First Grave on the Right

CHAPTER 13

My PI techniques would never be the stuff of legend. They would never make it into criminology textbooks or university lecture halls. But I did feel that, with some focus, I could have a strong presence in chat rooms.

If I couldn’t be a good example, I’d just have to be a horrible warning.

Cookie’s attempts to get her hands on the transcripts and class rosters from Reyes’s high school failed. It was rare, but it happened. Something about laws and confidentiality. With this in mind, I strode into the police station, a singular objective guiding me. Carrying what was perhaps too big a chip on my bruised and swollen shoulder, I ignored the wary glances and suspicious looks directed my way and walked straight back toward the interrogation room.

That’s when I heard the “Pssst.”

I slowed and looked around the station. Nothing but desks and uniforms from my vantage point. Then I looked toward the restrooms. An elderly Latina in a light floral dress beckoned me forward with a crooked finger. She had a black lace mantilla wrapped around her head and shoulders, and I would’ve bet my last nickel she made tortillas like nobody’s business. When she had been alive, anyway.

I didn’t really have time to counsel a departed, but I couldn’t say no. I could never say no. I glanced around the station and ducked into the women’s room all cool and nonchalant, not really sure why. Answering the call of nature was hardly illegal. But five minutes later, I exited the same way. Only this time I was armed to the teeth — metaphorically — and ready to make a deal.

I spotted Uncle Bob standing at the door to observation. He was talking intently with Sergeant Dwight when I strode up.

“I want to negotiate a deal,” I said, interrupting.

Dwight glared at me.

Ubie raised his brows in interest. “What kind of deal?”

“Julio Ontiveros didn’t shoot our lawyers.” Guilt poured off a person. I could sense it a mile away. And Julio Ontiveros was not a guilty man. Not of murder, anyway. And what had sounded like a gunshot coming from inside the apartment was actually his motorcycle misfiring. Apparently, he took it in at night so no one would steal it. Smart kid.

“Great,” Sergeant Dwight said, rolling his eyes. “Glad we have you to tell us these things.”

But Uncle Bob slanted his brows, lowered his chin, and eased closer. “Are you sure?”

“Are you serious?” the sergeant asked in disbelief.

Uncle Bob, in a rare moment of hostility, cast a razor-sharp scowl in Dwight’s direction that would wither a stout winter rose. Dwight clamped his jaw shut and turned his back to us to study the suspect through the two-way mirror.

“This is pretty big-time, Charley. I need you to be certain. There’s a lot of pressure on this one from the guys up top.”

“It’s always big-time. I want you to think back to the last time I was wrong.”

Ubie thought, then shook his head. “I can’t remember the last time you were wrong.”

“Exactly.”

“Ah. Right. And your deal?”

Ubie was going to love this. “If I can get him to confess his part in all of this today, right now, and turn state’s evidence on the real shooter, I need you to do two things for me.”

“This should be good,” he said.

“I need you to get an injunction to stop the state from pulling the plug on a convicted felon who’s in a coma.”

His brows shot up. “On what grounds?”

“That’s part of number one,” I said with a one-shouldered shrug. “You gotta come up with something. Anything, Uncle Bob.”

“I’ll do what I can, but—”

“No buts,” I said, interrupting him with an index finger in the air. “Just promise me you’ll try.”

“You have my word. And two?”

“I need you to go back to high school with me. And bring your badge.”

After a second jolt of surprise widened his eyes, he said, “I take it you’ll explain all this later?”

“Cross my heart,” I said, doing that very thing with my extended index finger. “For now, let’s get this guy to tell us what he knows.”

Sergeant Dwight, hearing our conversation, snorted at what seemed like arrogance on my part.

An annoyed sigh slipped through my lips. “This shouldn’t take long,” I told Uncle Bob.

Unable to stand by and do nothing, Sergeant Dwight turned around to us. “You’re not seriously going to jeopardize this entire investigation by allowing her to go in there, are you?” When Ubie just stood in thought, quite effectively ignoring the irate man, Dwight ground his teeth and stepped in Ubie’s face. “Davidson,” he said, expecting an answer.

I didn’t have time for this. While Uncle Bob dealt with Dwight the dipstick, I walked into the observation room and studied Mr. Ontiveros through the two-way mirror. The other officer in the room turned to me in surprise. Naturally, I ignored him. Julio sat in a small sparse area across from the observation room, fidgeting in his chair and glaring into the mirror. He had the basic gangbanger do — shaved on the sides, a little longer up top — and wore attitude like it was the latest thing. But fear leached from every pore in his body.

He wasn’t exactly innocent, but he didn’t shoot anyone. His fear stemmed from the thought of going to prison for something he didn’t do. There seemed to be a lot of that going around lately.

I turned and winked at Yesenia, the Latina I’d just conversed with in the women’s room who also happened to be Julio Ontiveros’s aunt. She stood waiting in the corner and flashed me a wicked grin as I walked out.

“I’m ready,” I tossed to Uncle Bob before entering the interrogation room itself. As I shut the door, I heard him and Dwight scramble to get inside the observation area to watch. Then I heard more footsteps doing the same. Apparently we were going to have an audience. They might be disappointed. This wouldn’t take long.

Julio sat handcuffed to a small metal table. He looked up at me, a wary surprise widening his eyes and lowering his brows for a split second before he took control over his features again.

He leaned back in his chair, lowrider style. “Who the fu—?”

“Shut up,” I said, walking purposely toward him. I leaned on the desk in front of him, brushing his cuffed wrist with my hip and blocking his view of the two-way, but more important, blocking the men in the observation room from listening in. I was close enough to give Ontiveros a lap dance. A necessary evil because what I had to say could not be overheard. Not without me being sent to a very special place with padded rooms and medication in little white cups.

I could just feel Uncle Bob coming unglued with my proximity to what he still thought of as a cold-blooded killer. But I knew better.

I’d taken Julio by surprise. Using to my advantage the seconds it would take for him to recover, I leaned forward and whispered into his ear. I didn’t have much time before Uncle Bob stormed into the room, afraid for my safety. Just a few words, two or three short sentences, and Julio Ontiveros would spill like wine on silk.

I prayed for ten seconds. I got them.

“We don’t have much time, so be quiet and listen.”

He took advantage of the situation, playing the tough guy all the way. He turned into me and inhaled the scent of my neck and hair.

“Your tía Yesenia sent me—”

He stilled.

“—and told me the exact location of the three things you desire most in the world.”

I could hear the doorknob turning. I could also feel doubt wafting off Ontiveros, his admiration for my neck and hair evaporating. That always happened when I talked about dead people. I leaned back a little and peered into his wary eyes.

“You are five minutes away from going down for three murders you and I both know you didn’t commit. Tell your part in this, without holding anything back, and I’ll tell you where the medal is. For starters.”

He sucked in a soft breath of surprise. That was desire number one. Desire number two was pretty solid as well, but number three would be a bit trickier, mostly because Ontiveros’s aunt didn’t know the exact exact location of the number three so much as its general proximity. I figured that’s what I had Cookie for.

Just as I finished my spiel, Uncle Bob rushed through the door, a warning glare on his face. I winked at him, turned back to Julio, pulled a business card from my back pocket, and slid it beneath his cuffed hand.

“You have my word,” I said before leaving.

After strolling back to the observation room, I waited to see if he’d cave. Not that I could see much. The tiny room was now full. Half the men were looking at me — including an enraged Garrett Swopes, who could kiss my smoking-hot ass — and half were staring into the interrogation room. Then I heard it.

“I’ll talk,” Julio said through the speakers. “I’ll tell you what I know, but I want immunity from prosecution. I didn’t kill no one, and I ain’t going down for this.”

With a twinkle in my eye, I turned, high-fived Julio’s tía Yesenia, the woman who’d raised him and wouldn’t leave the earthly plane until he straightened his shit out — her words — then strode out of the station with a relieved smile plastered on my face. Uncle Bob would call me later with the details, and I could explain the terms of our deal then. At the moment, I was tired and sore and in dire need of a long, hot bath. Had I known what awaited me at home, my needs may have shifted in a more sensual direction.

With thoughts of bubble baths and candlelight swimming through my head, I unlocked my door and sneaked into my apartment, trying not to disturb Cookie and Amber across the hall. It was late. The sun had drifted to the other side of the world hours ago, and I hated to keep Cookie up two nights in a row. Before coming home, I’d stopped by the office and found that Neil, in a surprising act of kindness, had couriered a copy of Reyes’s file to me. I wasn’t sure how legal it was, but I couldn’t have been more grateful if he’d handed me the winning Powerball ticket. The file had a note attached to it that simply read, You didn’t get this from me.

I checked with Dad for any messages, just in case Rosie, the woman I’d helped escape from her abusive husband, needed anything, sneaked a quick bite of green chili stew, then humped it back across the parking lot to the Causeway. Though the lack of messages from Rosie was a good thing, I couldn’t help the concern that prickled down my spine, wishing she would call despite my strict orders.

Flipping on the living room light, I was in the middle of a quick hello to Mr. Wong when Reyes turned toward me. Reyes, standing regal and godlike in front of my living room window. Reyes Farrow. The same Reyes Farrow who was lying in a coma in Santa Fe an hour away. He turned back to stare out the window, giving me a chance to put my stuff on the snack bar.

I stepped forward then, eased closer to him. He shifted, cast his powerful gaze downward, and examined me through his periphery. Though he was clearly incorporeal, he seemed to be made of a matter denser than human flesh, more solid and unyielding.

I scrambled for something to say. Somehow, You’re really hot in bed didn’t quite have the ring I was looking for. In an act of desperation, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“They’re going to take you off life support in three days.”

He looked toward me then, starting at my feet and traveling slowly up. A tingling warmth followed in its wake, suffusing every molecule in my body with an irradiating energy that pooled in my abdomen, swirled, and percolated low in my belly, branding my flesh and deboning my limbs. I struggled to stay focused.

“You have to wake up,” I explained, but he remained silent. “Can you at least give me your sister’s name?”

His gaze lingered on my hips before continuing its journey north.

“She’s the only one who can stop the state.”

Still nothing. Then I remembered Rocket’s reaction to him at the asylum. His fear. I stepped closer, careful to stay out of arm’s reach. Despite the fact that my body was shaking with his nearness, begging for his touch in a Pavlovian-style response that would’ve made any behaviorist proud, we needed to talk.

“Rocket’s afraid of you,” I said, my voice suddenly hoarse. When he paused at Danger and Will Robinson, I asked, “You wouldn’t hurt him, would you?” Then his gaze, piercing and turbulent, locked on to mine.

Though we stood several feet apart, his heat radiated toward me. Hard as I tried not to, I took a step closer. I had so many questions, so many doubts.

More than anything else at that moment in time, I wanted to know — pathetic as it sounded — why he hadn’t visited me the night before. He’d come every night for a month, then nothing, and my insecurities were getting the better of me. Reyes frowned, his brows inching together over deep mahogany eyes, and tilted his head to the side as if wondering what I was thinking.

As badly as I wanted to ask my own self-indulgent questions, I had to make sure Rocket was in no danger from him, though I couldn’t imagine why he would be.

“If I asked, real nice with a cherry on top, would you please not hurt Rocket?”

His gaze dropped to my mouth, making it difficult to breathe, to concentrate, to resist jumping him right then and there. I had to focus.

“Blink once for yes,” I said before losing all sense of self-respect and attacking. He was obviously a very dangerous being, and I was beginning to wonder more and more just what kind of being that might be. Maybe he was like me and Rocket. Maybe he’d been born with a purpose, a job, but then his life turned out bad like Rocket’s and he’d never been able to fulfill his duties. The fragile hold I had on my self-control was thinning. I was getting lost in the sparkling gold flecks of his eyes. I felt like a child, mesmerized by a magician, lured to his side by sheer force of will.

He turned suddenly, breaking the spell he had me under, as if something had demanded his attention. Then he was in front of me, his sensual mouth barely inches from mine.

“You were tired,” he said, disappearing in a swirl of dark mass before he’d even finished his statement.

I stood in the aftereffects of his presence, the rich tones of his voice flowing down my spine like molten gold, as Cookie rushed through the door.

“Garrett called, said you got hurt,” she said, rushing to my side. “Again. But you’re upright.” She tilted her head slightly to the left. “Sort of. Have you ever considered that maybe your ability to heal so quickly is part of your being a grim reaper?”

Reyes was here, in my living room, standing before me as solid and ethereal as the statue of David.

“Charley?”

The heat of his mouth, so close to mine, lingered still. Wait. I was tired? What did he mean by … Oh, my god. He was answering my question about why he hadn’t shown up last night. The question I didn’t ask aloud, but thought. That was disturbing.

“I could slap you. If you think that would help.”

Blinking to attention, I focused on Cookie at last. “He was here.”

She scanned the room, her eyes wide, uncertain. “That big, bad thing?”

“Reyes.”

She stilled, chewed her bottom lip a moment, then looked back and asked, “Did you say hey for me?”

The next morning, I was still sore. But again, I was still breathing. The cup half full and all. I’d made it to the bathroom without one mishap. Surely that was a sign my day was going to go well. I figured I was due because my night hadn’t. Reyes was a no-show. Again. I tossed and turned, and the next thing I knew, Uncle Bob sent me a text.

After getting over the shock of that little jewel — Ubie didn’t text — I tried to read it. Something about FECAL DABL and HIKE SCHOOP. It was enough to make me look forward to the day. We were going to Reyes’s high school.

I’d stayed up half the night reading Reyes’s prison jacket, the file thick with priceless tidbits of information about him. It was truly one of the most interesting things I’d ever seen in print. He had the highest IQ of any prisoner in New Mexico history. What did they call it? Immeasurable? He’d kept pretty much to himself in prison, though he did have a few friends, including a cellmate who’d been paroled six months earlier. And that corrections officer at the hospital had been telling the truth. Reyes had saved his life during a prison riot. The officer had been locked inside when the riot began and a group of prisoners surrounded him. He had been knocked nearly unconscious by the time Reyes showed up, so he didn’t have any concrete details of what went down. He just stated that Reyes saved his life, then dragged him to safety, hiding him until the riot was over.

I was so proud of Reyes. I knew he was one of the good guys. While all the information in his file would lend itself nicely to countless fantasies to come, none of it led me to his sister. In fact, there was no mention of her at all.

I’d considered bringing Garrett into this whole thing. If anyone could find Reyes’s sister, he could. But that would take some explaining. Putting that idea on the back burner, I stepped out of the shower to find Angel Garza, my thirteen-year-old attitude-infested investigator, leaning a hip against the sink.

“Need me, boss?” he asked, running his fingers along the faucet.

“Where have you been?” I reached for my robe while he wasn’t looking. “I was worried. You never stay gone this long.”

“Sorry. I was hanging with my mom.”

“Oh.” Keeping my suspicions in check, I wrapped a towel around my hair. I had been buck naked only seconds earlier, and the consummate flirt, Angel Garza, didn’t even notice. Something was wrong. Angel lived — metaphorically — to see me naked. Especially buck naked. He’d told me so on several occasions. But instead of ogling me, he was fondling the faucet. Something was definitely off in Angel land.

Dead thirteen-year-old gangbangers were so moody.

Angel and I had hooked up soon after I met him on the Night of God Reyes, as I liked to call it. He’d followed me through high school, college, and eventually into the Peace Corps. When I finally opened my own investigations business, we negotiated a deal where I sent his mother the money he would have made working for me — anonymously, of course — and he became my top, number one, and only investigator.

But eventually Angel started seeing the benefits of our arrangement from another angle. He did his darnedest to convince me to take money from people using our unique situations.

“Dude, we could have such a racket,” he’d say.

“Racket being the optimal word.”

“Think about it. We could go to these people’s relatives that died and score like maniacs.”

“That’s extortion.”

“That’s capitalism.”

“That’s punishable with one to four in the state pen and a substantial fine.”

He’d eventually get frustrated and accusatory. “You’re just using me for my body.”

The day I use a thirteen-year-old dead guy for his body is the day I have myself committed. “You don’t have a body,” I’d remind him.

“Throw that in my face.”

“Technically, you don’t have a face either. And even if we did make money with our abilities, it’s not like you can go buy a new skateboard.”

“Man, extra money for my mom.”

“Well, there is that.”

“And I like the light-up.”

“The what?”

“The light-up,” he’d say. “You know, that look people get when they finally realize you’re for real. It’s like electricity. It makes me tingle all over. Like a blanket full of static.”

Ew. “Really? I’ve never heard that.”

“Yeah, and I like it when people realize we’re out here.”

I leaned in close once and asked him, “Do you want your mom to realize you’re out here? Do you want her to know?”

“Nah. It took her too long to get over me.”

All in all, he was a good kid. But his behavior today was very out of character.

I scooted him out of the way and started digging through my makeup bag. “Is everything okay?” I asked as nonchalantly as possible.

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “You look like hell, though. I can’t leave you alone for two seconds.”

“I’ve had an interesting week. I got Rosie off,” I said, referring to our assisted-disappearing case. It was Angel’s idea for her to go back to Mexico, and he’d done a lot of the legwork locating the small hotel on the beach for sale. We had to do some creative fund-raising, but it all worked out in the end.

He touched a bottle of perfume I had on the counter. “You know, it’s not all bad here,” he said cryptically.

After marveling at all the new shades of green on my face, I put my foundation down and looked at him.

“On this side, I mean. It’s not like we get hungry or cold or anything.”

Okay, this was just weird. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No. I just wanted you to know that. For future reference and all.”

When I realized he might have been alluding to Reyes, I sucked in a soft breath. “Angel, do you know something about Reyes Farrow?”

He flinched and looked up at me in surprise. “No. I don’t know anything about him. You got a job for me or what?” he asked, changing the subject.

Damn. Nobody knew anything about Reyes, but everyone sure seemed to stand at attention when I mentioned his name. I’d kill to know what was going on.

I filled Angel in on our case with the lawyers and the wrongly convicted Mark Weir. He couldn’t wait to meet Elizabeth, naturally. Then I sent him to see if he could come up with a connection between the kid who’d died in Mark’s backyard and the missing nephew.

“Oh,” Angel said before he left, “Aunt Lillian’s here. I like her.”

I tried not to look disappointed. “I like her, too, but her coffee sucks. Mostly ’cause it’s nonexistent.”

He snickered and went on recon. In the meantime, Aunt Lillian took off with Mr. Habersham, the dead guy in 2B. I didn’t even want to know what that was about. A knock on the door had me rushing to zip up my boots. I was meeting Uncle Bob in twenty, and I couldn’t imagine who would be at my door this early in the morning.

Smoothing my brown sweater over my jeans, I glanced through the peephole and came to a screeching halt, metaphorically, when I saw Officer Taft. No way was this happening. Not now.

I opened the door slowly, mostly because it hurt. My entire body hummed in a dull, continuous ache. “Yeah?” I asked, peeking through the slit.

“Hey,” he said, looking at me like I was half crazy, “I was just wondering if I could have a word with you.”

“What kind of word?” I couldn’t open my door farther. I knew she was there. I could feel the heat of her laser glare trying to sear my gray matter. And singe my hair.

“Is this a bad time?” he asked, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m sorry to bother you—”

“Yeah, yeah. Got it. It’s okay. What do you need?”

“I just think that, well, strange things have been happening.”

Damn. My shoulders slumped against the door, and I eased it wider to reveal the blond-haired, blue-eyed spawn of Satan. Plastering my hands over my eyes, I cried, only a little melodramatically, “No! You did not do this to me! You did not bring her to my home, my sanctuary.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his gaze darting around in fear. “It’s true, huh? I’m being haunted.”

Demon Child sighed in annoyance. “Not haunted. Just watched.”

I freeze-framed my tantrum and eyed her. “That’s called stalking, dear, and is in fact frowned upon in most cultures.”

“Can you … can you see someone?” Taft asked, leaning in to whisper.

“Dude, she can hear you. Just come in before the neighbors start talking.” That was an excuse. The neighbors had started talking the moment I moved in. But may as well move the circus inside, let them burrow in my humble abode, take root on my furniture, raid my refrigerator.

I gestured for Taft to sit on the sofa while I took the opposite chair. “I’d offer you coffee, but my Aunt Lillian made it.”

“Um, okay.”

“So, what do you want to know?”

“Well, it’s just that strange things have been happening lately.”

“Mm-hmm.” I was trying really hard not to yawn.

“You know, like I keep hearing this bell that sits on my mantel, but no one’s there.”

“I’m there,” she said, looking up at him. “I’ll always be there. I love you so much.”

I glared at Demon Child. “Seriously? This early?”

She stuck out her tongue at me.

“I’ve heard stuff around the station about you. You know, blah, blah, blah.”

I kind of lost my train of thought and left Taft to his own devices as my gaze drifted to the spot where Reyes had stood only hours earlier. I’d never encountered anything like him. In fact, I’d never encountered anything supernatural besides the departed. No poltergeists or vampires or demons.

“Why are you so bright?” Demon Child asked. “You look kind of dumb.”

Well, maybe demons.

After tossing her my best sardonic scowl, I decided to piss her off. I was pissed for having to put up with her ass. It seemed only fair.

“Officer Taft is talking, dear. Shut up.”

The anger that sprang into her eyes was a little funny. I was seriously going to have to convince her to cross. Angel and I could play exorcism again. He hated playing exorcism. Mostly because he looked silly, writhing around on the floor, pretending to burn from the holy tap water I was throwing on him.

“Look,” I said, interrupting Taft. “I get it. And yes, you have a little girl following your every move, probably the one from that accident you told me about. She has long blond hair, silvery blue eyes — but that could be ’cause she’s dead — and pink pajamas with Strawberry Shortcake on them.” I glanced over at Taft. “Oh, and she’s evil.”

Taft was a cop through and through. He’d learned how to keep a poker face, so it took me a moment to see the anger simmering inside him. The energy that was building encircled him in a mirage, like when you see water on the road where there is none.

Was it something I said?

He bolted to his feet, and I followed suit. “How the fuck do you know that?” he asked through gritted teeth.

What? “Um, because she’s standing right beside you.”

“Where I’ll always be,” she said. “Forever and ever.”

Not if I had anything to say about it. Strawberry Shortcake was becoming a nuisance.

Taft nearly came unglued. His anger arced out like a Tesla coil. He stepped toe to toe with me, and I steeled myself against whatever he might bring. But I swore on all things holy, if I got hit, tackled, or pushed through a skylight one more time this week, I was going on a killing spree. Starting with him.

He stood in my face a solid minute, whispered a hoarse, “Fuck you,” then stalked out the door.

Okey dokey. As interesting as that was, I had a date with Uncle Bob. And destiny.

After stuffing Reyes’s file in my shoulder bag, I locked up and headed to the office. Strawberry Shortcake followed, and it hit me that her initials were SS. Appropriate, but seriously, could this day get any worse?

“He doesn’t want me around, huh?” she asked, swinging her little arms at her sides. I barricaded my heart.

“Nope,” I said, checking my phone for messages. “Neither do I.”

She stomped her foot in a fit and stalked off. That was way easier than I thought it would be. When I had more time, I’d deal with the SS. For now, I had people to see and places to be.

Dad wasn’t in yet, so I took the outside staircase, slowly ’cause it hurt. The sun shone bright, making the day seem deceptively warm. On my long and arduous journey to the second floor, I went over what I had to do for the day. Number one, Yucca High. Ubie could flash his badge and get all kinds of cooperation. I needed transcripts and class rosters. Surely someone would remember Reyes. How could they forget him? I could cross-reference the students in each of his classes and find out who shared more than one class with him. The more exposure, the more likely they’d remember him. And his sister.

In one smooth move, I dumped my coat and bag on a chair, turned up the heat, then sashayed — somewhat rigidly — to the coffeepot for my morning fix. That’s when the world fell out from under me. Was it karma? Was my less-than-caring attitude toward Taft coming back to bite me on the ass, hot as it was? I checked and double-checked, searched and prayed, only to be left utterly and completely without a single coffee ground.

How was this possible? How could the universe be so cruel?

A knock on my door raised my hopes. It was the inside door to my office that Dad always used. He’d have coffee. If he knew what was good for him.

I opened the door wide, only to be met by a tense Garrett Swopes. My lungs released a long breath as I scowled at him. “What do you want?”

His expression softened. “I have coffee.”

I eyed the coffee in his hands, tried to keep from drooling, wondered if the gods were toying with me, then gave in. Fine, I’d play along.

Plastering a bright smile on my face, I began again. “Oh, hey there, Garrett. What’s up?” Good enough. I snatched the coffee from his hands and started back for the slippery comfort of my plastic wood-grained office furniture and faux-leather chair. “What do you want?” I asked over my shoulder.

“I just want to talk.”

“I’m busy.”

“You don’t look busy. What are you doing?”

“Whatever the little voices tell me to do.”

“Will you just give me a minute?”

As if a delayed reaction had suddenly hit, Taft’s outburst was starting to gnaw. Another person angry with me for no reason. Eating away at me as well were the hostile, wary glances at the police station yesterday. In fact, men in general were pretty low on my list of priorities at the moment. Garrett could bite my ass.

“I don’t feel particularly inclined to give you anything, Swopes. Not even a minute.”

“How did you do it? Yesterday at the station. What did you say to him?”

“Please. Like you’d believe me if I told you.”

“Look,” he said, stalking forward, “you gotta admit, it’s all a little hard to swallow, but I’m trying.”

I jumped out of my seat, suddenly angry at the world, and faced Garrett head-on. “You know what I’m tired of?”

He thought a moment. “Unsightly cellulite?”

“People like those assholes at the station yesterday. People like Taft with their sideways glances and hushed whispers who turn their backs on me every time I walk into a room. People like you who treat me like shit until they figure out I really can do what I say I can do. And then suddenly I’m their best friend.”

“Taft? That cop?”

“And, and them!”

“Them?”

“All of them! Wanting me to tie up all the loose ends they left hanging when they bit it.”

“I would think your lawyers—”

“Not the lawyers,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. “They have every reason to want their loose ends tied up. It’s these people who come to me with, ‘I didn’t tell Stella I loved her before I got sucked into that jet engine.’ ”

“Okay, slowly, and without making any sudden movements, hand over the coffee. I’ll go get you another cup, and we can start over.”

“What’s wrong with this cup?” I asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

“You need decaf.”

I pulled in a long deep breath and sat back behind my desk. Tantrums never got me anywhere fast. “Sorry. I’m working on a deadline.”

“This case?”

“No,” I said, thinking about Reyes in that hospital bed, connected to machines just to keep him alive. After several soothing sips of java, I calmed down. Well, kind of. My insides were still seething a bit. Taft was a freak. “So, that’s why you’re here? To find out what I said?”

“Pretty much. And to chew your ass out for being at the wrong place at the wrong time again.”

“Pffft. Stand in line.”

“That guy tackled you pretty hard. Do you look for ways to be maimed?”

“Not daily. Have you heard anything about the warehouse?”

“I’ve gotten just enough on it to make me think it’s not what we think it is.”

“Oh, well, good thing I wasn’t married to my beliefs.”

“I’ve heard talk that the good Father who owns it really is a good Father. He runs a mission for runaway kids downtown.”

“Kids?” I asked.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” he asked, referring back to my deal with Julio Ontiveros.

“Nope. Since we have two kids involved in Mark Weir’s case, I’d say there’s a connection somewhere.”

“It’s possible. Can you give me a hint?”

A knock at the door saved me from once again having to say no. What was it with men and the word no anyway?

It was the side door Garrett came through. “Come on in, Dad,” I called. Then I turned to Garrett. “You know, we do have a front door.”

He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug.

When Dad didn’t come in, I stood and walked to the door. “Dad, you can come in,” I said as I opened it. A split second later, my life flashed before my eyes, and I came to one important conclusion about it.

It was fun while it lasted.