Don't Look Back

by Christie Craig

  It was about a two-hour drive. She slid her keys into the ignition. Almost started it, then stopped. She hated to admit it, but she was going to need help. Grabbing her phone, she found his number in her contact list and hit call.

  It rang once. Twice.

  Hang up. Just hang up. It was one in the morning. He was probably asleep. Then the line clicked.

  She waited to hear his sleepy voice, but instead she heard what sounded like dishes being broken in the background, and a male voice say, “I said stay down!”

  “Connor?” Brie asked.

  Then came another voice. A female voice. “Hello?” The accent was Spanish.

  “Stop resisting!” Connor’s voice came across the line again. “Tell them Detective Pierce said to send a car.”

  “Detective Pierce says to send a car. Watch out!” she screamed.

  Brie tried to think. “Where are you?”

  “Denice’s Diner. 1832 Magnolia Street.”

  “I’m calling for backup.” Brie hung up and dialed 911. Then she started the car.

  “Nine one one. What’s—”

  “Officer in need of backup. Denice’s Diner. 1832 Magnolia Street.” She hung up and tore out of the parking lot. She was just six or seven minutes away.

  With few cars on the road, she drove over the speed limit. When she pulled up at the diner, a patrol car was already there.

  She went inside. Connor stood talking to an officer. Two handcuffed men, both who appeared to be under the influence of something, leaned against a wall. One had a busted lip.

  Connor looked over at her and his eyes widened in surprise. You okay? he mouthed.

  She nodded.

  He held up a finger, asking for a minute. Before he turned back to the officer, she noticed his swollen eye.

  A waitress, a middle-aged Hispanic woman, walked over. “I’m sorry. Just a little problem. You can sit anywhere.”

  “Thanks, but I’m…here for Detective Pierce.”

  “Are you the one who called?” the waitress asked.

  Brie nodded then pulled out her phone to check the time. Should she just leave?

  “Would you like coffee while you wait?”

  “No, thank you.” She looked back at the handcuffed men. “What happened?”

  “They were drunk and saying ugly things. Detective Pierce told them to apologize. One of the men hit him.”

  “And I’m sure that didn’t go over too well.” Brie noticed the woman’s name tag read FLORA.

  “No.” Flora gazed at Connor. “He did not like that. Are you his friend?”

  “Not really. We’re acquaintances.”

  The waitress kept staring, as if she knew there was more to the answer.

  Brie felt compelled to continue. “He’s helping me out with something.”

  “El que hace zapatos va descalzo,” Flora muttered and walked away without realizing Brie spoke perfect Spanish.

  He who makes shoes goes barefoot himself. Because Flora’s comment came after Brie’s statement about him helping her, she wondered just what kind of help did the waitress think Connor needed.

  “Hey.” Connor stopped beside her. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” Brie pushed away her curiosity over Flora’s words. “I got a lead.”

  “How did…how did you know I was here?”

  Brie looked at the waitress. “I called and Flora told me.”

  “Oh, that was you? I thought it was…I’d just called in and asked for backup but we got disconnected.” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and dropped three twenties on a table. “What lead?”

  Brie looked curiously at the huge tip. “I know who Carlos had lunch with in Willowcreek. Rosaria Altura. I’m going there now.”

  “Rosaria Altura? That’s your informant’s girlfriend, right?” He slid his wallet back into his pocket.

  “Yeah. I found out that her sister just married a José Hernandez. Remember the call—”

  “Yeah. How did you get this information?”

  “Agent Miles.”

  His eyes widened. “You were with Agent Miles?”

  “He called me. I met with him.”

  “Alone?”

  “I was careful.”

  “Brie, it looks as if he’s the leak in the Sala case. He’s probably the one who ordered the hit on Olvera. He could have—”

  “After all he told me, I don’t think it’s him now. And I was careful.”

  Connor frowned. “You don’t know everything. He’s had almost fifty thousand dollars deposited into his account.”

  “I do know. No thanks to you.” And this left her wondering what else he’d been hiding. “Look, Miles told me. He’s a gambler. He says his up-and-down account is reflective of his winning and losing streaks. But the thing is, he’s not the only one who knows about Rosaria. She could be in danger.”

  He lifted a brow, as if questioning her. “You got her address?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  She watched Connor look back at the waitress. “Take care.”

  Flora nodded.

  Picking up on something odd between Flora and Connor, Brie followed him out. She stopped when she realized he was going to his car. “I can drive. My car’s—”

  “Let’s take mine. In case someone is expecting you to make the trip.”

  She climbed in. “Have you heard anything from the ICE agent? Did they find Armand?”

  “Not yet.” He sounded frustrated. “I can’t believe you met Miles alone. Did he say anything else?”

  “He wants me to ask you to wait to turn over his financial reports until he can talk to personnel on Monday. He wants to go to them himself and see if he can save his job.” She looked at him. “Have you already told Agent Calvin?”

  “No. We wanted to look into it more first.” Connor pulled out of the parking lot. “This could be a setup. Does he know you’re heading up there tonight?”

  “I didn’t tell him my plans.” She resented the fact that he’d think she could be so careless.

  “But he probably suspects you will.”

  “This isn’t my first rodeo. I’m not—”

  Connor held up his hand. “I still think meeting him was too risky. Like going after Tomas alone. It’s as if you have something to prove.”

  “I do. To you and every other man who thinks I can’t take care of myself.”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “Yet I’m not the one with a black eye!”

  He made a disapproving noise in the back of his throat. “One doesn’t have anything to do with the other.”

  “Right.”

  They drove in silence for the next several minutes. “I wasn’t implying that you couldn’t take care—”

  “Just drop it.”

  A few minutes later, he muttered, “I’d rather argue than get the silent treatment for the two hours it takes to get there.”

  “Haven’t you heard? Silence is golden.”

  “Not when it’s angry silence.” He settled back in the seat. “Are you really worried she’s in danger?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t…You think this was just a ploy to spend time with you?”

  “A guy could hope.” He half-smiled.

  “Well, he shouldn’t.”

  He lost his smile. “Sorry. I’m just…I’ll call the Willowcreek police and see if they’ll send a car by there to make sure everything is okay.”

  “Yeah.”

  Five minutes later, after explaining twice he didn’t have proof there was any imminent threat, he hung up frustrated. “They’re doing a drive-by. But you’d think they’d never heard of a safety check.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  They fell back into the awkward silence. She remembered her confusing conversation with Flora. “What happened at the diner?”

  “Two drunks mouthed off at the waitress.” He looked at her.

  “You go th
ere a lot?”

  “Yeah.” His gaze cut back to the road. A little too quickly.

  “You live close?”

  “No. I like their pancakes.” His tone sounded almost defensive. It was clear he didn’t want to share. Apparently, whatever alternate paradigm they’d slipped into the other night when they had told each other secrets was a onetime thing. She should be happy.

  She wasn’t.

  “Sorry I asked.” She gazed out the window at the world zipping past.

  Several minutes later, he said, “That’s her.”

  Unsure what he meant, she asked, “That’s who?”

  “The waitress. That’s the mom of the kid. The one I killed.”

  Air caught in her chest. “Why would you…?” She shook her head. “That’s not good.”

  He looked back out the windshield. “I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

  “How long have you been going?”

  “A while.” He swallowed.

  “Has she ever said anything to you? About her son?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not even sure…I mean, I know my picture was in the paper. And at times I think…”

  “Think what?”

  “That she recognizes me.”

  Brie was sure she did. Then she remembered the tip he left.

  “It wasn’t your fault.” Brie inhaled and felt it—felt his pain right in the center of her chest. “I think…you go there to punish yourself.”

  He remained silent for several miles. “No. I leave her money. She has a teenage daughter who’s diabetic.”

  “Couldn’t you send her money anonymously?”

  “I do. The church started a fund for her. But I wanted her to know.”

  “Know what?”

  He took his time answering. “That I can’t sleep. That I haven’t forgotten. She deserves to know that.” He drove white-knuckled for the next five minutes.

  He finally spoke again. “I killed him. And I know what it does to a mother to lose a baby.”

  “He wasn’t a baby. He was almost a grown man. Your partner died. You—”

  “It wasn’t the kid’s bullet that killed Don.”

  “But you didn’t know that. He fired at y’all. I’d have done the same thing. Any person carrying a badge would have done the same thing.”

  “But they didn’t. I did.”

  “Look, I know what it’s like to feel guilty. I feel it every day—”

  “That’s different. You didn’t pull the trigger. Your sister got herself in a mess. And every informant knows they run a risk—”

  “But my inaction caused it. And it eats at me, but my point is that I don’t purposely go out of my way to hurt myself.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing.”

  “It seems like it to me.”

  “Well, you’re wrong.”

  She leaned back in the seat and stared holes out the windshield. The sound of the wheels on the road and the low hum of his car’s heater were the only noises.

  After several minutes, the silence felt heavy. The emotion in her chest felt dense. She imagined what Connor might feel seeing the boy’s mother. She recalled that first week after she’d learned her sister was dead, and how she kept picking up the picture of her sister chained to that bed, and staring at it until the pain was too much. Carlos had made her stop.

  “You can’t tell me that seeing her doesn’t hurt, that—”

  “Look,” he snapped. “You are mad at me, I get it. Leaving your apartment like I did—”

  “We’re not talking about that.”

  “Aren’t we? Isn’t that why you’re really upset?”

  “No. I’m upset because…” Then she felt the need to be honest. “Can’t I be upset about both things!”

  He focused back on the road. “I’ve said I’m sorry.”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  He cut her a quick look. “Well, I tried to. You wouldn’t let me finish.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, but it was another lie. “Let’s not talk about this anymore.”

  “It feels like it matters.”

  “Well, it doesn’t.”

  “You just said you’re upset, so it does matter!” He looked at her again. “Next you’ll start lying again, saying the sex wasn’t good.”

  Dad-blast him! “It wasn’t.”

  “I was there,” he retorted.

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Okay, the sex was okay. But—”

  “Just okay?” His green eyes twinkled with heat and amusement. “You’re still lying.”

  That just downright annoyed her. What really pissed her off was she suddenly knew he was using this to change the subject away from the waitress. “On a scale of one to ten, you might have gotten a seven. However—”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Maybe an eight. Yet—”

  “A ten. Admit it.”

  She frowned. “Let me finish! The sex might’ve been good, but for the overall experience, you didn’t even score! The only way it could’ve ended worse was if you’d tossed a couple of hundred bucks on my bedside table.”

  The playfulness in his green eyes vanished. His hands tightened on the wheel again. He looked back to the road. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, you’ve said that. And we have both agreed it was a mistake, and we don’t want it to happen again. So—”

  “I said it was a mistake.” His voice rang sincere. “But I didn’t say I didn’t want it to happen again. To be honest, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  “Well, you should stop!” She started tapping her feet on the floorboard. “Since you’re being honest, tell me, do you do this with all women? Get your jollies and run?”

  He went back to white-knuckling the steering wheel before answering. “Yeah.” But there was something about the way he said it.

  “You’re lying. You don’t do this, do you? So why me?”

  He swallowed again, she heard the gulp. “You’re right. We don’t need to talk about this.”

  “Oh, no! You started it. And I deserve to know. Why did you do it?” She waited one, two, three seconds and then said, “Tell me!”

  He exhaled. It sounded loud within the confines of the car. “It happened too fast. I usually make sure my…intentions are clear.”

  “Your intentions?”

  “My lack of intentions. I’m not looking for anything serious.”

  “And you thought…We had sex. Once. What did you think I expected? For you to get on one knee, sing me a ballad, and swear to love me forever?”

  “No!” he said. “But you…”

  “I what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t nothing me! Answer the question!”

  His jaw tightened. “You…you kissed my chest,” he blurted out. Then he flinched at his own words. “I mean—”

  “What? Are you like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman? You have some stupid rule of no kissing on the chest? Fracking Hades!”

  “There! You see.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t even curse. You’re like…Mother Teresa! You volunteer at the shelter. You get homeless people antibiotics. You take in feral cats! You’re the type of woman a man takes home to his mom. The type who wants that white picket fence, two kids, and promises. I’ll bet you even know how many guys you’ve slept with. And that you cared about every one of them. I don’t have a mom. I hate fences. I don’t make promises! I lost count of how many women I’ve been with years ago.”

  He didn’t even stop to breathe, just kept going. “And the bad part is I knew you were this softhearted, sweet, hungry-for-love woman before I slept with you. But I let it happen anyway. I shouldn’t have. Then you kissed my chest and I knew you’d have expectations and I knew…”

  “Knew what?”

  “That I was going to hurt you.”

  She couldn’t believe her ears. Couldn’t believe his audacity. “Wow. How do you do it?”

  He continued to stare s
traight ahead. “Do what?”

  “How do you manage to coexist with your own ego? It’s so huge. Feeding it must cost you a fortune.”

  He jerked his head around and looked at her. “I don’t—”

  “You just assume that because I’m a decent person, I don’t curse like a sailor, and haven’t played hide the salami with every Tom, Dick, and Roberto that what? I’m going to fall in love with you because we told each other a few secrets. Because you gave me an orgasm? What in the name of all that’s holy makes you so special?”

  His mouth dropped. She could see him mentally chewing on what she’d said, and to his credit, he looked properly chastised.

  She turned, giving him as much of her back as she could, and stared out the passenger window. The anger swelling in her chest made her eyes sting. But what really hurt was that he wasn’t wrong.

  She was an idiot. A fool. Oh, she could deny it all she wanted, but she had let him hurt her. Just like she’d let her ex ease his way into her heart.

  She already cared about Connor. Cared when she was driving to the diner, afraid he’d gotten hurt. Cared that he was punishing himself for something that wasn’t his fault.

  Thirty minutes passed before he decided to throw out more words. “I didn’t mean…”

  “Don’t.” She looked at him. “You’ll only make it worse. We had sex. We agreed it was a mistake, and it’s not happening again. We have a case to solve. I respect you as a cop. I’m thankful that you’re helping me. When this is over, I’ll be gone. And there’s no reason for us to talk about it anymore.”

  He inhaled deeply. His nostrils flared. They went back to the silence.

  She didn’t speak again until she saw a sign announcing they were close to Willowcreek. “Should I put the address into your GPS?”

  “Yeah.” His voice sounded tight.

  She punched in the address on his dashboard. “The Willowcreek police never called about checking on the house. Do you think they did it?”

  He frowned. “Probably not. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “Okay.” She leaned back against the seat.

  “It’s four a.m. What’s your plan?” he asked. “Knock on the door? Or wait until morning? I mean, we could be wrong and she’s not even there.”

  “I’ll knock. Better safe than sorry.”

  His phone rang. He reached for it in his cup holder. “It’s the Willowcreek police.” He answered the call. “Detective Pierce.” There was a pause, then “What?” Pause. “Shit! Do you have the shooter?”