My first instinct is to snipe How convenient, and I force myself to swallow the words because I don’t know where they’re coming from. Do I think Mateo is lying, or am I just angry with him? Both? I need more information before I can decide. “Did you know about Charlie?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
Mateo hesitates. “Not exactly. But I saw the name on Autumn’s phone this morning, and she acted all sketchy, so I wondered if one of the people she was selling with was named Charlie. Then all of a sudden Boney’s dead, and there’s this list with his name circled, and Charlie’s—and mine, which made no sense. So I wanted to talk to Charlie about it.”
I glare at him. “But not to us, huh? Even though we straight-up asked if there was any connection you could think of.”
“Opioids,” Ivy says faintly. “But that’s what—oh God, I never told you, did I?” Mateo furrows his brow, confused, until she adds, “That’s what my mother’s award is about. She was the lead statistician for the governor’s report on opioid abuse.”
Mateo’s shoulders slump even lower. “Shit, I didn’t—I had no idea.”
I fold my arms. “Would it have changed anything if you did?”
He doesn’t reply, and Ivy speaks up again. “Is that why you went into Charlie’s house alone?” she asks, her gaze fixed intently on Mateo. “Because you didn’t want us to know what Autumn’s been doing?”
I almost ask how brave she thinks he is now, but manage to bite it back. It’s a cheap shot, and she’s not the one I’m angry with right now.
Mateo’s face turns a dull red. “Yeah. I should’ve said something, I know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight.” He throws Ivy an apologetic, almost pleading look, and the fact that he’s worried about her reaction, when I’m the one who just spent ten minutes trying to coax sense out of Charlie, makes my temper spike even higher.
“Were you thinking straight while you were selling Oxy?” I snap.
“I wasn’t the one selling,” Mateo says, a hard edge creeping into his voice.
Usually, when Mateo sounds like that, I back down. I’m not a tough guy by any stretch of the imagination. But for the first time all day, I’m not the one who needs to justify himself. It’s Mateo’s turn, and he’s more than earned it.
“Does it matter?” I ask coldly. “You knew. Maybe if you’d bothered to give us a heads-up, we wouldn’t have walked into Charlie’s ransacked drug den like a bunch of clueless—” And then I freeze, all the rage draining out of me as I’m struck by a single, horrifying thought. “Wait a sec. Charlie said he doesn’t keep Oxy at home, so whoever ripped his house apart didn’t find what they were looking for. If they’re working from the list, they probably moved on to your house. Is anyone home?”
“No,” Mateo says quickly. “Autumn’s at work and my mom’s in the Bronx, remember?” He drags a hand through his hair, his expression ragged. “But yeah, my house probably looks like Charlie’s right about now. Autumn doesn’t keep anything there, either—she says they moved the stash from the shed where they found it to some other location—but I guess it doesn’t matter. Whoever’s doing this isn’t asking questions, they’re just…they’re doing whatever the hell they want.” He swallows hard. “Autumn really messed with the wrong people.”
“Yeah, she did. And you let her,” I say, my anger returning now that I know his family is safe. For now, at least. “Oxy’s no joke, Mateo.” I don’t know much about it, to be honest, but ever since Wes learned about a spike at Carlton College, he’s been up late most nights reading about addiction and overdose rates. Sometimes he shares his findings over breakfast, and I can hear his worried voice as clear as a bell as I continue, “People’s lives get ruined. Do you even understand how serious this is?”
Mateo’s eyes flash, and I brace myself for a scathing response. I want it, actually, and move a little closer so he knows I won’t back down. For a second we just stare at each other, shoulders squared and fists curled at our sides like we’re about to throw down. Which is ridiculous, because I don’t know how to fight and if I tried, he’d kick my ass. I mean, look at what happened to Charlie. He has twenty pounds on me and a golf club, and still almost died.
But right now, I’m mad enough to not care.
Then Mateo drops his head and rubs the back of his neck, looking suddenly exhausted. The dark circles I noticed this morning are more prominent than ever. “Yeah,” he says heavily. “I understand.”
I blink, and have to literally bite my tongue to keep from spewing more vitriol. I wasn’t expecting him to agree with me, and it takes the wind right out of my sails. I was ready to go toe-to-toe with defiant Mateo, but this guy? This guy looks like he hates himself.