Do not disturb. Already there.
Throughout the evening, Reyes nudged me, brushed up against my arm, slid his fingers over my mouth, causing little earthquakes to shimmy through my body. But at the moment, I had a house full of badges. Literally. I’d bet my last nickel even Mr. Wong was feeling claustrophobic, hovering in his corner, his back to the world. Heck, even the police chief and the DA were in my apartment. I totally should have spruced up the place. Put out some candles. Made a cheese ball. Cookie was busy filling cups of coffee, and Amber was busy flirting with a rookie named Dead Meat if he didn’t stop flirting back. She was eleven, for heaven’s sake! Of course, he may have just been humoring her. And it was a little cute. In a gross, Chester-the-molester kind of way.
Around midchaos, I got a call from Chrystal’s cousin.
“Hi, is this Ms. Davidson?” she’d said, her voice iffy.
“That’s me. Is this Debra?” I asked, glancing over at Teddy. I was sure he’d freak with all the cops around, but he seemed calm, almost relieved.
“Yeah,” the caller said. “Chrystal told me you’re looking for Reyes Farrow’s sister. I called my friend Emily, and she could only remember his sister’s first name as well. It was Kim. She and Reyes had different last names.”
Interesting. I wondered if it was Walker, as in Earl Walker.
“That’s all we remember about her,” she continued. “Except she was really nice.”
“Well, that’s more than I had yesterday.”
“Sorry I can’t be of more help. You know, they were really good friends with Amador Sanchez.”
“Yes, I keep hearing that.” Perhaps this Amador Sanchez was the way to go. He clearly knew them both well. “Hey, what school did you guys go to?”
“Oh, we were at Eisenhower Middle School.”
“Okay, I got a Kim at Eisenhower Middle School about twelve years ago, right?”
“Exactly. I hope you find her.”
“Thanks so much for calling, Debra.”
“Not at all.”
Well, that didn’t get me anywhere fast. But I had a Kim and an Eisenhower Middle School. Looks like I’d be hanging with Uncle Bob again tomorrow if he’d have me. I wondered if he’d let me drive.
“Oh,” Cookie said, sashaying up to me. She’d been flirting as well. “I got an address and a number for your Amador Sanchez.”
“Suh-weet.” Before going to the school, I’d pay Mr. Sanchez a visit. He could probably tell me the sister’s last name and where to find her. Cell mates shared everything. Especially cell mates who’d been friends in their previous lives.
We high-fived, and she went to warm another cup. It was almost eleven, and all the late nights were taking their toll, as were the beatings. While my body throbbed with fatigue, my mind refused to be subdued.
I sat down beside Teddy to make sure he was doing okay. Surprisingly, he took my hand into his. I squeezed. The kid had stolen my heart the moment he walked out of the shadows. I hated when that happened. The DA sat across from us, questioning Teddy, his expression a mixture of interest and worry.
“Can I talk to you?”
Officer Taft stood over me, looking down. I looked past him toward Demon Child. She was doing her best to lure Mr. Wong into a game of hopscotch.
“Not really in the mood, Taft,” I said, dismissing him with a frosty shoulder.
“I’m sorry about this morning. You just took me by surprise.”
With a glare of distrust, I turned back to him. “If you’re going to throw another tantrum, there’s really no need to talk.”
He set his coffee cup down and squatted beside me. “I promise. No tantrums. Would you just give me a chance to explain?”
He wasn’t in uniform, and I was sure he’d come over just to talk to me, having no idea he’d be met by a room full of uniforms. After giving Teddy’s hand another quick squeeze, I led Taft into the bedroom, where we could talk in private. Reyes followed. That worried me. I didn’t want to have to explain why Taft’s spinal cord was severed if he did anything stupid. It would be awkward. I’d probably have to make a statement, and I wasn’t good at statements. I was much better at icy glares and smart-ass comebacks.
I plopped onto my bed, leaving Taft no choice but to stand. The only chair in the room was home to several pairs of jeans, a lace camisole, and a pristine pair of government-issue handcuffs. Oh, and pepper spray. A girl’s gotta have her some pepper spray. He leaned against my dresser, bracing his hands on either side of his hips.
But Reyes … Reyes was another story. He must have been growing impatient. He hovered beside me, brushed against my arm, feathered a breath over my ear, ruffling the hair at the nape of my neck. His nearness kick-started my libido. Knowing what the man was capable of, I started to shake. My lack of control where he was concerned was getting ridiculous.
Demon Child strolled in then and stopped short at the door, her eyes as wide as flying saucers as she took note of Reyes. While I couldn’t really see him — he was all dark fog and mist — she must have been getting an eyeful. Her jaw dropped, and she stood there, staring at him.
As if suddenly uncomfortable with the audience, Reyes moved to the window, and a chill settled over me with his absence. Demon Child stood stock-still, as if afraid to move. It was funny.
“This morning,” Taft said, luring me back to the task at hand, “the girl you described wasn’t from the accident scene.”
“Duh. Figured that.” My attitude didn’t seem to faze him.
He lowered his chin, clenched his hands on the dresser. “It was my sister.”
Damn. I should have known this went deeper than just some kid he knew from elementary school.
“She drowned in a lake by my parents’ house,” he added, his voice strained with sadness.
“He tried to save me,” Demon Child said, her eyes still locked on Reyes. “He almost died trying to save me.”
Steeling my heart against the daughter of Satan, refusing to notice her tiny arms locked at her sides, her large blue eyes glowing in wonder, her doll-like mouth slightly agape, I leveled my best scowl of disgust on her.
“Gross,” I said.
“What?” She finally tore her eyes off Reyes, but only for a split second before relocking onto him as if she had a radar tracking system in her corneas.
“You love him so much?” I asked her, quoting her earlier sentiment. “He’s your brother.”
“Is she here?” Taft asked.
“Not now, Taft. We have more serious issues to deal with at the moment.”
Strawberry’s expression morphed into bemusement as she finally focused on me. “But I do love him. He tried to save me. He was in the hospital for a week with pneumonia from all the water that got into his lungs.”
“I get that,” I said, raising a hand as if giving witness in church. I keep forgetting that there are siblings out there who actually love each other. “But he’s still your brother. You can’t be stalking him like this. It’s just wrong.”
Her bottom lip quivered. “He doesn’t want me around anymore, anyway.”
Double damn. Concentrating on anything besides the tears gathering between her lashes — taxes, nuclear war, poodles — I asked, “What do
“I want to stay with him.” She wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her pajamas, then sat on the floor with her legs crossed. She started drawing circles in the carpet and allowed her eyes to stray to Reyes for only brief moments at a time. “But if he doesn’t want me…”
Pulling in a long, tired breath, I said to Taft, “She tells me you tried to save her.”
He looked at me in surprise.
“That you spent a week in the hospital afterwards.”
“How does she know that?”
“I was there,” she said. “The whole time.”
