by A. J. Norris
“Me, too. I don’t know what it is. I’m tired when I go to bed, yet as soon as I lay my head on the pillow, I’m wide awake again.”
“Same. What keeps you tossing and turning at night?”
The hostess served our food, and we ate mostly in silence. In truth, I was grateful for the quiet—gave me time to think. Make a plan. It was time to find out more about her. If I was going to attempt to keep her out of prison, I needed to know who she really was and if she was worth protecting. What was I talking about? I already decided I didn’t want her going to prison or worse.
After finishing with lunch, I walked Nora to her car, exchanging phone numbers along the way. She got behind the wheel and I motioned for her to roll the window down. Leaning in, I rested my arm on the roof. “You can call me any time you can’t sleep.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. Oh, here.” She handed me a wrapped fortune cookie from the restaurant.
“I don’t need it.”
“Yes, you do. Maybe it’s good news.” She started the engine.
CHAPTER 17
Lincoln
I followed Nora onto the 91 from the 405, heading east. The moderate traffic allowed me to zip in and out of lanes, keeping tabs on her car from a distance. I already jotted down the plate number in case I lost track of her. We reached Corona and she headed south on the 15 toward San Diego.
“Where the hell are you taking me?”
My phone rang and I brought the screen into my view. I answered the call and hit the speaker button so I could concentrate on driving. “Hey wifey, calling to lecture me?”
“Are you saying I’m a nagging wife?” Bandit said. “I’m touched.”
I chuckled. “No. You’re an annoying itch I can’t scratch. I’m kinda busy. What do you want?”
“Just checking in with you. Are you alone?”
“Yes, I’m driving one of your wife’s cars.”
“Can’t believe she let you borrow a car. She doesn’t even let me do that.” His wife owned a car dealership with her brother.
“She likes me better than you.”
He laughed on a burst. “That’s true. Even when we were kids, she always liked you better.”
“She likes me. She loves you.”
The line went quiet for so long I thought the call dropped. I picked up the phone to check. “Are you still—?”
“I’m here.”
Another long pause.
“Do you have something you want to say?”
“She worries—I worry about you. You’ve been off ever since,,,she died.”
“I’m tight.” He wasn’t wrong, though. Jennifer’s death hung in the air, especially at the home we had shared. I hadn’t lived in our little bungalow in years. I went from sleeping on Bandit’s couch to the apartment in Manhattan Beach when the undercover gig with Flynn began. The bills and the mortgage were paid, but I imagined the layers of dust over everything would take weeks to clean, if I ever went back there. Staying there made the loss feel greater. And the selfish asshole that I was, I hadn’t even allowed her family to collect any of her things—family heirlooms and pictures. I left everything the way it was, right down to the Post-it note she stuck to the refrigerator reminding me to pick up the cake she ordered for her sister’s surprise party, which consequently never happened.
“You said you were in the car. Where are you going?”
“I’m tailing Nora.
“You have to leave her alone, dude.”
“Save it. I’m doing my job. Following a suspect. That’s it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I don’t care if you don’t believe me. I’m only doing my—”
“Your job. Right. I read the report you turned in. Did you write that BS before or after you banged her?”
“It wasn’t bullshit; it was the truth.”
“Yeah, I especially liked the part where you downplayed Nora’s involvement. She’s a suspect no matter how you spin it. She’s not on the crew for being a Girl Scout. She’s on the wrong side here. I know you have a thing for her, but tell me it was a one-time only thing.”
Fuck. And he wasn’t the only one who saw through my bullshit. The captain had known, hadn’t he? “I got it handled.”
“The only thing I see you’ve handled is taking her home with you twice. And that stresses me the fuck out. I don’t want to see you going down from trying to save her.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Promise me you’ll knock whatever it is you’re doing off.”
I couldn’t make that promise because I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. But I also didn’t want to lie to my partner. Nora exited the freeway in Temecula and turned left at the end of the ramp. “I’m doing the best I can. I gotta go.” I ended the call while he was talking.
At first, I thought she was pulling into the 7-Eleven, but she continued to the Starbucks next door. She parked along the side of the free-standing coffee house and got out. I stayed in the connected lot of the convenience store where I could watch her.
I saw her inside speaking to a hipster-looking dude with dark rimmed glasses behind the counter. The man smiled when he saw her, then came around and hugged her. They exchanged more words and she followed him out of sight. Ten minutes later, she emerged from the building with an envelope. Swiping a finger under each eye, she paused beside her car and unfolded a piece of paper, studying the contents. Afterward, she tore off the bottom portion of the paper. She must’ve picked up a paycheck.
Nora got in her car and backed out of her parking spot. I slumped down in my seat as she drove past me. I considered following her again. However, I wasn’t interested in going on another almost two-hour drive. When I was sure she was gone, I went inside the Starbucks. Normally, I didn’t carry my badge while undercover, except for today. I grabbed the shield from the glove compartment and shoved it in my pocket.
The hipster dude Nora had spoken to greeted me from behind the counter. “Welcome to Starbucks,” he said with a huge grin plastered on his face. The nametag clipped to his green apron read Zander.
I stuck my hand up in a quick wave.
“What can I get you?”
“Small black coffee.” I needed to caffeinate for the drive home.
“Anything else I can get for you?” he asked when he placed the coffee on the counter.
“Nope. Zander?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Is there a manager here?”
“Sure. That’s me, what can I help you with?”
“I’m Detective Waters of the Hermosa Beach Police.” Taking my badge from my pocket, I held it out for him. He leaned forward and squinted at it.
“Long way away from Hermosa, aren’t you?”
“I go where I need to. There was a woman who just came in here, picked up a paycheck.” He stood, blinking, like he was unsure if he should be talking to me. The café was empty except for a couple of female voices I heard coming from a back room.
“Is she in trouble?” He wiped his hands on his apron then rested them on the counter.
“There’s an ongoing investiga—”
“Does this have anything to do with her brother?”
I raised an eyebrow. What was this, now? “What can you tell me about him?”
He shrugged. “He was murdered about a year ago. Last time he came in here and spoke with Melanie, he upset her.”
Melanie. Could I get a last name?
“Any idea what they talked about?”
“Sorry, no. She was crying, though. I asked what happened, but she wouldn’t tell me, so I dropped it.”
“Is Melanie still working here?”
“Uh-uh. She quit a couple weeks ago.”
“She give a reason for quitting?”
“Nope, but I didn’t ask. She was a college student, so I figured she graduated. She’s a good girl, you know. Her brother was...bad news. She didn’t see it, but several times when she wasn’t here, he came in looking for her, all strung out, high
on something. Making a scene. She just shrugged it off when I told her about it, except all of us knew there was something going on with him besides the drugs.”
“Can you be more specific who ‘us’ is, and what do you think was going on with him?”
“The rest of the staff at the time, who witnessed Josh acting like an ass. She mentioned her brother had gotten in with some bad people. She was very vague about it. I assumed that meant he was into something illegal.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
“You got it. Anything else?”
“Melanie’s last name?”
A you-don’t-know? expression crossed this face. “Uh, Hughes. Is she in trouble?”
He’d asked me that how many times? And of course, I couldn’t answer him. “Brother have the same last name that you know?”
“Yup, as far as I know.”
“You expect to see her again?”
“Doubtful. She just picked up her last check.”
“Thank you. You’ve been helpful. How much do I owe you for the coffee?”
“Coffee’s on the house, Detective.”
I left, taking the cup of caffeine with me. Back in the car, I texted one of the unis back at the department who I trusted to run a background on Josh and Melanie Hughes. Before I started the engine, I glanced at the fortune cookie in the cup holder that Nora—Melanie—had given me. I wanted to smash the fucker. However, Bandit’s wife would kill me if I got any crumbs on the seats.
Halfway home, Flynn called me. I considered sending him to voicemail for a second until realizing now wasn’t the time to make him suspicious or get him pissed off. The man was already paranoid as fuck. “Hey, Flynn, what can I do for you?”
“That’s how you’re supposed to answer a call from your boss.”
I rolled my eyes. “You are the boss.”
“Meetin’ tomorrow night, eight o’clock, at my house.”
“Yes, sir.” When he said nothing further, I pulled my cell away from my ear. The call had ended.
CHAPTER 18
Melanie
When I got home, I showered, changed, and painted my toenails in front of the TV until my eyes drooped. Wearing only a long sleep shirt, I crawled into bed, exhausted from the drive to Temecula and back.
Closing my eyes, I thought about Lincoln. The sex. And how pathetic I was for crying all the way home. I missed the friendships I had left behind. The staff at Starbucks supported each other. Now, I had no one to rely on or turn to for advice. I was completely alone. Well...that wasn’t entirely true. I had Lincoln. Did I really, though? Mind-blowing sex didn’t always equate to a relationship.
Sometime later, I glanced at the clock: 12:33 AM. Grabbing my cell from the nightstand, I called Lincoln before I lost the nerve. The call immediately went to voice mail. I debated with myself whether I should leave a message. His outgoing message was only the generic one stating the phone number. What if I’d dialed the wrong number? What if he didn’t call me back? Was I bothering him? Maybe I should have read my fortune cookie. The beep went off. “Hey, it’s me, call me if you’re up. Thanks.”
Thanks? What was I thanking him for?
Setting my cell down, I rolled away from it because I wasn’t expecting a return call and didn’t want to be tempted to constantly check the damn thing. What if he texted back and I missed the alert? Is the ringer on?
Growling, I flipped over and grasped my phone. No one had called or texted. I was a big, giant loser. I got up and padded to the kitchen. Snatching the fortune cookie from the table, I ran back to my bedroom and got under the blanket. I sat, leaning my back against the pillows. The cellophane wrapper crinkled loudly in the quiet while I freed the cookie. I snapped the sugar-and-flour crunchy in half, pulled out the fortune, and read it aloud: “Ships with holes never float.”
No shit. I folded the tiny strip and set it on top of my phone screen. Clearly, this was meant as a metaphor, because otherwise what was the point. Losing my parents and brother left behind huge holes in my life. And if the ship symbolized my life, the boat was bringing on water at an alarming rate. Unfortunately, I was the Titanic, not Rose. And a door wouldn’t be big enough to save me. Of course, the fortune could have meant something different altogether.
The phone rang and I jolted. My heart banged around in my chest. I had almost forgotten I called Lincoln. Even though I hadn’t wanted to seem eager, I answered the call on the second ring. “Hello?”
“I’m up.”
Are you now? His deep voice turned my panties into a soggy mess. The temperature in the room rose about a billion degrees. I kicked my covers off with my feet. “I hope I didn’t wake you by calling.”
“I was still awake.”
“Okay, good. So, ah...” Wow, I had zero things to say. My mind became a wasteland. The silence stretched out to a point past awkward. I thought I heard him yawn. “Are you in bed?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you alone?”
He chuckled. “What if I wasn’t?”
“I’d wonder why you were on the phone with me, then. Are you?”
“Good point. But I’m alone. I take it you’re having trouble sleeping. Or did you call for another—”
“I haven’t even been able to close my eyes for more than ten seconds,” I said, rearranging the pillows so I could lie flat.
“Called to talk, then. Okay, how’d the rest of your day go?”
“All right, I guess. Just did some boring stuff. How was your day?”
“What do you consider boring?”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You know, the usual. Watched TV, ate dinner, painted my toenails.” Drove to Temecula for my measly last paycheck. Cried all the way home.
“That does sound boring. What color?”
I giggled. “I told you. My life isn’t that exciting?”
“What color?”
Wiggling my toes, I said, “It’s called Shimmering Moonlight.”
“This means nothing to me.”
“Sorry”—I smiled—“it’s silvery purple, sort of like a hologram.”
“Okay, that I can picture. Your life sounds about as exciting as mine apart from the obvious. Flynn call you?”
“About the meeting at eight? Yeah.” I was so looking forward to it as much as a root canal. “How long do you think he’ll keep us this time?”
“God, I hope not long.”
“You think he’ll finally tell us when this job will go down?”
“I dunno. Probably. But who the fuck knows with the Cowboy.”
I snorted. “Do you think he knows about your little nickname for him?”
“No idea.”
“I swear, when he spits his dip on the floor, I wanna yak every time. It’s so gross.”
“For sure. And we could all do without the loogie-hocking noises.” He mimicked the sound and I laughed out loud.
“What do you think of Derrick? Do you trust him?”
“Hard to get a bead on the guy. Why do you ask?”
“After his say-hello-to-my-little-friend episode at the hangar, I wondered what you thought.” In other words, did he think the guy could’ve killed my brother in cold blood? Okay, and maybe likening him to Scarface was a bit of a hyperbole.
“I’m not too worried about him. He didn’t shoot first.”
“Seriously? He’s a grenade with the pin pulled out. And we’re just waiting for it to go off.”
“Wow. You really don’t like him, do you?”
“Do you think he’s capable of murdering someone in cold-blood?”
He snort-chuckled. “What exactly did you think happened at the hangar? Yeah, I think he’s probably capable. Not sure about the cold-blood thing, though. The news only reported two fatalities: Jerry and the guy who was shooting at us.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Not sure I do. You’ll have to explain it to me.”
“Like, do you think he would murder someone if Flynn told him to?”
“Hard to say, but my gut says Flynn wouldn’t order a hit like that. Why do you ask?”
“You don’t think so?”
“He’s always told me that he wouldn’t ask anyone to do anything he wasn’t willing to do himself.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Did something happen between you and Derrick?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“You sound like you’re worried he’s going to kill you.”
“I’m not. But he did kill someone in the hangar. And murder is murder, don’t you think?” I fiddled with the hem of my nightshirt. Where was I going with this? Was I talking about Derrick, or myself? I needed to end this conversation before I couldn’t sleep for the rest of my life. My stomach cramped. It was amazing how brains functioned. Your gray matter made up its own version of a traumatic event, even if you couldn’t remember it. Nightmares were like that.
“If you consider self-defense murder. What if you accidentally killed someone as a result of actions that were beyond your control, are you a murderer then?”
The air in my lungs froze. I gripped the phone tightly, and the hard, plastic case dug into my fingers. “Um”—I swallowed hard—“no.” Although, I was pretty sure that guilt, remorse, and shame resulted from both self-defense and an accident. Tears filled my eyes. My vision blurred. The tremoring began in my legs, spreading throughout my body. My hands shook so badly I dropped the phone.
Leaving the cell in my lap, I hit the speaker button.
“Did I lose you?”
“No, I’m here.”
“Where did you go?”
“Nowhere. The phone slipped out of my hand.” I sniffed.
“No, I meant because you got so quiet. Is something wrong?”
“Did you read your fortune?” I asked, desperate for a change in subject.
“Not yet.”
“Oh, so you still have the cookie?” My nerves eased a small degree when he seemed unfazed by me altering the course of our conversation. “Will you open it? I’m dying to know what it says.”
“For you I will.”
