So I’m sitting on the rock, staring at the edge of the bluff, trying to spot the gun, when I hear footsteps approaching from behind.
A man clears his throat and speaks accented English.
“Miss Lu?”
I twist to look back over my shoulder. A man wearing a mask stands several yards away. His eyes are dark. He’s not wearing a uniform like the others—he has on khakis and a blue polo shirt—but it’s clear he’s a cop.
“My name is Ramon. I would like to ask you some questions.”
He motions at the two officers watching over me, and the two officers head back to the others without a word.
Ramon says, “What state?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You are from America, yes? What state are you from?”
“California.”
“Where in California?”
“San Diego. I go to school there.”
Is the man trying to trip me up? It’s hard to say. These questions can simply be an icebreaker of sorts before he starts to really dig in. I gave the other officers my basic information—I’d memorized the entire cover, even the insubstantial bullshit like who I went to prom with in high school and the name of my favorite professor—and those officers no doubt shared that information with Ramon.
Speaking of which …
“Are you a detective?”
“In a way. I am a crime scene investigator.”
“Am I free to leave?”
“Not yet. I need to ask you a couple more questions.”
“Like what?”
“Like what happened to your face.”
Direct. I like it.
I look away from him for a couple seconds, showing my irritation but also my discomfort. Because this, too, is part of my cover story. Not added to the Samantha Lu cover that Atticus gave me, but my own cover story because I always knew there was a chance it would come up.
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
Ramon is quiet for a beat.
“I understand.”
“It’s just”—I shake my head—“I don’t want to talk about him.”
Ramon says nothing.
I give it another couple seconds, staring past the man, before I look back at him. And now, to add the finishing touch, a tear rolls down my cheek.
“My boyfriend did it, okay?”
This isn’t technically a lie. Zane is responsible for what happened to my face, not to mention my broken rib. The only thing is, of course, for two years I had believed Zane was dead, killed by my father, until he showed up recently to kidnap the Hadden children.
I sigh, shake my head again.
“He sometimes got jealous, but he never did anything about it other than shout at me. Like, I never even flirted with other guys, but one night he thought I had hooked up with this guy at a bar and then he … well, he did this.”
I don’t bother pointing at my face to indicate what this is. I let the bruises speak for themselves.
Ramon asks, “Where is your boyfriend now?”
If we’re talking about Zane, the answer is dead. But if we’re talking about Samantha Lu’s boyfriend …
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I left him. I hope I never see him again. I should have”—I hitch my voice for dramatic effect—“I know I should have pressed charges but I … I just didn’t, okay? I know it was stupid, but I didn’t feel like dealing with it. And so I just wanted to get away. That’s why I got in the car and drove south. I didn’t even realize I was planning to come to Mexico until I’d crossed the border.”
Ramon is silent again. He glances out toward the ocean, then back toward the building and the crowd of police, before turning back to me.
“What brought you out here?”
“I told you, I didn’t plan on coming to Mexico. I had to get away from—”
“No. I mean what brought you out here, to this specific location?”
He gestures at the building as if his words aren’t specific enough. Like he thinks I’m not focused right now. Which is good. That means my act is working.
“I saw smoke.”
“You saw smoke.”
“Yes. From the road. It seemed … wrong. Like it wasn’t supposed to be there.”
“So you turned off the highway.”
“Yes.”
“What did you intend to do once you found the source of the smoke?”
“You mean like the fire? I don’t know. Probably call 911. Though, like, is 911 even the emergency number down here? I guess first I just wanted to make sure nothing was wrong. Like, maybe it was some people burning trash or something. But then I saw the building was on fire, and I just—”
I let it hang there, closing my eyes and shaking my head.
Ramon says, “Why did you go inside?”
“I don’t know. It was stupid of me, I admit that, but at the moment I worried that maybe somebody was inside. I mean, there wasn’t any fire at that point, it was just smoke, so I went inside and—”
I shake my head again, forcing pain into my face at the mere memory.
“It was awful. I mean … what happened?”
“That’s something we’re still investigating.”
He doesn’t say anything else, just stands there staring at me with his greenish gray eyes. I’m pretty good when it comes to staring contests, but today is not a day to challenge this man.
I look away from Ramon, back toward the building.
“Am I in some kind of trouble?”
“Why would you be in trouble?”
“The other officers told me I had to wait here. They said I couldn’t leave. I’ll be honest—I’m scared.”
“What is there to be scared about?”
Now it’s my turn—Samantha Lu’s turn, really—to not answer.
Ramon says, “You no doubt hear stories about police corruption here in Mexico. I am not going to lie to you and say it does not exist, but you have
