Chapter 42
By the time I finally wake up it’s a little after ten.
Which is way later than I normally sleep but I also don’t normally go over twenty-four hours (or more?) running on fumes.
I should probably stay in bed, try to get more shut-eye, but my brain is working overtime already and I know it won’t come.
As I sit up, I wince at the pain in my shoulder and curse that jerk Vincento once again. What a psycho. I can’t imagine why he attacked me like that. His boss had seemed maybe not okay with things, but not murderous either. And Ethan is paying Orson off so I don’t get what Vincento’s deal is.
I reach for my phone, seeing that it’s plugged in, something I know I didn’t do. So Garcia must have come in and done it.
Of course he did. Ugh, he’s so thoughtful.
I call Fallon, glad she picks up right away. I sent her the briefest of texts before I crashed.
“Hey, how are you feeling? And why are you up?” she asks.
“Sore, but fine. I gave Garcia the list of people blackmailed.”
“I know,” she says.
“Oh. Your friend the chief?”
She just makes a hmm sound, which isn’t an answer at all, but that’s pretty on brand for her.
“We’re close, I feel it,” I add.
“I know.” She sighs. “I don’t like what happened last night.”
“Get in line,” I murmur, making my way to the kitchen. His house has a lot of natural light and it feels good against my skin as I start a pot of coffee. There’s a note from him, telling me to make myself at home and to eat anything in the fridge.
For some reason tears sting my eyes at the basic kindness.
“I’m just saying I don’t think it would hurt to lie low for a little bit.”
“You know that’s not happening. Garcia will be interviewing or interrogating the blackmailed residents.
” It’s part of the reason I told him. He has resources and the actual power to bring people in, talk to them, see if he can shake anything out.
I don’t. “And I need to talk to Ava again.” Now that my head is clearer, it’s obvious I have to.
If anyone will know about the discrepancies in the tests on the air taxis, it’ll be her. So I’m going to the source.
“I don’t think you should talk to her alone.”
Oh, so Fallon is thinking along the same lines as me. I make a hmmm sound, mirroring her own earlier.
“You make me crazy,” she just mutters in response, but I swear I can hear her grinning.
“Back at ya. Look, I’ve gotta shower and get out of here. I’ll keep you abreast of my movements,” I say formally. And a little obnoxiously.
“Please don’t ever say ‘abreast’ again.” Then she hangs up on me.
Snickering, I pour a mug of coffee, doctor it up with a little milk and sugar, and then take it into the shower with me. I don’t care if it’s weird, I like combining my two favorite things. Hot showers and sweet, sweet coffee.
After drying my hair, I change into jeans and a soft blue-green sweater that was a gift from Cara and head to the kitchen, empty mug in hand.
And pull up short at the sight of two dark-haired, petite women standing by the coffee pot, each drinking a cup of their own.
They stare right back.
“Well hello.” The younger of the two smiles broadly at me.
I’m not sure how long I stare, but it feels awkwardly long. As in, I’m pretty sure a whole season has passed and we’re now moving into spring. Christmas and New Year’s came and went and the three of us just stared at each other as it passed by.
“I’m Inés, Hector’s mother,” the older of the women finally says with a smile. “And this is my daughter Bianca.”
Bianca is still smiling (very weirdly, I might add) and nods as she takes a sip of her coffee.
And now I have to introduce myself. I mean, I could just run out of the kitchen, but it’s the awkward choice.
“My name is Sloane.” I clear my throat. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you two.
I was actually about to call for a ride.
” Because Garcia drove me here and Cara’s BMW is still at my place, I belatedly realize.
I hate that I can’t make a quick escape and sweat beads down my spine.
“No, no,” Inés says, shaking her head as she sets her mug down. “I wouldn’t think of kicking out one of Hector’s…lady friends.”
I almost snicker at her words, but shake my head. “Oh, no, it’s not like that.” I stumble over my words as the two petite women stare at me with smiles. “Garcia and I are just friend friends.” Probably not even that. Acquaintances? Colleagues?
“Garcia?” The older woman blinks.
“Oh, ah, Hector. We’re colleagues more than anything and I just call him by his last name…” I trail off, feeling really, really stupid. So that’s fun. I stare at the coffee pot longingly. There’s still some left over and I’m desperate for it.
“You sleep at your colleague’s house?” His sister kicks up an eyebrow, clearly smothering a laugh.
Jeez, ladies, give it a rest! I don’t say what I’m thinking, however.
Instead, I clear my throat. “In the guest bed,” I mutter.
Does that sound as pathetic as I think it does?
Yep. I take a step back, desperate to put distance between these two women with the easy, warm smiles.
“I’ve got to get out of here so I’ll just leave you all to it. ”
“Oh no, we didn’t mean to kick you out.” His mom’s eyes crinkle at the corners as she steps forward and gently guides me to a seat at the island top.
I don’t even think to stop her. She just takes over and I let her.
“And I was just about to whip up chilaquiles. My stove has been acting up and I had to come by here anyway. Please, sit and eat. It won’t take long, I promise. ”
His sister nods and pours me a fresh cup of coffee, which smells amazing.
I don’t realize until later (I’m blaming it on lack of sleep) that Inés was definitely lying.
She wasn’t about to cook at all. I mean, obviously not.
They’d just dropped by to bring some food for Garcia and had clearly been taking advantage of the opportunity to ambush the strange woman in his house.
But by the time she slides a plate of chilaquiles in front of me, my mouth is watering and they’ve lulled me into a false sense of security. My own mother never cooked for me so this is a novel experience.
I watch in a little bit of fascination as the two women move around his kitchen with ease, and with even more surprise to see how full his refrigerator is.
My own is, well, bare would be the kind word. Sad would probably be more appropriate. Or we could go with pathetic.
It doesn’t take long before she’s set the chilaquiles in front of me, a fried egg on top of the bowl of goodness.
Then the two of them offer me toppings (sour cream, avocado, pico de gallo and some kind of cheese) and I accept all of them because by now my stomach is growling and everything smells like heaven.
As I take my fourth bite, really, really trying not to moan aloud at how good it is, they both move in across from me, watching me again with twin smiles that are a tiny bit scary.
“So why are you not dating my son?” Inés asks.
I blink at her bluntness. She’s still smiling all prettily as she drops the bomb into the delicious-smelling kitchen. So this was clearly her plan—to feed me food so good I’d probably sell a tiny part of my soul for more, and then ambush me.
“Oh.” Can I stop saying that word? I shove more food in my mouth, chew and swallow, then try again.
“We’re really colleagues more than anything.
And this guy attacked me last night, so Ga—Hector gave me a place to lie low.
” I decide to just go for honesty. It’s not like these two will be telling anyone my location.
“That’s it. He wanted to keep me safe because he’s a good person. ”
“Ooh, you’re the…” Bianca trails off when her mother nudges her.
“You helped my sweet niece Rena get back on a good path.” Inés’s smile is a lot warmer now as she eyes me. Then I see the slight shift into what looks a little like pity, but maybe it’s just sadness. “I’m so sorry about your sister. Hector told me a little bit about what’s going on.”
“Oh.” Apparently that’s now my favorite word.
The two women move as if they choreographed it and sit on either side of me, Bianca gently patting my back and Inés taking my hand in hers. As if I’m a wild animal they want to calm down. Or just a sad human who needs comforting.
To my surprise, stupid tears roll down my cheeks and I find myself enveloped in a double hug. I hate crying, but crying in front of strangers is even worse.
But these two are so wonderful that I cry a little harder and don’t even hear Garcia walk in.
“What’s going on?” His deep voice makes me pull back and swipe away the remaining tears in embarrassment.
“Nothing,” I mutter, unable to even make eye contact.
“Your family was kind enough to cook for me.” And, you know, let me cry on their shoulders like a big weirdo.
I push back from the chair, mourning that I don’t get to finish the food, and hurry out of the room with a muttered excuse.
I don’t even know if my words make any sense or if they’re just a string of random ones, but he follows me to the guest room.
“Hey, I hope they didn’t ambush you.” There’s worry in his voice. “They can be a lot.”
“Your mom and sister are wonderful.” I thump him gently on the chest. “You better appreciate them.” Before he can respond, I step back into the guest room and shut the door in his face.
Because I can’t deal with his kindness right now.
As I sit on the bed, I quickly call for a ride using an app, then pack up my stuff. And I’m almost ashamed to admit this, but when I get the alert that the driver is only a minute away, I climb out the window.
That’s right, I run like the coward I am because I can’t face Garcia or his family after that display. I’ve got too much shit to do today—like confront who I’m pretty sure killed my sister.
And I need a clear head for it.
I’m also worried that I’ll cave and tell Garcia what I’m thinking and he’ll try to stop me. So I run.