323.
One of the doors had a missing number. Another was open but I wasn't sure it was supposed to be. I passed another door and I could hear yelling from behind the door. I didn't even look.
Finally, I reached the end of the hallway. There it was. 323. I tried to open my door, testing my luck. Why go through the hassle of picking a lock that didn't need to be picked? Unfortunately, Estrada was an intelligent man and locked his door. I glanced around, hoping I didn't have any unnecessary eyes on me. I dropped to my knees and pulled out my purse. This time, I had bobby pins ready. It took me longer than I would have liked simply because I was out of practice, but I managed to get the door open and I slid inside. No one noticed me. I wasn't sure if it mattered either way.
I locked the door behind me. I knew I only had so much time. I pulled out my phone and swiped up the camera. I kept my eyes peeled.
Estrada was a lonely man. There was barely any furniture except a couch and a television. There was one dish in his sink, and judging by the dried milk and the spoon, I assumed his last meal here was cereal. I closed my eyes and took a breath. I couldn't be slowed down because I was sad.
I needed to focus.
So far, I saw nothing that would be important. I stepped into his room. A plastic hamper that probably came up to my stomach was knocked on the floor, with a bunch of different clothes scattered on the floor.
But that wasn't what caught my attention.
It was the wall in front of me, filled with documents, highlighted passages, pictures.
Evidence.
Estrada had evidence—tons of it—posted to one wall like he was some stalker in a Lifetime movie.
All against Stephanie Guzman.
This was it. This was what I needed to prove my case against her and her family.
Chapter 23
I needed a computer. Now.
Words started piling in my head, teasing and pacing my brain, insisting I let them out. At the very least, I whipped out my phone and started typing everything up. I should probably get out of Estrada's apartment. Since he was dead—no doubt, someone involved in this whole were-weapon program killed him—I wouldn't be surprised if their next target was his place.
I needed to gather the evidence before I could write.
I started undoing the tacks that help up the paperwork.
There was a bump outside. I froze. Someone must be on their way already. I closed my eyes, hoping to be able to pick up anything else. Gentle voices. Maybe he was asking for directions. Maybe it was nothing—a neighbor asking to borrow a glass of milk.
Did that even happen anymore? Did neighbors really know each other?
I shook my head, trying to rid myself of nervous questions that popped into my head at the worst time. I started looking around. Footsteps came outside, not even bothering to mask themselves. I knew they would catch me. There were at least two people. From their muttering, I thought they were men.
If I took the evidence, they would know someone was here. They might look to see if I was still here.
But if I left it…
If I left it as it was, they would take the evidence and I wouldn't get my hands on it. It would slip through my fingers. Everything Estrada was compiling, even his death, would be in vain.
I closed my Notes application and quickly shifted to my camera.
The footsteps were getting closer.
With shaky fingers, I took as many pictures as I could of Estrada's wall. I didn't even have time to check to make sure they came out okay. I reapplied the one newspaper clipping I had originally taken down.
Someone was scratching at the lock. The sound was gentle, almost a tickle.
I needed to find somewhere to hide now.
And then I saw it.
Estrada didn't like laundry. His hamper was filled with clothes. I immediately knocked it down, removed the clothes, and slipped inside as best as I could. This was where being petite came in handy. I piled the rest of Estrada's clothes on me just as the door creaked open. I sucked in a breath and waited.
"…lucky that was all that happened to him," one man said. "If Marino didn't get the call about Estrada getting those files…"
"I'm surprised Ramiro wanted it clean. Typically, he likes to have fun when people get too close. You hear how he almost killed that journalist?" The speaker scoffed. I heard something shift, almost like he was adjusting his belt or something. "I was listening to his phone calls from the other day. You know she wanted to write a report about the incident? Estrada talked her out of it, citing she didn't have the evidence. But judging from this wall, he clearly did."
"Estrada didn't have shit or else he would have moved on her," the first man said. "Even if he did, the captain would have made it go away."
Captain?
These were police officers.
Oh, God.
I could not be caught. If these were police officers, I was not going to find help here. I was not going to find it at the station. Estrada had been my only ally. Now, he was dead. And I knew I was partly to blame for his death.
"Well, well, look at what we have here."
I froze. My stomach started to get tingly. I thought for sure I was going to piss myself. I squeezed my eyes shut, like I was a toddler and if I couldn't see them, they certainly couldn't see me. I squeezed my cross so tightly in my palm I left an indent in my skin. I didn't care.
"Estrada certainly has been busy, hasn't he, Parker?" the first one continued.
I nearly let out a sob of relief. I could hear the footsteps as they slowly traveled around the room, looking through things, looking up and down. I was sure it was the wall they were walking towards, which would leave the laundry basket behind them. Still, I could not move. I couldn't breathe. I needed to stay still.
"Yeah, he fucking has," the second one, Parker, said. "And no names, ass-hat. You know Estrada loved the law. I wouldn't be surprised if he had a recording device somewhere in his place as one last fuck you to corrupt cops everywhere."
"I'm just glad he's dead," the first one said. "I've been wanting to kill the guy for a while. You know he's responsible for Tony? Because that cunt-journalist found out he was working with the mayor. They couldn't prove it, so Estrada looked into him, found out he's been cheating on his taxes. Fired immediately. Fined, I think, but Tony can't afford it, so he's serving two hundred and forty days in prison."
"Prison?"
"Jails are too full."
The second one whistled.
I heard crinkling papers. I couldn't be sure but it sounded as though they were taking down the evidence.
"Can you imagine what would have happened if this got in the wrong hands?" Parker asked.
"Hey," the first one said. "I think I found something. There, on his desk. Hasn't been put up yet."
Footsteps walked across the room to the desk. It was opposite where I was, farther away from me.
I let out a breath, allowing myself a second—no more than that—to breathe.
"That's a file from The Zoo," Parker said.
The Zoo? I furrowed my brow and then remembered I couldn't move.
"Yeah, the captain will want that back immediately."
There it was again. Captain. My problem with that word was that the Perry Police Department didn't have captains. They had sergeants, lieutenants, and commanders, but no captain. Captain almost sounded like the military. But what captain had jurisdiction over law enforcement? Unless it was some sort of military captain.
I closed my eyes and tried to remember the ranks in the military. I should know this, since everyone had been proud that my grandfather had served his country. However, the only thing I could think of was that my grandfather was a private first class rank, which wasn't much higher than any of his peers. Besides that, I didn't know off-hand.
I listened as they grabbed more papers, unpinning the carefully structured pin board. Who knew how long Estrada had been working on it? And now, it had fallen into the wrong hands. I
clutched my phone tightly in my hand. At least I had pictures. I hoped they turned out legible. But at least it was something to work with.
The two still hadn't noticed me, but I was sure it would only be a matter of time. I had been lying still for twenty minutes already and it was getting increasingly difficult to hold my pose. I needed them gone so I could breathe easily again.
"You get everything?" the first voice asked.
"Think so." I heard footsteps get closer to me. What was happening? Why did the owner of the footsteps feel the need to get closer to me? "Should we go through his stuff? See what else he had?"
I heard ruffling. Clothes. He was going through clothes.
He was going to find me. It was only a matter of time before he discarded the ones in his hands and turned his attention onto me. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my lips together into a thin, white line.
Please, God. Please don't let them find me.
"No, man. We've already wasted enough time. Jones will have our asses if he doesn't see us circling Crate Avenue in ten minutes, and the fucking street is twenty minutes away. We've already put ourselves at risk. We won't be any good to the captain if we're caught."
More rustling. It almost sounded like clothes were dropped. The footsteps moved away.
"I think we're done here," the first voice said. "Let's get out of here."
I waited. I waited even after I heard the door shut. I waited until five, ten minutes after the door was shut. I didn't want to risk being exposed.
After fifteen minutes based on my estimation, I finally, finally, let my body sink in relief. A sob escaped my throat, and then another.
At that moment, my phone rang. To think, I had completely forgotten to silence it. It almost made my cry harder. Someone was watching out for me. Someone up there was making sure I was okay, even if my choices were questionable.
I didn't want to risk waiting any longer. Just because they said they were heading back to their beat didn't necessarily mean they actually were. I picked myself up and walked out of the apartment, trying to make it seem like I was fine.
But inside, I was breaking down all over again.
- - -
I didn't pull out my phone until I was safely in Robbie's penthouse. I had a plan and I needed both Jon and Robbie on board. I only found Robbie, however.
"Where's Jon?" I asked as I walked over to his desk. "Can you hook my phone up to your screens? I have evidence. I just don't know what it is. I didn't get the chance to review it the way I wanted to."
"Of course." Robbie took my phone and proceeded to hook it up. "Your boyfriend, on the other hand, decided to bail. Did you really expect him to stick around?"
No. Of course not. But I couldn't help the flash of disappointment that flared inside my body.
I pushed it away and focused on the documents that started to pop up. My eyes caught sight of words, signatures, locations, photos. This involved Stephanie Guzman and wire transfers, deaths, forged documents, dealings with known cartel leaders. Everything I needed.
Almost everything.
There was nothing here that showed her involvement with my uncle's death. I made Robbie go over each picture I took. A couple came out blurry so maybe info was on the hard copy, but somehow, deep down, I knew we didn't have what I wanted.
We had what I needed, of course. This proved that Guzman was as corrupt as I said she was, but it didn't prove that she killed my uncle.
I tamped more disappointment.
"Well," Robbie said, sitting back in his chair. "If this isn't proof, I don't know what is. Why do you think he waited to act?"
I shook my head. "I don't know," I said. "Unless…" I let my voice trail off as I thought to our last phone conversation. "Unless he was waiting to find some piece of evidence that proved they tried to kill me or that they killed my uncle." My heart overflowed with sadness like a bathtub. "I called him. I told him that she tried to kill me twice. He was probably trying to make sure he could corroborate my story."
"If he went ahead," Robbie said slowly, "the DA could add on a charge."
"Yeah, but then Ramiro would know what was known." I felt my hands tremble and tried to shake them out. "He could make sure no other evidence got out. Kill any witnesses left alive. That sort of thing. Estrada waited because he was building a case for me."
Robbie was silent for a moment. "So," he said, his voice just above a whisper. "What are we going to do about it?"
"I'm going to write an article," I said. "And then, we're going to make sure Estrada did not die in vain."
Before Robbie could respond, I disappeared.
- - -
I didn't emerge until two hours later. I had a hard copy of my article and a USB drive. Robbie was in a new pair of sweatpants and a gray muscle shirt. He was standing in front of his fancy coffee maker, his shoulders hunched forward, his head hanging low. I wanted to go to him, to place one hand on his back and ease the tension I used to be able to do. Back when we were together.
Instead, I held back. I didn't know why. It was almost like I didn't want him to assume I was going to give him things I couldn't.
I knew if I told Robbie I wanted to try again, he would be all for it. I knew he had changed. I knew he was a different man from before. Maybe he was the man I needed him to be.
I looked down at my hands. Not at the things I held, but at my hands. They were clean. But I knew better.
I didn't deserve Robbie. As much as he told me to ask for help, as much as he asked me to let him in, I knew I couldn't. Not yet. Maybe not ever. And he didn't deserve that. He shouldn't be waiting around for me to figure out my issues. If I ever did.
I cleared my throat. He snapped up and turned.
"I'm going to go," I told him, taking a couple of steps forward.
"It would be pointless for me to tell you not to, right?" he asked.
His voice wasn't broken but it was soft, and it made me sad because I knew I was letting him down. But it was something I knew I needed to do.
"I would go anyway," I told him. "Here is the USB drive. The minute I send you the text, release it. If I don't come back—"
"Don't even talk like that," Robbie said, his voice tight. We were about a foot away from each other, and yet, I felt as though I could fit the entire world between us.
"If I don't come back," I forced myself to repeat, "all of the evidence Estrada compiled, the files Jon and I found, are all on here. It should be enough to start investigating."
"Lara." His voice broke.
I had to leave now. I needed to do this even though I was compelled to stay and comfort Robbie.
When I made it outside, I pulled out my phone and quickly typed up my text to Robbie. I needed to have it ready so I could hit one button and send it. I couldn't risk even a second.
- - -
This time, I drove.
I pulled into the gated community. There was no one in the gate and the blocker was raised so I could drive through without incident. I wouldn't be surprised if she was expecting me.
The neighborhood had surprisingly low lighting. It took me a moment to remember what street to turn down. When I parked and looked up at the house, I could still see the bullet holes, the shards of glass from the broken windows. They hadn't even made it a priority to fix them.
I went to the front door. This could have been a death sentence, but I didn't care. After what happened to Ramiro…I clenched my jaw, letting the thought disappear. Regardless of what happened to me, Robbie would release the article filled with evidence. The world would know what a ruthless bitch Guzman was, and how her family was just as corrupt as she was.
I opened the door, deciding to try my luck, and found that it was unlocked. I pushed it open.
"Guzman?" I called out. "I need to talk to you."
I waited.
I heard nothing.
There was no way they would leave their home unlocked. I was certain they had important documents nestled between the walls of the
house. There was too much to risk here.
"Guzman!"
"Come back for more, Tucker?"
High heels clipped the tile and Guzman walked out of a hallway.
"I have something you might want to see." I held up the article, bent but not damaged. "An article I wrote on you. The one that should have been on our interview. Should we go somewhere, just us girls?"
"Come into my uncle's room," Guzman said. "I want you to see how he likes to decorate."
She waved me into the first room in the hallway. When I stepped in, I nearly threw up. There was a collection of what looked like masks sitting on his dresser. But they weren't masks. The texture was sagging. It was…
Skin.
"This is what happens to anyone who threatens our family," she said. "Immediate death."
I felt myself shake. What was I doing here? Certainly this wasn't worth my life.
But I was here.
I couldn't back out now.
"You said you had something to show me?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips.
I lifted the paper so Guzman could see. "I wrote up our article," I said. "Before you kill me, you might want to read this. I like to think of it as an insider's guide to you and your family."
Guzman ripped the article away from me.
"And before you rip it up, make sure you're aware that this isn't the only copy and—" I pulled out my cell phone and sent the text to Robbie—"it's now being distributed to everyone in Perry."
I watched as Guzman's face contorted into an annoyed smile, then paled, then turned red with rage. She started spewing out Spanish, something I didn't understand.
She reached forward, her hands out like she was going to choke me, but a gun went off. I watched as Guzman snapped back, and fell to the floor, dead.
My heart jumped. This wasn't what I wanted to happen.
"I was getting so tired of her," a voice said from behind me. "Thank you for the excuse. Now, you said you were here to discuss something."
Chapter 24
Bloodshade Page 21
