Vindicate

by Beth Yarnall

  “How’d you get him to agree?” I ask.

  “I promised to give a message to his girlfriend, who won’t visit him in prison. I also put a hundred bucks in his commissary account. Half now and half after we meet. He’s the easiest and cheapest witness I’ve ever bought access to.”

  “I’ll pay you back,” Cora insists.

  “No, this one’s on me,” Dad says. “I’m dying to know what Mr. LeFeaux has to say. I have a feeling he’ll fold like a lawn chair the minute I put any kind of pressure on him.”

  “We’ve made some headway ourselves.” I tell him about what we’ve learned so far and what we’ve got lined up.

  He’s impressed. Hell, I’m impressed. I had no idea we’d get so far so soon. Or that I’d be any good at this investigation thing. When I glance at Cora I can tell she’s impressed too, and not just with our progress, but with me as well. My throat gets tight and my face heats up. I look at Dad, the wall, the papers in front of me, anything to avoid the look Cora is giving me.

  “You two seem to be working well together.” Dad glances from me to Cora, looking for her affirmation.

  “He’s been a bigger help than I thought he’d be.”

  Ouch. But she’s not wrong. I’ve surprised myself. The biggest shock of all is how much I actually like PI work. Maybe hanging out here during the summer did rub off on me or else it’s in my genes. I don’t dare let Dad in on any of this. He’d take it and run all the way to retirement if he even got a hint that he could go and leave me in charge.

  “Good,” Dad says. “And everything else is going okay?”

  “There was one weird thing,” Cora says. “My mom got a phone call from a man who said he was a private investigator asking about Beau’s case. It’s not anyone from here.”

  Dad leans forward in his chair. “Did she get his contact info?”

  “No.”

  “I suggested checking her caller ID to see if we can get a phone number,” I supply.

  “I’d like to know who this PI is and what he wants. And if he is an actual PI, as he claims.” Dad’s gaze moves to Cora. “Can you get the number from your mother?”

  “I’ll see what I can do. She’s not always the most helpful person in the world.”

  I try not to show my surprise. Cora hasn’t talked much about her parents at all, and I can tell that her mom’s visit upset her. I can also see that the prospect of getting the number out of her mom is about the last thing she wants to do.

  Dad nods. “Have your parents ever been contacted by a private investigator before?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Did they hire one to help with Beau’s trial?”

  “Definitely not.”

  Okaayyy. Sore subject.

  Dad rises. “Good work, you two. Keep me in the loop. I’ll let you know about my meeting with Mr. LeFeaux.” He leaves Cora and me alone.

  She closes the file she had open, then just sits there.

  “Hey.” I take her hand. “Do you want me to talk to your mom?”

  “No, that would only make things worse. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “You’re lucky, you know that? Your dad is a really cool guy. I bet your whole family is cool.”

  “Not my little sisters. They’re annoying.”

  “You have sisters?”

  I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve ever talked about our families. “Two. They’re nineteen and sixteen.”

  “No brothers?”

  “Nope. Do you have any other siblings besides Beau?”

  “He’s it. All I’ve got. Are your parents still married?”

  “Yeah. Yours?” Cora would not be happy to know Dad investigated her so I don’t let on that I already know the answer to my question.

  “They separated during Beau’s trial. They finalized the divorce about a year after his conviction. I don’t see them often.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s awkward. They don’t want to talk about Beau and he’s all I want to talk about.”

  “Do they visit him?”

  “Never. I’m the only one. ‘His good friend’ Dylan visited a couple of times. Then I guess he moved on. Everybody’s moved on.”

  I give her hand a squeeze. “Everyone except you.”

  “Everyone except me.” She pulls her hand from mine, gathers her papers together, and rises. “I’m stuck, and now I guess you’re stuck with me.”

  “Beau’s lucky to have you and I’m glad to be stuck with you.” She gives me a look like she doesn’t believe me. “No, really. There’s no one I’d rather be stuck with. Wait. That didn’t come out right.”

  Her laugh does something funny to the pit of my stomach. “Thank you.” She takes a quick peek at the hallway, then leans down and gives me a kiss.

  It’s only the second time she’s kissed me. She’s gone before I can pull her back down for another one.

  I head out to follow her and practically run into Savannah. “Oh, hey, sorry.”

  She bumps my shoulder as she passes me to go into the conference room. “Yeah, right.”

  This is as good a time as any to talk to her. I close the door. “Look, I know I’ve been an asshole to you and I’m sorry for it, but when are you going to get over it?”

  She slams a folder down on the table. “I am over it.”

  “You don’t look or act like you are.”

  She shifts her posture, propping a hand on her hip. “Everything isn’t always about you, you know. Shittier things have happened to me than hooking up with you. Not many, but a few.”

  Ouch. “So you’re just in a bad mood in general? It has nothing to do with Cora or me?”

  She snorts. “Contrary to what you seem to believe, the world does not revolve around you and that little bitch whose pants you’re trying to get into. Word of advice? Get some new moves.”

  “So we’re cool?”

  “Cool isn’t the word I’d use, but rest assured I don’t give a shit what you do or don’t do.” She puts a pen at each person’s place. “Or I should say who you do or don’t do.”

  I start to leave, then turn back. “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”

  She doesn’t answer for a moment. It’s like she’s been put on pause. “Unless you can cure cancer, no.” She goes back to laying out the materials for Dad’s meeting.

  I’m debating what to say or do next when I hear a sniff. Oh, damn. She’s crying. She turns to the window and tries to hide that she’s swiping at tears. I don’t know what to do. I’m shit when it comes to stuff like this. My instinct is to leave and let her be, but it seems my feet don’t agree.

  I put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  She turns in to my chest and lets loose, gripping fists of my shirt and sobbing. Fuuuuuuck. I awkwardly put my arms around her and pat her back. The door opens behind us. I don’t even have to turn around to know who it is. Fucking shit, fuck, fuck.

  Cora.

  The door closes again, harder than normal. Goddamn it. I want to pry Savannah’s fingers off me and run after Cora.

  Instead, I ask, “Who has cancer?”

  “My m-m-mom. Stage four.”

  I don’t know anything about cancer except that the higher the number, the worse it is. “I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. She’s still holding on to me, so I put my arms around her for real and hold her. I am an ass for thinking her bad mood was all about me. “I’m sorry,” I say again, for an entirely different reason.

  She knocks my chest with her fist. “Stop saying that. You make me sound pitiful.”

  “You’re not pitiful.”

  She pulls away a little and gives me a wobbly smile. “And you’re not a total asshole.”

  “Thanks.” I smile at her. “I think.”

  “I should get back to work.” She steps out of my hold and swipes at her tears, wiping her hands off on her pants.

  “Is there anything we can do?�
�� I grab a box of tissues and hand it to her. “Does my dad know?”

  She pulls out a wad and blots her face. “No, I haven’t really told anybody. When I try to, I just start crying.”

  “Do you want me to tell him?”

  “Yeah, could you? I have to go to the doctor with her next week. I don’t want to have to explain. But just him. I don’t want everybody in the office looking at me and feeling sorry for me.”

  “Sure.” I back toward the door. “Will do.”

  “Thanks for, you know…” She motions with the tissues.

  “Sure. Any time. I really am sorry about your mom.”

  “I know. Thanks.”

  I give her a half-wave and go off to find Cora, hoping I’m not totally screwed.

  Chapter 15

  Cora

  I’m not jealous. I’m not. It’s not like there’s anything going on between Leo and me. I mean, there is or there was, but it’s not like we’re exclusive. I don’t know what we are exactly. Okay, no. That’s bullshit. There is something between us. I just don’t know what it is or—more importantly—what it is to Leo. I’m not even sure I know what it is, so how can I expect him to know or to act like he knows? Ugh.

  Okay, I am jealous. He had his arms around Savannah. They were in a room with the door closed like they wanted privacy. I don’t know what to make of that except that there’s still something between them. And if there’s still something between them, then there is going to be absolutely nothing between him and me. There. Decision made. Moving on. Except…

  Leo walks into our office and closes the door. I don’t look up. Whatever. I have more important things to do, things I should’ve been concentrating on instead of wasting time going on dates with someone who clearly doesn’t know what or whom he wants. Let me make that decision for him—not me.

  “It’s not what it looked like in there,” he says.

  “Okay.” I can feel his stare boring into the side of my head.

  “Okay?”

  I don’t answer. I really don’t want this drama in my life. I have enough going on with the phone call I just made to my mother and with my brother sitting in prison.

  He leans against my desk next to me. “She was…I can’t tell you what she was, but it wasn’t what it looked like.”

  “Um, o-kaaayyy.” This guy really needs to get off my desk and get his ass back to his own. We have work to do.

  “Cora.”

  I don’t look up. He can fuck off with his explanations.

  He kneels down next to my chair. “Cora, look at me.”

  Sighing, I slam my pen down and look at him. “What?”

  “I didn’t mean for that to happen. She was—”

  “Yes, I know. You can’t tell me what she was, but it wasn’t what it looked like. Got it. Can we get back to work now? My mom gave me a phone number for that PI.”

  “I was comforting her. She’s been going through something—”

  “Really. I get it. Can we move on?”

  “She was crying.” He holds out the front of his shirt, which has some wet spots on it. “See?”

  “Sure.”

  “I couldn’t just walk out of the room and leave her that way.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Cora, look at me.” He turns my chair and plants his hands on the arms, trapping me and forcing my gaze back at him. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

  “Oh, my God, if you say that one more time I’m going to punch you. I’ve got it already.”

  He laughs. “God, you’re so pretty when you’re pissed.”

  “Then I must be gorgeous right now, because you’re annoying the hell out of me.”

  He leans in for a kiss, but I turn my head. “Hey.” Grasping my chin, he brings my face around to his. “You really are mad about Savannah and me. I swear I was just comforting her. She’s going through something bad. That’s why she’s been in such a terrible mood.”

  “I’m not pissed at you, okay?”

  “Then what is it?”

  I’m mad at myself for allowing things to get this far—far enough that I care what he does or doesn’t do with another chick. I hate that I was actually jealous of that bitch. And I hate that I’m relieved it wasn’t what it looked like. But I don’t tell him any of that. I have enough crazy going against me that I don’t need to advertise my insecurities.

  “It’s my mom,” I say instead. “She drives me insane.” And that is the bald truth.

  “So we’re good?”

  “I don’t know what the hell we are, but good probably about covers it.”

  “Yeah, about that.” He kisses me, catching me off guard.

  I can smell Savannah’s perfume on him and it makes me want to gag. I push him away.

  “Hey.” He strokes my cheek with his thumb, a worried line between his brows. “I thought we were okay.”

  “You reek of perfume. It’s like kissing Savannah.”

  He tugs on his shirt and takes a whiff. “Yeah, I wouldn’t like it if I kissed you and you smelled like another guy. I’ll change my shirt. This one’s all wet, anyway.”

  He pulls his shirt off in that way guys do—from the back of his neck, over his head, and off. My gaze latches on to him like I’ve never seen a guy without a shirt as he goes to his desk, opens a drawer, and pulls out a new one. I can’t stop staring. It’s not like I’ve never seen a shirtless guy. I have a brother, for God’s sake. But for some reason Leo without a shirt makes my nipples leap to attention like an arctic breeze just blew through here. Too soon he’s tugging on the new shirt and the view is gone. Damn.

  I cross my arms over my chest and try to pretend I’m not dying to know what the rest of him looks like. “Are you ready to get back to work now?”

  “I don’t know. Do I smell better?” He makes me smell him, which is not such a hardship now that he doesn’t have Savannah’s stench on him.

  “You’re fine.” I pretend I’m totally unaffected by him, but his nearness combined with his scent and the sight I just saw is making that very difficult.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  No. “Yes.”

  Thankfully, he takes his seat at his desk and doesn’t try for another kiss. “What’s the number your mom gave you?” He keys it into the website the agency uses for reverse number lookup.

  I hold my breath. The more I think about the PI phone call my mom got, the more it makes me jittery. Something isn’t right.

  “Huh,” Leo says.

  “What?” I’m up and out of my seat to look over his shoulder at his screen. “Why would a legit PI have a pre-paid cellphone?”

  “We use them sometimes when we don’t want to be traced, but if he was calling your mom in an official capacity, then there’s no reason why he’d have to hide his identity.”

  “Let’s call it. I want to see who answers.”

  I pull my phone out, but Leo puts his hand over the screen. “If this guy isn’t legit, we don’t want him knowing we’re onto him. Hang on.” He leaves, then comes back with a cellphone. “We should use a burner phone. Dad keeps some around for stuff like this.” He keys the number into the phone and hits send.

  I put my head next to his so I can hear. It rings and rings and then stops ringing. No outgoing message.

  “He might’ve already gotten rid of the phone.” Leo stares off for a moment. “I don’t like this.”

  I’ve got goose bumps for an entirely different reason now. “What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know. We should talk to my dad.”

  “He’s got that meeting.”

  Leo sits, tapping the burner phone on his desk. “Do you know if your dad has gotten any calls?”

  “If he has, he hasn’t told me about them. But then I haven’t talked to him in a few weeks.”

  He looks surprised by this. My relationship with my parents is nothing like the one Leo has with his. There’s no way to explain what the past five and a half years has done to my family. Besi
des the obvious things like Beau’s conviction, my parent’s divorce, and my emancipation at sixteen, the changes came swift and dramatic like a tsunami, washing some things away entirely, damaging others, and leaving some virtually untouched. There is no rhyme or reason for why things are the way they are between us. They just are. A closer family might’ve survived virtually intact. Then again, it might’ve been completely destroyed.

  “Can you call him?” He has no idea what he’s asking me to do, and I don’t have the tools to explain.

  “Sure.” It has to be done. I know this. But I can’t do it in front of Leo. I hitch a thumb over my shoulder. “I’m going to grab a water and some fresh air. I’ll let you know what he says.”

  Sitting back in his chair, he gives me the strangest look—a mixture of confusion and concern and something else…hurt, maybe? I don’t know and I don’t have time to coddle his lack of understanding. Some things he’ll just have to deal with and accept. Or not. That’s totally up to him and not on me. I won’t let it be on me. This is his problem, not mine.

  I head out of our office and into the reception area, where Savannah is clickety-clacking away on her computer. She glances up at me for a second, then resumes whatever she’s working on. I grab a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and go out onto the balcony. I immediately look for the orange alley cat. The big Tom sits on the fence, surveying the back passageway. He turns his head and our gazes collide. He watches me with ill-disguised boredom, barely blinking in the bright afternoon sun. For some reason he gives me the courage I need to make the call.

  It rings three times and then Dad answers. “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s me.” This is a test. Sober Dad should recognize my voice. Drunk Dad will likely mistake me for just about anyone, including whoever he’s banging at the moment.

  “Cora?” Halfway to Inebriated Dad. Great.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Okay. Is something wrong?”

  Yes. Everything. “No. I just called to ask if anyone’s called you about Beau’s case.”

  “Cora.” He makes my name sound ugly, like a curse word. He hates it when anyone says Beau’s name.