“Fine, and I never said you had to. But if you want inside access, you don’t really have a choice.”
I felt my face get hot. I imagined myself filling from bottom to top with ragey rusty starbursts. It was like he’d lost his personality when he lost his memory. I took a breath and pressed my palms onto the counter to calm myself. I did not do vulnerable well, but it was starting to look like I had no choice. “Please, Chris,” I said. “I know you don’t remember bending rules for me before. And I know you don’t want to bend them now. But I’m desperate. I need your help. I think my dad might have had something to do with killing my mom. I have to know.”
We locked eyes for a long moment, and I saw his resolve melt away, draining the rust out of the air and replacing it with the blue-gray of protection, the yellow of . . . well, of Chris Martinez. He came back and sat next to me again.
I took a chance and placed my hand over his. I instantly felt the blazing rainbow I always felt when I touched him—my body feeling light and floaty, like I was sliding down an indigo stripe.
“If you . . . if we find something, you can reopen the case. I won’t stop you, even if he is my dad. Imagine how it would feel to come back to work after all you’ve been through and bust open an eleven-year-old case. You’d be a fucking hero.”
He gave a disgusted headshake, but even I knew it was only for show. My heart thumped with happiness.
“Jesus, you pile it on when you’re desperate. What do you need?”
Relief. “Eleven years ago, my mom was murdered. My dad was a suspect. He was questioned. I need you to find his file.” Chris pulled on his beer, thinking. I leaned forward so I could look up into his face. “He was the only suspect, Chris. I need to know why.” I need to know if I can provide the missing evidence, I didn’t say, because the thought of those words leaving my mouth scared the hell out of me.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll look.”
I pumped my fist, celebratory, and he cut me off with one hand. “I’ll look,” he repeated. “I’m not promising anything.”
“I never asked for promises,” I said. When he turned to gulp his beer again, I wrapped my arms around him and gave him the quickest squeeze.
We hung out for a few more minutes, neither of us really knowing what to talk about. I didn’t know about him, but I was too busy imagining what I might find in that file. Would it change everything? He loaded his dishwasher, his back to me most of the time. It felt awkward between us, and clearly it was time for me to go.
“Did you find anything about Heriberto Abana?” Chris asked as we made our way to the door.
“Not a thing.”
“That makes two of us. I’m guessing you’re just remembering something wrong.”
“Not possible.” I grabbed my keys out of my shoe and slipped my foot inside.
“Why? Because Nikki Kill’s hunches can’t ever be wrong?” He was teasing, but the words came out feathery fern.
“Actually, no, they really aren’t.” He was mocking me. I felt stupid for sharing my synesthesia with him before, and was suddenly glad he didn’t remember. I shoved my other foot into its shoe and straightened, clasping the doorknob. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. The guy is Heriberto Abana. You were searching for him before, and one of the addresses you searched him under had a five and two threes in it.”
“If you say so,” he said.
“I do.” I opened the door. When I turned to say good-bye, I noticed he had a piece of fuzz stuck to his stubble. I plucked it off. “You should probably shave before you go to work tomorrow. You look like a hobo.” I flicked the fuzz to the floor.
He ran his hand over his jaw, smiling. “Thanks for the advice. See you tomorrow.”
“Yes, you will.” I turned and bounded down the stairs, my stomach in knots over what he might find between now and then.
10
I WOKE UP before the sun, on the heels of a nightmare I couldn’t quite place. I had the feeling that Luna was in it, but I couldn’t be sure, and I didn’t want to scour my mind too hard to find her. Instead, I stared at the ceiling and listened to the water running in Dad’s bathroom, wondering what I would do when I finally found the missing piece to the puzzle of Mom’s death. I had pretty much convinced myself at this point that Dad was guilty of something. I’d given him so many chances to tell the truth, and he just wasn’t doing it. Whatever he was hiding, I had only hours to decide what I would do with that information when I found out.
For the first time, my problem felt bigger than me. More than I could handle on my own. I wasn’t used to that feeling. I was Nikki Kill. I was ass-kicking, fearless, and, most of all, invincible.
Only I wasn’t. Not all the time. Not now. And I knew it.
It would have been so nice to be able to talk to someone about everything. To come clean about Mom, about my suspicions of Dad, about my synesthesia, about my fears of Luna. Dru wouldn’t have understood anything, but he would have listened. Peyton would have understood everything. Didn’t matter. Neither of them was around anymore, anyway. Which left me with Chris to confide in.
How did I confide in a cop about how the cops had failed me my whole life?
How did I confide in him about my synesthesia after all this time?
Impossible. I got up and took a shower, taking as long as humanly possible to wash myself and get dressed. I heard Dad plod around the house, opening cabinets and shutting doors and turning faucets off and on. Eventually, I heard the front door open and close again, and then the sound of the garage door whining its way up and down. And then silence. It was just me.
Even with Hue around, it wasn’t easy to be just me in the house ever since I had been attacked in my kitchen. Twice. I always felt unseen eyes on me; heard breathing that didn’t exist in reality. Or maybe it did. Being home alone put me on edge. But then again, so did being home with Dad these days. So did everything.
I went downstairs and made myself a couple of pieces of toast, called Hue to my side, then spent half an hour or so trolling social media for Shelby Gray and any mention of Luna. Looked like Shelby had been busy being very Shelby—cavorting around the city in party mode, everything about her looking just a little bit better-than. Her black-hole eyes never smiled in any of the photographs—it was almost as if every smile was meant to convey power more than happiness. I scrolled through everything she had. No Luna. If they were hanging together, Shelby was being discreet about it.
Of course she was. Shelby Gray was no idiot. She knew that if Luna was found by authorities, it would be very bad for both of them. Luna would get sent back to juvie; Shelby would be locked up right along with her, and worse—she would be stuck being almost-but-never-quite-enough without Hollis fame to back her up.
I finished my toast and turned off my phone, and was just heading into Dad’s office for yet another round of You Will Never Crack This Code on the locked box under his desk, when my phone rang.
It was Chris.
“You find something?” I asked, skipping all pleasantries.
“Hello to you, too.”
I rolled my eyes. He could be a real baby sometimes. “Hi. How is your first day back going?”
“Going really, really good, actually. I remembered something.”
My heartbeat sped up. What if he remembered us? What if he remembered our kiss? “Ah,” I said, trying to sound cool. “You remembered where the good vending machine was. That’s great. A day without potato chips is a day without sunshine. Crime-fighting fuel, in fact.”
“Are you done?”
I smiled. He didn’t sound cranky. In fact, he kind of sounded excited. “Probably not, but you can continue anyway.”
“Meet me?”
“I was thinking of working out. You up for it?”
“I’ve been doing physical therapy since the day I woke up in the hospital.”
I scoffed, “I mean a real workout.”