by J. M. Madden
Bianca and I entered the building together, and took the elevator up. She was on the fourth floor, I was on the seventh.
“Breakfast before I leave in the morning?” she asked when the elevator stopped on her floor. The doors opened, and she held them open while she waited for my answer.
“Sure. That’d be nice.” There was a little breakfast place about two blocks away, that we’d gone to on the weekends sometimes. It would be good to have one last breakfast before Bianca left. Once she was gone, and once I was gone, I might never see her again.
“Nine o’clock downstairs?”
I told her I’d be there, and she let the doors go. They closed while her footsteps disappeared down the hallway toward her door. I continued to the seventh floor and the apartment that had been my home for the past six months.
After Stan’s trial concluded in March, I’d been at loose ends. I couldn’t go back to work. It’s possible people weren’t coming into the bar to gawk at me and whisper, but it felt like they were. It seemed like every time I went outside, people were staring at me. Judging me. Whispering.
So I took to sitting at home, to not going out. That lasted a few weeks. And then Enrique—no doubt spurred by our parents—sat me down for a talk.
He’s my eldest brother. I have one other: Juan, who’s a year older than me. And two sisters, Lupe and Alma, between Enrique and Juan. I’m the baby, and the screw-up of the family. Enrique hasn’t given my parents grandchildren yet, and would be in trouble for that were it not for the fact that Enrique has an important job. Mama has forgiven him for not marrying. I figure he has two or three years before that changes. And Alma and Lupe have made up for it. Alma has three children, and Lupe two. Juan doesn’t have any, and isn’t likely to. If it hadn’t been for my many failings, Juan would be the screw-up of the Fuentes family. But Juan’s only fault is being gay, and that isn’t something he can help. At least he keeps his sex life private. I flaunted mine, and now I’m paying for it.
Anyway, Enrique sat me down and told me to snap out of it. That other people had gone through traumatic experiences, too. That they were pushing through and carrying on. While I was sitting in my room feeling sorry for myself.
“What do you want me to do?” I’d asked. Not because I thought he’d have any useful advice; because I was angry that he was pushing me.
And he told me, “I want you to stop behaving like a victim.”
I blinked at him. How was I supposed to do that, for God’s sake? When everyone in town knew what had happened to me? And when nobody would let me forget?
“I want you to take what happened to you and use it,” Enrique said. “Paula is going to nursing school so she can help other people. Cassie is studying journalism so she can get the word out about people like Stan. And you’re sitting here feeling sorry for yourself.”
I opened my mouth. And closed it again. And opened it again. “What happened to me was worse than what happened to Cassie.”
Besides, Cassie had Ty. I had nobody.
“It wasn’t worse than what happened to Paula,” Enrique said, and left me.
He didn’t mention it again, just let me stew in peace. A week later I went to him and asked if the Key West PD would sponsor me through the Police College in Miami.
He thought I’d lost my mind, of course. “You want to be a cop? You?!”
“You said for me to use what happened,” I said. “I want to help put people like Stan away. I want to make sure what happened to me doesn’t happen to anyone else.”
And I wanted to stop feeling like a victim. I wanted to feel strong, in charge. In control. Instead of shattered and scared.
“You can’t,” Enrique told me. “There’s always going to be someone stronger who preys on someone weaker. But if you want to go to the Police College, I’ll submit your name.”
“I want to go.” Even if at least half my motivation was getting out of Key West, and going somewhere where nobody knew me, where no one would look at me and whisper.
And now here I was. Almost ready to go back.
The apartment wasn’t much. Just a boring studio with white walls, mismatched furniture, and two windows in the main room that looked out onto the street. A small kitchenette and an even smaller bathroom were on the back wall.
But it was safe. There was no doorman, but the security was good, because the Miami PD used the building to house some of their staff and the out-of-town students at the Police College. In the time I had lived here, I had never once worried about my safety.
That was why, when there was a knock on the door ten minutes after I’d walked inside, I didn’t think twice about opening it. I figured it was Bianca, coming up to tell me something she’d forgotten. Or to cancel breakfast, because something better had come along. Or something worse.
Maybe Duane had called, and convinced her to have breakfast with him instead.
Maybe he’d offered breakfast in bed.
Anyway, it didn’t occur to me to worry. I was safe inside my own apartment, in my own building, with locks on the doors and cameras in the lobby. Nobody could get to me here.
When I opened the door and, instead of Bianca, saw Will Murphy standing outside, the surprise made me slow. By the time I had recovered enough to slam the door in his face, he had stuck his foot in the opening.
“Mind if I come in?”
“Yes!” I said, even as he sauntered past me. “I don’t want you here. Get out!”
“Now, now.” He stopped in the middle of the single room and looked around. “Is that any way to talk to someone you’ve been naked with?”
“I told you,” I said, putting my hands on my hips, “I don’t remember you.”
“I know. You said.” He glanced at me over his shoulder. “But I remember you.”
“I don’t care,” I told him. “I want you to leave.”
He continued as if I hadn’t said anything. “And that makes me wonder why you won’t admit it. Hell, it’s not like I’m anything to be ashamed of.”
He grinned. It managed to be cocky and charming and sexy and boyish, all at the same time. Not to mention infuriating.
“Listen,” I said, enunciating as clearly as I could, “I don’t know you. I don’t remember meeting you before, let alone taking my clothes off with you. And you’re in my apartment without an invitation. I’d like you to leave.”
“When you tell me why you won’t admit that you remember me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Because I don’t. I don’t remember your face. I don’t remember your name. And if you pull down your zipper to see if I remember what’s in your pants, I’m reporting you for sexual harassment.”
His lips curved. “That’s not what you said four years ago.”
“I was a different person four years ago,” I said, and then bit my tongue. Too late, of course. His eyes sharpened, from midnight blue to cobalt, but he didn’t say anything. I added, “And I’m telling the truth. I don’t remember you.”
He nodded, but not like he believed me. “Going somewhere?”
“What?... Oh.” My suitcase was sitting next to the bed. I had pulled it out of the closet this afternoon, to get used to the idea that I had to fill it soon. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Home. To Key West.”
He glanced at me. “When?”
“Tomorrow,” I said.
“You been studying at the Police College?”
I nodded. Surely it couldn’t hurt to admit that.
“I wouldn’t have guessed the girl I met four years ago would have wanted to be a cop.”
“You met someone else.” I headed for the door. “And now I’d really appreciate it if you’d leave. I have a lot of packing to do before tomorrow morning.”
He sauntered toward the door, but not like he was in a hurry. “Here’s what I can’t figure out,” he said, pausing in front of me.
I knew I would regret asking, but I couldn’t help it. “What’s that?”
“Well, here we are.”
He leaned a hand against the wall next to my head, boxing me in between that and the door I was holding open. I felt a kick of fear in the pit of my stomach, and I sucked in a breath. My heart speeded up, knocking against my ribs. I’ve learned to really hate feeling trapped.
He continued, “Two consenting adults that I’m pretty sure have done the horizontal mambo before. And if I remember correctly, it was good, too.”
I could believe it, even if I couldn’t remember. Even if the thought of doing it again had me breaking out in a cold sweat.
“And here I am, making it obvious I wouldn’t be opposed to picking up where we left off.”
He waited a second, probably for me to speak. When I didn’t, he added, “And I don’t usually have to beg.”
I could believe that, as well.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice uneven. It was fear, in case you wondered. He was half a foot taller than me, leaning into my personal space, crowding me... and while I didn’t get the feeling that he was the type to force himself on anyone, he might just believe I was playing hard to get and it would be OK to ‘persuade’ me. After all, according to him, we’d already done it. And if he was right—and I had a feeling he was—the girl I was four years ago wouldn’t have been above playing games. “But I don’t know you. I don’t want to sleep with you. And I’d appreciate it if you’d just take my word for it and leave.”
He didn’t respond immediately. Just stood there looking down at me. I held my breath, trying to control that fight-or-flight instinct. Part of me wanted to scramble away, to put as much distance between us as I could. But that might make him think it was another game and I wanted him to come after me.
The other part contemplated kneeing him in the groin, to show him I meant business. He wouldn’t be expecting that.
But it would make him angry, and angry men can be dangerous. Besides, it might be premature. He might leave on his own.
So I just stood and waited to see what he’d do. My body was tense, in case I had to make a break for it.
Finally, he stepped back. “This isn’t over,” he told me as he headed through the door and out.
The old me would have wanted the last word. I would have told him that yes, it was, because I was leaving Miami tomorrow, and he would never see me again.
But that might make him turn back. So I kept my mouth shut and let him have the least word so he’d leave. And when I heard a door slam at the end of the hallway—he must be taking the stairs down instead of waiting for the elevator—I closed and locked my own door. And leaned my forehead against it until I stopped shaking.
THREE
I didn’t mention Will’s visit to Bianca the next morning. There was no point. Will was gone and she was going, and besides, I didn’t want to explain why he was so certain we’d slept together... and why I couldn’t remember.
So we had breakfast, and talked about unimportant things, and then we walked back to the apartment building, where I waved Bianca and her Honda off down the street before going upstairs to finish my own packing.
The one thing Will’s visit had done, was impress upon me that I was no safer in Miami than I’d been in Key West, and that I might as well go home. It was only a matter of a day, anyway. If I didn’t leave today, I’d have to leave tomorrow. And I didn’t want to see him again. If I stuck around, there was a chance he might come back.
And then he came back anyway, not even an hour later.
This time, when there was a knock on the door, I didn’t think it was Bianca. I figured it was a toss-up between Will Murphy and the cleaning crew, checking to see whether I’d left so they could get the place ready for the next resident.
I kept the chain on the door when I opened it. “Yes?”
“It’s me,” Will said, through the crack. “Can I come in?”
“No.” I made to close the door, and he put his foot in the gap.
“Don’t be childish, Carmen.”
“I’m not being childish,” I said, resisting the temptation to lean on the door and crush the bones in his foot. He was dressed more casually today, in khakis and canvas shoes. I could easily do some damage if I wanted to. “I just don’t have anything to say to you.”
“I have something to say to you. Professionally.”
Professionally?
“If you touch me,” I warned him, “if you even stand too close and breathe on me, I’ll have you arrested.”
“Just open the damn door.”
He waited while I unhooked the chain, and then stalked past me into the apartment with a growl and a scowl. “Thank you.”
I certainly wasn’t about to tell him he was welcome, so I just folded my arms across my chest. “What do you want?”
“To talk,” Will said, facing me.
“About what?”
He sighed. “Can you just knock it off with the attitude for a minute? I’m sorry I said I thought we’d had sex. I don’t understand why that’s such a big deal, but I’m sorry I upset you.”
“You didn’t upset me,” I said. “I just don’t remember doing it.”
“We did it,” Will said. “And it was good. And I don’t know why you won’t admit it, or why you keep saying you don’t remember me—”
“Because I don’t!”
“—but we had sex.”
I unfolded my arms and fisted my hands on my hips. “Fine. If I agree that we had sex four years ago, will you leave me alone?”
“No,” Will said. “I have to talk to you about something.”
“What?” And if he said ‘more sex,’ I’d kick him in the shin.
“I called your brother,” Will said. My mouth dropped open. “Detective Enrique Fuentes with the Key West PD.”
I closed my mouth. And immediately opened it again. “You didn’t ask him whether we’d had sex, did you?”
Because he wouldn’t know. Although he’d probably say yes anyway, because he knew the kinds of things I’d done four years ago.
“You must think I’m stupid,” Will said in disgust. “Of course I didn’t. Besides, how would he know? He wasn’t there.”
Good to know. One less thing I had to worry about.
“Then why would you call my brother? He doesn’t have anything to do with anything!”
“Can we get outta here?” Will asked, looking around. “The bed is distracting me.”
Of course it was. It wasn’t distracting me, but it sat like a large, white elephant in the middle of the room, and the last thing I wanted, was for Will to get ideas.
“It depends on where you want to go.”
He rolled his eyes. “You didn’t used to be this difficult. Last time, I asked, ‘You wanna get outta here?’ and you said, ‘Sure,’ and we went and had sex.”
I stared at him, stonily, and he sighed. “How about I buy you a cup of coffee? There’s a place around the corner. Or we can go back to Murphy’s, if you want. My uncle will make sure I don’t sell you into white slavery.”
“I’m Cuban,” I said. “I don’t think I count as white. And how do I know your uncle isn’t involved in the slave trading, too?”
He stared at me, and I added, “Coffee’s fine.”
“Then let’s go. I want to get out among people before I strangle you.”
He didn’t wait for me to answer, just headed for the door. I snagged my purse from the hook by the door and followed.
We didn’t speak on our way downstairs in the elevator or on the walk around the corner to the coffee shop. Will kept himself at a safe distance, and didn’t touch me when he opened the door and waited for me to pass through. When we got inside, he showed me to a table and pulled out my chair, and then asked what I wanted to drink. While I made myself as comfortable as I could, he went to the counter and came back with two paper cups. He put one in front of me, and sat down on the other side of the table with the other.
“Thank you,” I said.
He nodded and sipped his coffee. I guess he was waiting for me to pick up the conversatio
n. “So what’s this about?”
“A case,” Will said.
“What kind of case?”
“Serial rape case,” Will said, and my heart made a sick sort of lurch in my chest. “Your brother agreed to let me borrow you for a few days.”
He did? “Why?”
“To help me,” Will said. “He had his own serial rape case a couple years ago, one he said you were involved in, and he said you’d be happy to help.”
I was definitely killing Enrique as soon as I got back to Key West. And leaving the body somewhere where it wouldn’t be found.
“My brother said that?”
Will nodded, blue eyes clear. He was either the world’s best liar, or Enrique hadn’t mentioned anything to him about exactly how I’d been involved in Stan’s rape case. “He said you’d told him you wanted to be a cop so you could help put people like Stan Laszlo away.”
There’s nothing quite like having your own words thrown back in your face. Especially in a situation like this.
But I had said that. And now Enrique—and Will—were giving me a chance to make good on what I’d said.
“What would I have to do?”
“Just be yourself,” Will said.
Would that be the new me, or the old me?
I didn’t ask. Mostly because I had a feeling I knew. “I’m afraid I’m going to need a little more than that.”
“Actually,” Will told me, “you’re on loan from the Key West PD to the Miami PD for the next few days, so all you really need, is to do what I tell you.”
“Like hell!”
He grinned. “But since you asked so nicely, I’ll tell you. You’ll be bait.”
“Bait.”
“Bait,” Will nodded. “Did you bring any of your old clothes to Miami with you? You know, the kind of stuff you wore in Key West four years ago?”
I shook my head.
“We’ll have to go shopping.” He made to get up, and I lifted a hand.
“Wait a second. I need more information.”
He sank back down. “What do you want to know?”
“What I’ll be doing. Who we’re looking for. Why I need to look like a skank to do it.”
