Chapter 15
When Peter got back to the house, Ellie was still sacked out.
He put the pastries on a plate and fired up the coffee maker.
At five to nine, he was sitting at the kitchen table with his second cup and the foil-wrapped phones when a big Ford pickup with a ladder rack and a Semper Fi Exteriors logo on the side rumbled up the driveway.
He’d already returned Stella’s SIG to the desk drawer.
Manny walked in without knocking. He was average height with thick, sloping shoulders and legs like tree trunks.
He wore clean black duck Carhartts and a red North Face hard-shell jacket with a fresh shave and a high fade sharp enough to cut.
He carried a crumpled brown paper grocery bag in one hand. “What, no hug?”
Peter rose and wrapped his arms around his friend, feeling his calm, steady strength.
“Good to see you, brother. Thanks for coming.” Manny’s cool head in a firefight had saved their lives many times over.
Peter had always thought that, in a major earthquake, with houses toppling and bridges collapsing, Manny would be the only thing standing still.
“Carlotta’s here, too, she wanted to see you. But she’s on the phone with a client.” He handed Peter the bag. “Semper fi, Ashes.”
Peter sat back down and dug inside. He found a Smith & Wesson .357 revolver with two speed loaders and a box of fifty rounds. “Nice. How much do I owe you?”
“Don’t you start with that crap, ’mano. And in case you’re gonna ask another stupid question, I got it at a gun show in Idaho and haven’t had time to register it, so it’s clean.”
He took a mug from a shelf and filled it from the coffee maker, then went to lean against the counter but caught himself, pulled a fat envelope from his back pocket, and tossed it onto the table.
Rubber-banded stacks of greenbacks spilled from the open flap.
“Ten thousand, mixed bills, what I had in the safe at home.”
“Manny, I told you—”
Manny gave him a benevolent look. “Ashes. Shut the fuck up. Wasn’t for you, I’d have been dead years ago, along with most of my guys. So I’m here, ’mano. Let me help.”
Marines, Peter thought. Gratitude filled his chest like oxygen. “Thank you, brother. I appreciate it.”
Manny waved it away. “Now tell me what the hell we’re dealing with.”
But Peter was looking at the doorway to the living room, where Ellie stood, nervous as a cat.
He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to wake up the morning after watching your mother get killed.
First stretching, feeling rested, feeling good.
Maybe thinking that the day was like any other.
Then a moment later remembering that your whole life had been blown apart.
That maybe you would never be okay again.
She’d clearly slept in her clothes. Her hair was wild and her face was puffy from sleep, giving her a slightly feral air.
He said, “Good morning, Ellie. This is my friend Manny Martinez. Manny, this is Ellie Thorsen. Katelyn Thorsen’s daughter.”
Manny said, “I’m sorry for your loss, Ellie.”
She didn’t look at him. Instead she eyed the pistol and the envelope of cash. “What’s going on?”
“I got some pastries if you’re hungry,” Peter said. “Do you want to take a shower, maybe change your clothes?”
She nodded. “Can I have some coffee?”
Peter didn’t know how to answer that. The girl was thirteen. “Uh, did your mom let you have coffee?”
“All the time.” She straightened up and stood with her hands thumbs-forward on her narrow hips. Suddenly she looked like a young woman. “I have the Starbucks app on my phone.”
Peter turned to Manny, the father of four daughters. Manny threw up his hands. “Don’t look at me. My oldest is eleven and she still likes juice boxes.”
“Thanks for nothing.” Peter took a mug from the cupboard and set it by the coffee maker.
Ellie stepped forward, filled the mug, and stirred in enough cream and sugar to make a pint of gelato. “Where is my phone, anyway?”
“We’ll talk about that when you come back,” Peter said.
She grabbed two Danishes from the plate and headed for the stairs. “I’ll be down in twenty minutes.”
Peter heard a car door slam and looked out the window. A black-haired woman in a bright yellow raincoat and matching gum boots bustled toward the house. He met her at the back door.
“Peter!” Short and round with pronounced curves, she wrapped her arms around him. When Carlotta Martinez gave you a hug, you damn well knew it. Then she held him out at arm’s length and stared him full in the face. “How are you? Tell me what happened.”
Carlotta was a clinical psychologist turned headhunter for tech firms looking to hire in-house mental health professionals to help their stressed-out, overachieving executives. She still had that therapist’s empathetic look.
As the sound of the upstairs shower gurgled through the thin ceiling, Peter told them the story from the beginning.
The threat letter, the attempts on KT’s life, the gunman’s success at the motel.
Peter barely getting the girl out with her life.
His conviction that there was something larger going on.
When he was done, Carlotta said, “All that must have been hard on you.”
“It was a lot harder on Ellie.” Peter’s response was sharper than he’d intended.
Carlotta nodded calmly. “That may be. But you know it’s not your fault, right?”
“Of course it is,” Peter said. “I said I’d protect them both and I failed.”
Manny put his thick hand on Peter’s arm. “You didn’t pull the trigger, Ashes. It’s not on you. You did the best you could.”
Peter sighed. “Yeah, yeah.”
“That’s why she’s here now,” Carlotta said. “Instead of with the social worker or a friend of the family. Because you feel responsible for her.”
“I am responsible for her. She’s got nobody else. Her dad’s out of the picture. If I hadn’t taken her, she’d be stuck in the system.”
Carlotta raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean, you took her?”
“Um. The social worker from CPS was coming to get her, but Ellie didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay with me. So we left.”
Carlotta shook her head. “I love you, Peter, but this is a very bad idea. Manny and I both know how relentless you can be when you aim yourself at something. Not to mention the fact that you are not exactly domesticated at the best of times.” She looked at Manny.
Something unspoken passed between them, and he nodded his agreement. They’d been married fifteen years.
Carlotta turned back to Peter. “If it’s okay with you, why doesn’t Ellie come stay with us? You can figure out what’s going on while Manny plays bodyguard and I find her a therapist to talk to.”
“I’m pretty sure I broke a few laws when I took her,” Peter said. “I don’t want that to come back on you.”
“Not a problem,” Manny said. “If the shit hits the fan, we deny everything and blame it all on you.”
“That sounds about right,” Peter admitted.
Carlotta beamed. “Then it’s settled. Ellie can come home with us.”
“Screw that.” They all turned to see Ellie standing on the carpeted stair landing, in clean jeans and a white Taylor Swift sweatshirt. Her hair was wet but brushed. Her Doc Martens hung from one hand. She glared at Peter. “I’m staying with you. I don’t even know these people.”