“Got a problem with it?” She took a quick drink. “Sorry if I’m a little defensive. I’m not used to doing all of this,” she said, waving her arms in front of her.
This time I was successful in holding back a laugh. It was obvious she was self-conscious about not being one-hundred-percent natural. The funny part was she thought that washing her face and hair, wearing clean, albeit dark clothes, and a touch of makeup was really going over the top.
“It works for you. So, how did you get in? Did Leo have to pretend to be your second cousin?”
She looked at the table for a quick second. “A long time ago, I had to teach myself how to forge my mom’s signature. A necessary skill to make sure I could go on field trips, get permission to watch certain films, and to sign an IOU so I could buy my lunch.”
Another reminder for Cristina of how her mother hadn’t been there for her. Without blood family of my own—at least none that I was aware of—I was always amazed at the pain loved ones inflicted on each other far too often. It made no sense to me. Those who were closest could wield the most vicious attacks, because they knew where it hurt the most.
I could see a sadness cross her face.
“You know, I was forced to do the same when I was young, but I didn’t have the luxury of learning just one name.”
“Holy shit, I never thought about that,” she said, a smile at the edge of her lips. “I don’t mean to laugh it off, but did you ever get the names mixed up?”
“Far too often. And I couldn’t spell very well either.”
We both shared a laugh at my expense. My diversion plan had worked. Something to take her mind off her mom.
“So, I’ve already found my way into Nikki’s clique of friends.”
“Nice work. How’d you pull that off so fast?”
“By getting in trouble.”
I brought my hands to my head. “I know you’ve got this mission and all, but aren’t you trying to actually learn something and pass your classes?”
“It’s all about priorities,” she said, arching an eyebrow that needed some plucking.
When was Zahera going to take us on that spa trip she’d been promising for what seemed like months?
“I’d say it’s all about balance. Work the case, but don’t screw over your entire life while you’re at it.”
She held up a hand, palm facing me. “I’m ignoring that comment.” She drank some of her smoothie then continued. “It really didn’t take much. Just said a few choice words about the crap they’re teaching us in history, and that drew the ire of the teacher, Ms. Harris. Damn, that woman has a monobrow on her that would put Anthony Davis to shame.”
“You’re making vague NBA references?”
“All the kids these days know what’s cool. NBA, rap, video games, hacking computers…it all kind of blends together.”
“The next great generation. I’m feeling much better about our future world leaders,” I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster.
“Anyway,” she said with a half-roll of her eyes, “I got to hang out with Nikki and a couple of her friends during lunch.”
“Not the smartest group around?”
“It’s kind of strange, actually. Nikki in particular seems very smart. We talked about the author, John Green, all of that meaning-of-life stuff. She even said she’d done some writing on the side.”
“That’s cool. Maybe her brother, Leo, overreacted. Maybe Nikki is just going through a bit of a rebellious phase.”
“No doubt about that. She brags about blowing off homework. And I heard a few other interesting stories in my brief time around her.”
“Like?”
Cristina shifted her eyes to look around the room.
“No sign of the nose-picker. You’re safe,” I said.
“Nikki hinted that she’d slept her way through the English Department.”
This is high school, I thought, not college where the age gap between student and teacher, especially a teacher’s assistant, can sometimes be just a few years. “How many guy teachers can there be? One, maybe two?”
“Only one, but it didn’t matter.” Cristina paused a second, as if I needed extra time to understand that Nikki was also sleeping with her female teacher, or teachers.
“I get it.”
“Let’s just put it this way, it doesn’t take much time around Nikki to see that she’s trying to find herself in all phases of her life.”
“Have you told Leo?”
“Talked to him last night.”
“And?”
“He kind of lost it. Said his Catholic parents were probably rolling over in their graves. When he calmed down, he admitted she’s always had a penchant for trying to shock everyone with her behavior. He thinks, though, with the new friends she’s made, that she’s taking it to a new level. He called her reckless. And it’s the drugs that scares him most. I got a glimpse into what he’s talking about.”
“Were you forced to do anything?”
“No. Never. You know my past,” she said with defiance in her voice.
I did, which is why I was hesitant to put her in a position where drugs were being passed around like appetizers at a party. “I trust you. It’s just that—.”
“Let’s leave it at that, okay?”
“Fair enough.”
“Nikki said something about meeting up with her party animals after school today, so I might find out who’s pushing her down this path.”
“Be careful. If we see any crimes, we call Stan and let the cops do their job.”
“Okay. Got it.”
Her statement was less than convincing, but I didn’t push it. It was never good to push it with Cristina.
“One thing that Leo said really got to me before we ended our conversation last night. He said there are times when he feels like Nikki’s destined to end up in jail, or dead.”
We locked eyes for a moment as voices from the crowd invaded our silence.
Again, I sensed a pang of concern twisting in my gut. For all too many reasons, I felt responsible for Cristina’s safety. But changing her, I knew, was a pipe dream. She was so damn headstrong; there was no stopping her. And whenever I tried to offer more than a hint of guidance in any part of her life, her resistance reached new heights. I knew some of that was her age. But my instinct told me it was also a part of her DNA.
“You’re thinking about something. I can see it on your eyes,” Cristina said, leaning her elbows on the table. “Just because I mentioned death, doesn’t automatically mean I’m in danger. You know that, right?”
“Automatically.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t automatically mean you’re in danger—that’s true. But you’re certainly circling the drain.”
“As long as I don’t flush, I’m good.”
We both grinned. “Be careful, okay?”
“You said that already. Once is enough, at least for me.”
“I’ll try to keep my opinions to myself if you keep up with your grades.”
Before she could respond, the little boy appeared at our table again, pointing at Cristina. “Mommy, she’s the one who said motherfucker.”
He couldn’t be any older than six. I was so stunned I had no words. But someone did.
“You should be ashamed of yourself for using such foul language.” A woman wearing skintight everything swooped up her child while shaking a finger at Cristina. I took a pull on my smoothie and noticed the veins on her bulging biceps. “And you, her mother…”
She pointed at me, and I almost choked on my drink.
“You must be the worst influence on your daughter. It’s pure trash. You are trash.”
I opened my mouth, then noticed the wide-eyed boy staring at me, his finger back in his nose.
“Listen, b—”
“Hold on.” I threw up a hand toward Cristina, but kept my sights on the woman who apparently had life all figured out.
“I’m not her mother. I’m her boss. And w
e’re in the middle of a business meeting.”
“What kind of business speaks with that kind of foul language?”
“I’d rather not get into it.” I moved my eyes to her child, hoping she’d understand that discussing the details of our case or even ECHO’s mission in front of a little child could be upsetting to him.
Apparently she wasn’t very observant. She pressed her lips together while shaking her head. “I know there is something illicit going on here, and I’m going to report you.”
“To who, the cussing police?” Cristina quipped.
I gave her the eye for throwing gas on the fire.
“I’m not going to stand here and listen to your rudeness. I have a neighbor in the police department. I know he’ll get to the bottom of your shady business, whatever it is. Expect a visit from the police, ladies.”
She flipped around so hard her ponytail whipped into her son’s face.
Cristina gave her a mocking salute, then muttered under her breath, “Good riddance, bitch.”
I rubbed my head and sighed, then spotted the woman at the counter speaking to the store owner, pointing in our direction.
“Crap. We’re about to get scolded.”
“Seriously? All because of some little nose-picking kid eavesdropping on us?”
I moved on. “Sorry if your texts got lost in the chaos of yesterday’s drama, but where do we stand on finding office space?”
“Oh, I blew off that cheese ball, Danny. I told you, remember?”
“Right. That’s why you wanted to take this new case so badly.”
She didn’t hide her smile.
“Well, that and the Latin Zac Efron.”
Her smile grew wider.
“Okay, I get it. If you’ll forward me anything Danny has shown you, I’ll reach out to him and try to make some headway.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Zahera.
Desperate for shopping binge. You need a break too. You can’t say no.
Shopping with Zahera was an experience unlike any other. I ignored her text for the moment.
Cristina slipped out of the booth, hoisted a backpack over her shoulder. “I don’t want to be late. No way I’m going to write an essay and serve a detention like some kind of slave.”
Defiant as always, but at least she was motivated. Another text from Zahera came in.
Hello, McFly??? No excuses. It’s a girls’ day out. U deserve it.
Not unexpectedly, Zahera had positioned her offer as something I couldn’t turn down. I’d never been fond of the term “deserve” or associating “need” with something frivolous. Having been deprived of both food and freedom in my life, the most basic human requirements to live were the only things I would ever identify as necessary. “Wanting” covered everything else, and I could tell Zahera’s want factor was boiling. I thought about how to respond and still accomplish something useful today.
“You need a ride?” I asked, tapping my phone against my opposite hand.
Cristina looked through the front windows and squinted up into the blistering sun. “Don’t want to smear my eyeliner by sweating my ass off in the sun.”
I laughed all the way to the car.
26
Tipping the bottle of champagne back, Zahera caught a few drops on the end of her tongue.
“It’s empty.” Danny, my real estate agent, who’d been doubling as our chauffeur to the hoity-toity shops in and around San Antonio, slipped out from behind the wheel and shut the door on his Escalade.
“Why are his panties in a wad?” Zahera smacked her lips as if she were thirsty. I found a bottle of water in the cooler we’d packed up five hours earlier, cracked the cap, and handed it to her. She took three long gulps.
“Just because Danny is gay doesn’t mean he wears panties,” I said with a straight face.
Zahera cocked her neck back with some attitude. “You must not have seen him riffling through the lingerie sales bin at Saks earlier.”
I playfully smacked her leg as I heard the crunch of his fancy wingtips walking around the back end of the SUV to head toward the front door of a potential future home for ECHO—our fifth property visit just this afternoon.
I motioned for Zahera to follow me as I scooted out of the back seat, only to have the sun hit me like a hot iron. Blocking the sun with a hand, I made it to the shade of the awning—a stained aqua that looked like it had suffered through about ten hail storms—where Danny was jiggling the key to try to get the door to unlock.
“Fuckin A, it’s hotter than the devil’s underwear.”
I turned and laughed at Zahera. Hearing her speak like Cristina was worth the price of being stuck in a shopping mall with her for hours on end. Almost.
She joined us under the awning just as Danny said, “Got it.” He pulled on the glass door, and the metal frame scraped the concrete.
“Looks like they might have some foundation issues,” I said, following Danny inside.
“How many times have you told me today to keep it under twenty dollars a square foot?” Danny twirled the key chain around his finger. The usually dapper dresser looked disheveled. His plaid, short-sleeve shirt was partially untucked and wrinkled.
I responded with my own question. “How many properties have we toured?”
“Four up to now, why?”
Danny might be a great deal-maker, but he wasn’t picking up on my sarcasm. “I’ve had to remind you every time we tour a property, because it’s either uninhabitable or you flat out took me to a place that was out of our range.”
He scratched the stubble forming on his neck. “As I told your partner, Christine—”
“Cristina. Her name is Cristina. And she’s my employee, if we want to get technical about it.”
“Okayyy. Cristina,” he said, blowing out a puff of air. “The market for office space is tight. You’re a friend of Zahera’s…” He paused. Our eyes were drawn to my best friend, who’d found an old magazine sitting on the lone piece of furniture—a brown suede couch—and was fanning herself with her eyes shut. I felt a wave of heat wash over me, and I began to cool myself by plucking my shirt away from my body. I looked back to Danny.
“I’m trying to avoid setting you up in a place where you’ll be in danger every time you come to work, or where you’ll find your car on blocks.”
I knew he was doing his best. Picking out office space for ECHO—what amounted to our first home—was far more difficult than I’d ever imagined. I had to admit that it was personal for me. Poor Danny. I was probably being extra picky, and even cheap for what I envisioned. I walked over, put my arm around his shoulder. My hand stuck to his sweaty shirt. I quickly removed it and wiped it on my khakis.
“Yes?” he said, lifting his eyes from his phone.
“Just want to say thanks for putting up with me and Cristina.”
“Sure,” he said with a hint of abruptness.
“I didn’t know how difficult of a decision this would be. It’s… I don’t know.”
He finally released a smile and put his hand on my shoulder. “I get it. I deal with entrepreneurs all the time. Don’t spread this around to everyone, but I was the one who sold Dillon Burchfield his first office space for what turned out to be his visionary company, Spatium.”
I clammed up. Perhaps Danny wasn’t aware of how I’d uncovered Dillon’s secret life, one that almost got me raped and swept off to a foreign country. Dillon’s ego had turned out to be as out of control as his conduct.
“Oh, wait.” He brought a hand to his face. “I just remembered what happened. How insensitive of me, Ivy. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I didn’t want to harp on it or skip down memory lane, so I quickly turned to take in the office space. “Not bad. Tell me about it,” I said, starting to stroll around the rim of the large entry room.
He tapped his phone a couple of times. “It’s just over thirteen hundred square feet. Comes with a bathroom and a small br
eakroom with a working sink.”
“Working? The realtor actually wrote that in the description?”
He shrugged. I got the picture—this wasn’t exactly Rockefeller Center.
I reached a wide opening, where two doors were off their hinges and leaning against a wall that looked like someone had played Whack-A-Mole on it. Closing my fist, I stuck my hand in the largest hole, then smirked at Danny.
“No mention of termites, so I think we’re safe on that front,” he said.
I liked his positive attitude, even if it came across as oblivious.
“Signing a one-year lease will kick in a provision to provide you up to one thousand dollars in aesthetic repairs to the space.”
“A thousand bucks,” I said, running my finger across a windowsill where flaked paint sprayed onto a floor of brown industrial carpet squares.
I took a step into the adjoining room, brought both hands to my waist.
“Promising.” The space was rectangular, with two exposed wood beams running the length of the room. I could see this being our main client-meeting area. It had a large window that faced east—thus, avoiding the late afternoon sun—and looked out onto a birdhouse and a three-tiered fountain. “Actual running water.” I gestured to the water feature as Danny followed me into the room.
“That’s funny. No mention of the view here in the description.”
I walked over to the window and spotted a bench on a small plot of grass next to the fountain. The building had cast a shadow on this tiny oasis in a city of concrete. I turned around and took in the view of the room. I could picture an oval table, maybe something organic, a natural shade of tan, with low-back, cushiony leather chairs. There would be a small buffet set up along the wall, under a couple of colorful, framed paintings.
“You like it?” he asked.
“It’s growing on me.” I shuffled toward the center of the room, where in the far corner, I saw a door with the words “B Room” on it. The peeled-off letters—R, E, A, K—were on the floor.
Danny went back to his description. “Built in 1975 as part of a multi-building development, this building, along with three others on the same block, was recently purchased by TJ Development Corporation. Over the next six months, they plan to invest a hundred thousand dollars in renovations, putting a new face on the drab exterior façade.”
The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 4-6: Redemption Thriller Series 10-12 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 13
