The doorbell rings, and I’m distracted from listening to Bobby’s irate answer.
Detective Fields and two officers are standing on the doorstep. He heaves a visible sigh of relief. To the cops, he nods, and one of them radios in to dispatch, something about the witness being located. “I’ve been trying to call you.”
“I lost my phone.”
He hesitates. “I have an update on your uncle’s case. Can I come in?”
“No!” Bobby yells, his footfalls hard and fast as he storms up behind me to barricade the door. “It’s a nice day out. You should talk right here.” He gives me a knowing look, and I immediately get his meaning.
Dakota’s little grow-op.
“It is a nice day.” I grab Dakota’s sweater off a hook and pull it on to ward off the cold, and step onto the curb, shutting the door behind me. “What’s up?”
Fields frowns at me—I think he assumes I’m the one sleeping with Bobby—but he doesn’t push it. “The two men who we suspect of involvement in your uncle’s murder were found yesterday in Nevada. Dead.”
I take a deep, shaky breath. No, I guess they won’t be a problem for me anymore. “How?” That sounds like the right next question to ask. Plus, I want to know how Sebastian did it. Was it quick and clean? Cruel and morbid? Will it make any difference to me?
“The investigators over there are suggesting that it’s murder-suicide, cut-and-dried. We’ll know more after the autopsy reports, though.”
I close my eyes. Quick and clean, at least. Like I’d expect from Sebastian. Do I care? Do I feel bad for them?
I think back to that night, to the fear they inflicted on me, to the pain they inflicted on my uncle. To the fact that they shot two people—would have shot me, too, had they known I was there—all to cover their asses for other horrible, unspeakable crimes they committed. Sebastian didn’t give me too many details, but he gave me enough.
I don’t feel bad that they’re dead.
Does that make me evil?
“So . . . what does that mean for my uncle’s case?” I ask, pushing that worry aside.
“Well, that’s the thing. There was some evidence found along with the bodies. A phone with a video of your uncle and the other victim, Dylan Royce. It’s”—he frowns—“of interest to a lot of important people. There are likely answers to motive in it, but it’s going to take some time to figure that out.”
I’m guessing that’s the very video that Sebastian was here to recover. He did say he was going to make sure the truth came out. That none of this should ever have happened. That he wanted to make things right.
Did he plant it?
“Okay. Well, thanks for letting me know.”
I watch Fields and the cops leave in two cars. Curtains rustle and doors close as curious neighbors go back to their daily grind, the excitement over for the meantime. With a sigh, I turn to go inside, when I spot the black Ford F-150 pickup parked just down the street. A single figure sits behind the wheel.
My heart skips a few beats.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I march toward it.
FIFTY
SEBASTIAN
I sit up straight as she approaches my truck, her arms hugging her body to ward off the chill. She comes around the passenger side and throws the door open.
Our eyes meet, and I have no idea what to expect.
Is she going to tell me to go to hell for good?
That I’m about to go to jail because she set that detective after me?
“Recent upgrade?” Her gaze skates over the interior of my new truck. She’s not wearing any makeup. She looks like she hasn’t slept. I know I haven’t. For days.
“Something like that.”
She climbs in, needing the step to make it. “Could you have found something bigger?”
I clench my fists to keep from reaching out and grabbing her, pulling her close to me. “I was actually looking at a Hummer. But decided against it.” I’m out of a job, so even though I have enough money to last me awhile, it won’t last forever. As it is, this is a rental. I’m not ready to commit just yet.
I crank the engine. She plays with the knobs until some heat starts pumping out. “It suits you more than that Acura.”
I finally left that in the covered garage where I was supposed to weeks ago, but not before having it thoroughly detailed and wiping down my prints. The Beretta is still in my boot. I’m not ready to ditch that.
A long, uncomfortable silence fills the truck, and I brace myself for the moment that she moves to leave.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I told the cops?” she asks.
“No.”
“I didn’t tell them anything.”
I know. I’ve known all along that I can trust her. She may hate me now, but I know I can still trust her. Except, I don’t think she hates me. Her mask is on, but she’s never been able to veil her eyes well.
“Can I show you something?” Will she trust me to take her somewhere?
After a long moment, she simply nods.
“A little to the left.”
I put my shoulders into the new chair, shimmying it over a few inches. It weighs a good fifty pounds more than the last one. I know because I loaded it into my truck last night after visiting three wholesale stores for the top-of-the-line client chair—according to the sales guy—complete with hydraulic lifts and a full recline option.
“A little more.”
I follow her instructions.
“Hmm . . . no. That’s not right. Maybe back to the right.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Ivy’s perched comfortably in her chair, legs propped on the new front desk and crossed at her ankles, her slippers tapping the surface. I’m not used to seeing her in anything but boots, but I guess she wasn’t planning on going anywhere besides the front porch when the detective rang the bell.
She flips through a magazine, feigning indifference. “Yeah, I am. I just wanted to make you sweat a little.”
There’s the attitude I’ve missed so much. “You like making me sweat?”
She tries to hide the smirk by adjusting her chair farther away from me, to face the brand-new monitor.
“So? What do you think?”
Her eyes roam the space—the newly hung mirrors to the new, black window shades, to the security system that I had wired, to the floors that I sanded down and varnished in a warm honey finish, with the help of Fez and Bobby.
Black Rabbit is basically ready for business.
“I think your ease with breaking into places makes me very uncomfortable.”
“Besides that.”
She tosses the magazine to the desk. “Why’d you do all this for me?” There’s a hint of vulnerability in her voice now.
“Because I don’t want you to leave San Francisco.”
She snorts. “You don’t even live here.”
“I will. If you’re staying.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Then I guess I’m not.” I wander over to lean against the desk, lifting her legs at the ankles and settling her feet on my lap. “I want everything to go back to the way it was before.”
“It can’t go back to that.”
“I know. But we can go to something better.” No more lies.