I DIDN’T FINISH dinner. I was too revved up. Too emotional. Chris kept staring at me, like he couldn’t process what I had just told him. The waiter had arrived, asking if everything was okay with the food. Chris picked up his fork and began prodding at it guiltily, but I scooted away from the table and asked for a box.
“I’m not feeling well,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Nikki,” Chris called after me, but I didn’t turn back. I couldn’t. I didn’t do vulnerable, and while it didn’t feel as bad as I’d expected it to, it felt too intense to call it good, either. It mostly felt like my whole life was at risk of blowing up now. Which was funny when I thought about it—my life had a habit of blowing up on a regular basis, and I was somehow surprised about it every single time.
When I got back to my room, I saw that Dad had called. He left a message, wondering where I was. I couldn’t talk to him. I sent him a text.
I took a road trip with a friend. In Vegas. Be home tomorrow late.
He immediately texted back: Vegas??? We need to talk?
I sent a laughing emoji back at him, and then, thinking it over, followed that immediately with: Just for fun. No need to talk.
Translation: Please, for the love of God, do not make me talk. With all that had come out of my mouth this evening, I was afraid of what I might say if I was pressed to talk.
I felt guilty taking off my expensive clothes. I’d hardly worn them at all, and Chris didn’t have the kind of money to just go throwing it away like that. I hung my things in the closet, thinking I would leave them there. Maybe the housekeeper and I were the same size. Maybe she could sell them. It didn’t matter. I was much more tees and jeans than silk and shimmer. I unrolled a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt from my backpack and put them on, then climbed into bed and thumbed the TV on.
I was forty minutes into a movie that I couldn’t pay attention to when there was a knock at my door.
Chris.
I opened the door and he held out a Styrofoam box for me to take. My stomach growled. Now that my nerves had calmed, I actually was a little hungry.
“Thanks,” I said. “Sorry I left. I just . . .” I didn’t know how to finish. “Should we meet tomorrow at ten? Go over to Angry Elephant then?”
“Can I come in?” he asked.
I didn’t want him to. Actually, I wanted to rewind. To go back to dinner and cram all the words back into my mouth. Then he could come in. You can’t avoid him forever, Nikki. You have to ride in a car with him for half a day tomorrow. I stepped aside.
“You should put that in the fridge,” he said, shrugging out of his jacket. He opened the closet and hung it next to my clothes. I pretended I didn’t see him pause to touch the fabric of my shirt. It was cloth. Just cloth. But somehow the gesture felt intimate. “Can I sit?”
I nodded and stepped around him to put the box in the refrigerator. I turned off the TV and sat on the bed, pulling myself up so I was sitting cross-legged on the mattress. He sat in the easy chair next to the bed and leaned forward, his fingers pressed together between his knees, like he was getting ready to pray.
“You think your dad might be guilty,” he said. Quietly, gently.
I nodded.
“How long have you thought this?”
“A few months. Before Tesori Antico.”
“And you didn’t tell the police because . . . ?”
“Because . . .” I took a breath. I didn’t want to say it aloud. I didn’t want to hurt Chris. I didn’t want to get into an argument with him. I wanted this to be all mine again, and I regretted ever opening my mouth. But I’d been honest with him up to this point. No need to stop that now. “Because I don’t trust cops. Or I didn’t. I don’t know. I guess I still don’t. It’s confusing. They botched my mom’s case. They only interviewed my dad one time and then they let it go. My whole life I’ve been waiting for them to solve this crime, and nobody cares. I’m guessing you had to dig a little to even find the file.”
He closed his eyes and dipped his head briefly—a nod. “The case is cold.”
I let out a sarcastic grunt. “See, they don’t care. They’ve given up on Mom’s case, and the Hollises got away with no trouble and Luna is still out there. Nothing ever happens to the bad guys. That’s why I can’t trust the police.”
“You trust me.” His voice was like a cloud, enveloping me. He got up, moved to the side of the bed, knelt, and put his hand on my cheek. My hair fell over it, a curtain concealing his touch, concealing my deep, deep blush. The violet spread over me so thick I almost expected him to see it, too. “You trust me,” he repeated. He’d gotten so close I could feel his breath mingle with mine.
“Because you’re yellow,” I whispered. A wide chasm of fear opened up beneath me. He was right. I trusted him, when I never trusted anyone. Well, anyone except my dad, and look where that got me. Trust was bullshit. Trust could get a person killed. I pushed his hand away to break the connection before it melted me completely. I swallowed, trying to get my bearings. “And I wouldn’t say I trust you so much as I’m stuck with you.”
He chuckled softly and backed away, settling in the chair again. But it was an ugly chuckle. A scornful one. Bitter. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You shouldn’t shut down on me like this.”
I forced myself to meet his gaze. “I’m not shutting down. If you don’t like what I’m saying, you can go. Actually, you should probably go anyway. I need to get some sleep.”
He seemed to hesitate for a long time, and then finally got up. I sat still as stone while he went to the closet and pulled his coat off the hanger. “Right. I thought we made a connection tonight, but I forgot who I was dealing with.”
“Yep,” I said. A tear came out of nowhere and soaked into the bedspread.
He dropped his jacket onto the suitcase rack. “I actually had another reason for coming over here tonight.”
I gave a sharp bark of a laugh. “You’re going to have to find another girl for that, Detective. I’m not into you.” Purple fizzled and popped in my peripheral vision, arguing with me, then faded away on a sad brown mist.
“No. Nikki.” He paused. I saw him place his hands on his hips, tipping his head down. I knew this to be his aggravated pose. A part of me was pleased as hell that I’d brought him to that pose. Another part was sad and scared and wanted to say I was sorry. “I came to tell you I remembered something. Maybe something very important.”
My head whipped up. “What?”
“When you said Leon’s name tonight at dinner. And Javi’s. It . . . I don’t know, it just connected. Rebecca Moreno is Leon’s sister.”
“Sister? The sister? The one things ‘got complicated’ with?”
He nodded. “I’m not proud of that, but yes. Heriberto was Leon’s . . . I don’t know what you’d call him . . . lackey? Right-hand man?”
“And he’s selling for the gang?” I said.
“Yeah. Probably. Only he’s not doing the selling. Too much of a chickenshit. He’s got the kids doing it. Those boys we saw at the community center. They aren’t buying the drugs for themselves. They’re selling them and bringing the money to Heriberto. He gives them more and off they go. Including Rebecca’s son, Sam.”
“That’s disgusting.”
He nodded. “Yeah, well, gangs aren’t really known for how kind and upstanding they are.”
“And how do you figure in all of this?” I had forgotten all about being mad at Chris. I was sitting on my knees, wishing I hadn’t worked so hard on chasing him out. “You’re saying Heriberto wants you dead? Why? Revenge for what your brother did to Leon? Why now, after all this time?”
He frowned, like it was painful to remember. “That, I don’t know. I only know that it was most likely Leon’s boys—now Heriberto’s—who ran me down.”
“So why don’t you just bust the dude?” I asked. “He’s obviously dealing, and right there at the community center. And to kids. You’re a cop. Get some video on your phone and take him down.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that easy.”
“Of course it is!”
“No, it’s not. I don’t know what I was in the middle of doing, Nikki. And until I figure it out, this stays open. I leave Heriberto alone.”
I rolled my eyes and threw my hands up in the air. “See? This is it. Right here. This is why I don’t trust cops. You have the bad guy. You know who he is and where he lives—or at least where he’s hanging out—you know he wants you dead, and yet you let him stay out there to fuck up more lives. Maybe you’re not so yellow after all, Detective.” As if in response to my words, the gray edging that always outlined him grew into more of a shadow.
His lips pulled into a straight line. His shoulders slumped and his stomach hollowed out, as if I’d delivered a physical blow. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “See you at ten.”
He didn’t even wait for me to respond. Just left, letting the door fall shut behind him.
With him gone, I got up and paced the room a few times. Why? Why was I so mean to him? Why did I shit on everyone I could potentially lo—no, I wouldn’t even think the word. The truth was, he was letting a drug dealer sell to kids and was doing nothing about it. To be sworn to fight crime and turning a blind eye to it . . . in my eyes, that wasn’t much better than being the dealer himself.
I went into the bathroom and got a drink, trying to calm myself so I could eat.
I was halfway to the refrigerator when I heard footsteps approach my door and stop, the shadow of feet visible in the crack between the door and the floor. My eyes landed on his jacket, still lying over the luggage rack. I marched over to it, snatched it up, and took it to the door.
“Here, your stupid j—”
But when I opened the door, there was no one there. I had heard footsteps. I hadn’t been imagining that. There had been someone outside my room. I was sure of it.
Distantly, from down the hall, I heard the ding of the elevator arriving. Whoever had been there was leaving. Tossing Chris’s jacket on the floor, I raced down the hall to see who was getting on the elevator. But I was too late. The door slid closed just as I rounded the corner. It was just me and the humming, buzzing soda and ice machines.
My hands and feet went cold. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was someone mistaking my room for theirs.
Or maybe it was Luna.
The elevator was descending; I could see the numbers ticking down. I ran to the stairs and flew down them, my bare feet making slapping sounds on the concrete floors. I was instantly sucking wind, but I couldn’t let the elevator outpace me. I pushed myself to run harder, faster.
When I got to the ground floor, I slammed through the stairwell door and sprinted for the bank of elevators, nearly colliding with a kissing couple along the way.
But when the elevator door slowly opened, I stopped cold, my feet nearly sliding out from under me. I reached back and caught myself with one hand on the wall, and then backed up and pressed myself into a room doorway, making myself as thin as I could get, so I wouldn’t be seen. I poked my head around the corner and watched, my legs weakened by what I saw.
The white-blond man stepped off the elevator and slowly, deliberately, stalked out of the hotel.