Chapter 11
eleven
. . .
Mia
I drive with my eyes on the rearview. Nobody follows.
I can’t decide where to go. I find myself heading to Armin’s safehouse on auto-pilot.
How safe it is now, I don’t know.
I bang on the steering wheel. I should go back. I should blow my cover and call in help from the FBI. But it takes days for those fucking clowns to do anything. Armin will be long dead before they respond.
I can’t believe I ran. Like a coward. I left Armin behind, alone, with Harvey’s assassin. What could I have done? Nothing. I didn’t have my gun on me.
My excuses don’t alleviate my guilt.
And Harvey’s charges aren’t even fucking filed. Not yet. The DA’s dragging his feet, as usual. Going after the Assistant DA instead of the real danger. Typical.
The lights of the city blur past me. I pull up at Armin’s and I park and I stare down the frontage road, hoping beyond anything Armin’s SUV will appear.
The adrenaline drains from my body, and I’m struck with a cold sadness, a hollow fear that hits at me from the inside. He saved me again. Maybe this time, he paid for my life with his.
I pound both fists on the dashboard.
Nothing makes sense. He took an envelope from Harvey. Or his driver, same thing. He’s a goddamned billionaire. What the hell does he need from Harvey?
And, if he is with Harvey, then why did he pistol whip him and intercept Harvey’s assassin?
I slump in my seat. It’s deserted back here. I watch time slip by on the clock. No calls or texts. No sign of Armin.
My mind replays my weakest moments, crying on the couch in his arms. I would give anything to be in those arms right now.
I should have found a way to protect him.
I blink my eyes open. The sun’s riding high over Halo City’s skyline. It’s quiet. No SUV in the parking lot. No Armin. I check my phone. Nothing. A sick wave of nausea rises inside me.
I wonder if they nabbed Harvey, at least. If the shootout at Morrow was enough, and the DA will finally unstick his ass from that shiny leather chair of his and press charges against him and the Assistant DA while we put together the rest of the federal case.
I’d better get to work.
I start up the engine and speed over to the westside site, let myself into the apartment. Dave’s passed out on the threadbare couch, an overturned coffee soaked into the carpet next to him. Some Special Agent he turned out to be.
Though my face heats when I realize I did the same.
I slam the front door, and he wakes with a start, pulls his feet off the couch, dirty sneakers and all.
“There she is,” he yawns. “How’s it feel?”
“How’s what feel?” I snap, and head into the bathroom, fling this stupid dress into the shower, and pull on the backup clothes I keep hidden under the sink. I turn on the faucet to wet a wad of toilet paper and wipe the mascara out from under my eyes.
“The Assistant DA’s being brought up on charges today. Thanks to your evidence. And the driver’s.”
“Who?”
“You know, the HPG informant. The driver. For Harvey Blagas.”
I turn off the water. “Harvey’s driver is with HPG?”
“Oh. Yeah.” He laughs, a short little chuckle. “I thought you knew.”
“You thought I knew?” I throw the wad into the toilet and storm out of the bathroom.
“Would’ve been super fucking nice to know.
You’re supposed to be the info officer, Dave.
I’d love it if you ever gave me any info, instead of playing video games and jerking off all day at time and a fucking half. ”
“Take it easy.” He skirts me, hands up, pours the last of the coffee into a dirty mug, and sloshes it all the way across the kitchen and into the microwave. “Here. Have a doughnut.”
He points to an open box of half-eaten doughnuts I brought in late last week.
I pull the last whole one out and stuff it into my mouth to keep from screaming.
The stale carbs pacify me enough to keep the conversation going without choking him out in the immediate.
“You got anything on the Morrow shootout?”
I wonder if Armin’s alive, for the millionth time, and a chill creeps through me.
The microwave beeps its way into a migraine creeping up behind my eyes. I dig my thumb and index finger into my eye sockets, but it does no good.
“What shootout?” He pulls the coffee out of the microwave. I fantasize about decking him and drinking the coffee.
He sits down in front of his computer and refreshes his email. I scan the screen from over his shoulder, searching for any evidence that Dave has done a single hour of work here, for an update on Harvey.
For any hint Armin might be alive.
“That.” I point at an email. “What’s that?”
“Oh, it’s the sitrep on Blagas. From last night.”
“Well, for fuck’s sake, Dave. Open it. What’s it say?”
Dave takes an impossibly long time. I want to throw him out of his gaming chair and put a couch pillow over his face. “He skipped town.”
“Blagas is gone? Where?”
“Sunbreak Harbor, it says. Down south.”
The DA dragged his feet so long Harvey waltzed away. Classic. The only person who’d dealt him any actual consequences was Armin.
And I was grateful. Not only had he saved me from an assassin’s bullets, he’d rescued me from the most mediocre dicking down of my entire fucking life.
“What about Armin?” I worked hard to keep my tone level, not to choke on his name. I had to pretend he was still alive, or I wouldn’t get through this wretched conversation.
“Who?”
“The HPG agent at Morrow last night. Did he make it?”
“Doesn’t say.”
“Were there casualties at Morrow?”
“One.”
A wave of dizziness washes over me. I can’t breathe. I snatch the coffee out of Dave’s hand and down it in one gulp. It tastes like burnt garbage.
I need to get back to my apartment, to make sure Harvey’s skipped town. I stumble out and slam the door behind me, climb back inside the SUV and start it up. The only place I ever feel the least little bit safe in this city.
Besides with Armin.
My chest is tight; I struggle to drag a deep breath into my lungs.
I take the side streets to the highway, and turn towards home, or home for now, my horrid apartment above the club.
I work to concoct a story in my head about what went down last night in case Dave is full of shit and Harvey’s there, enjoying a relaxing concussion.
I assemble a new string of lies, a summary of what happened after Armin dropped Harvey like the sack of shit he is.
I have to keep the charade going. I can’t stop until he’s behind bars.
But my body won’t let me. My migraine screams, and my vision tunnels. I can’t do it. I U-turn on the highway, brakes squealing, cars honking around me, and I floor the gas pedal in the opposite direction.
Towards HPG.
I need to know if Armin is dead or alive. My head and my heart won’t have it any other way.