Her features turned hard, the way Reece’s could turn when he was angry. “No one lives here by that name.” She looked pointedly at my fingers where they gripped the door frame.
“Please,” I said, hesitantly removing them. “I need to know where I can find your son.”
Her eyes glassed over. “My son is dead,” she said, and shut the door.
The dead bolt slid home.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and scrolled to the contact list. There was only one other number, and I called the only person who might know where to find him.
? ? ?
“You shouldn’t be here.” Reece stood half dressed, holding the door to barricade my way.
“I called. You didn’t pick up your phone.” I jammed the cell into his stomach, knocking enough wind out of him to make an opening for myself. “I got a text last night,” I said as I ducked under his arm.
I looked around his apartment. Sparse but tidy. The warm citrus and sandalwood cologne he wore last night lingered in the compact space.
He raked a hand through his unwashed hair and shut the door, looking weary. His jeans rode too low on his hips and I wondered when he’d last eaten. I looked away as he scrolled through the phone, face drawn and shadowed.
“Who else has the number?” He tossed me the phone.
“Just you.”
“Anyone else have access to your locker?”
Jeremy had my combination, but I wouldn’t let him get caught up in this. I bit my tongue and lied. “No.”
His jaw ticked as he studied my face. “How’d you find me?”
I didn’t want to tell him how I’d looked up his address and knocked on his mother’s door. Truthfully, I was afraid he might ask me what she’d said. And I could never look him in the eyes and tell him he was dead to her. Instead I looked around the room and skipped that part.
“I called Gena. I told her it was an emergency and then bugged the crap out of her until she gave me your address. What is it with you people and milk crates?” I changed the subject, nudging an overturned crate with my toe, remembering the ones in Gena’s apartment. His crooked smile, the one that used to come so easily, hadn’t made an appearance and I was surprised that I missed it. He fell into a lumpy sofa with squeaky springs, lacing his fingers behind his head.
“You people? Care to elaborate on that?”
I stood in the middle of the room and did a slow 360 so I wouldn’t have to see the suspicion on his face. “Nicholson’s people.”
He tipped a soda can to his lips and looked at me over a long pull. I could feel him puzzling through me, trying to figure out how I knew and how much I knew.
I glanced around the room, pausing in front of his bedroom door. A pair of faded jeans and boxer shorts were tossed on the floor beside the unmade bed and I wondered if anyone slept there with him. Or if he truly was alone.
“Do you have a roommate? Narcing must not pay you very much.”
“Enough for milk crates.” His eyes made a lazy pass over the tousled sheets. “And no, I don’t have a roommate.”
My face warmed and I turned away.
“What do you remember?” he grumbled.
“Everything, I think. I sobered up pretty quickly. The rain helped, but the headache is a killer.” The nagging tension lingered behind my eyes and made my glasses feel too heavy. I had to ask the question that had kept me up all night. “Was she . . . ?” I couldn’t make myself say the word, even though I’d known she was dead the second I saw the bloodless cuts in her arm.
He nodded.
I sank down onto the sofa beside him. “What happened after I left?”
“I cleared out before the cops came.”
“Are they coming for me?”
The pause felt too long. Reece looked down at his lap and picked at the tab of his soda can. “I don’t think so. Gena called me this morning and filled me in. The judge denied the cops’ request for a warrant.”
“Why?” Not that I wasn’t grateful and relieved, but I was surprised.
“They don’t have enough evidence to charge you with a crime. The most they can do is bring you in for questioning for a few hours with your mother and a lawyer. Gena and I were with you before the rave. Plenty of people saw you inside the warehouse, and an undercover cop claims he saw you before the time of Kylie’s murder. He verified that you were inebriated and unconscious, and therefore incapable of any involvement. And as of this morning, we have a statement from a very cooperative taxi driver who says he dropped you off, drunk and barely conscious, at your trailer before midnight.”
I raised a finger to interrupt. I’d gotten home at 1:30 a.m. and I was completely conscious.