer. Maybe Roy did, or maybe he didn't. But she hurt worse, which in the end meant it was okay.