I pulled his shirt until he stopped. “I never saw the guy.”
He let that sink in for a moment. “Right. Look for him anyway.” We kept walking, peering into every party room and locker area and weaving through the gym slowly, pointedly. A group of guys were playing basketball on the inside court, and Chris stopped and studied them for a while, absently rubbing the back of his head. Thinking. Trying to remember.
I stared at the guys, unable to decide if any of them looked like a Heriberto to me. It was hopeless.
A few minutes passed; then Chris shook his head and continued walking. After poking our heads into a custodian closet and a restroom, we finally found ourselves outside.
School was in session, so there was hardly anyone in the pool. A few little kids splashed around in the shallow end, their mothers sprawled out on towels nearby. A bored-looking lifeguard stared off into space. I elbowed Chris and pointed up to the guard, raising my eyebrows in a silent question.
He gazed at the guard and then shook his head. “Nothing.”
We found two lounges in the corner, away from everyone else, but still with a view of the whole pool, and the entrance to the center beyond it. I spread my towel out on the chair and took off my cover-up, getting nervous goose bumps across my belly. I could feel Chris staring at me before I even got the cover-up over my head.
“What?” I asked, sharp, unfriendly.
“Nothing,” he said. “Nice suit. I didn’t really take you as a ruffle type of person.”
“It’s old, okay?” I snapped. I wished I had taken the time to go shopping this afternoon. Gotten a one-piece. A plain black one-piece. Ugly and boxy. With a skirt.
Chris stretched back on the lounge, then took off his shirt and draped it over his head to shield himself from the sun.
“You’re going to get a stupid-looking tan line doing that,” I warned.
“I’m not here to tan,” he said.
“Fine. Look ridiculous. See if I care.”
“Says the girl in a thirteen-year-old’s bikini.”
I felt myself blush and crossed my arms defensively. “I was fifteen, thank you.”
He gestured toward my chest. “You’re going to get a stupid-looking tan line doing that.” I glared at him; he chuckled.
Slowly, I uncrossed my arms. “Whatever.”
“Seriously, you look great. I’m just giving you trouble,” he said. “Not that I’m looking. I know how you are about that. Especially when you’re half-dressed in front of a camera.”
“Funny how selective your memory loss is.” I made air quotes around memory loss.
“I’m starting to remember a lot of things.” He leaned back in his chair again and crossed his arms behind his head. “Now I’m just hoping to remember why I was at this place. And what it has to do with that guy whose name you saw on my computer. If it has anything to do with him.”
I sat back, too, and was silent. Several employees came and went, relieving the lifeguard, chatting with one another; there was a shift switch at the snack bar. Every time I saw a new person, I flicked a glance at Chris, who was watching, nearly motionless. Either that, or he was sleeping. Impossible to tell behind those glasses. The late afternoon sun warmed us, then baked us, and suddenly he stood up and tossed his shirt onto the lounge next to him.
“Hot,” he said. He kicked off his flip-flops and headed toward the pool. I got a full view of the scars—surgery scars and some slick, pink spots where the road had ripped off his skin. I glanced away before he could notice I was looking. “Come on. I know you’re hot. I can see you sweating.”
Sure enough, beads of sweat stood out on my stomach. I was probably getting burnt, too. It was hot. But the idea of standing up and moving around in this ridiculous bikini made my nerves jump.
“I’m good. I’m watching. Which you should be doing, too.”
“I can watch from inside the pool.” He dipped a foot into the water and kicked a splash at me. It felt like ice, and I gasped when it hit my skin. “Come on.”
“Stop.” I sat up and pulled my knees into my chest.
He splashed me again, bigger this time. “You know you want to.”
“Stop.”
He didn’t stop. He splashed me again and laughed when I squealed and splashed again until I jumped up—completely forgetting about how naked I felt—and rushed him, shoving him into the pool, which was easy, given his recent injuries. Of course, shoving him into the pool was a terrible idea if I wanted him to stop splashing me. It only got more intense, and soon we were both laughing and it was almost like we were just two people having fun at a pool instead of who we really were—an awkward love/hate couple brought together by murder.
The water did feel good, though. I jumped in and swam to the far side and back again in one breath.
“Look at you, mermaid,” he said when I surfaced.
“Hardly,” I said. “I used to swim a lot after my mom died, that’s all.” Truth. Some of my best memories of Mom were together in the pool or at the beach. Mom loved to swim, and she passed that love down to me. After she died, I came to the pool to feel closer to her. I loved the way the water blocked out the noise and let me think. For those few minutes underwater, I could hear her talk to me. It was like she wasn’t gone; she was just in the water that we both loved. I tugged at my bikini bottom self-consciously.
“Never did much swimming in our neighborhood,” he said. “And my mom couldn’t afford to take us to someplace like this. Maybe that’s why I was hanging out here. Maybe I was just swimming. Or running on a treadmill. Hell, I don’t know. Who says I was chasing someone?”
“It was on your work computer.”
He bent his legs and propped himself against the wall, letting the water come up to his neck. “There’s a lot of things on my work computer. I looked up a restaurant menu today—does that mean I’m casing the restaurant? No.”
“Okay. Jeez.” I felt defensive. Like I had led him down a false path. Like if we didn’t find the guy who hit him, it would be my fault. “Haven’t you told me in the past that a bad lead is better than no lead at all?”
He thought it over. “Sounds like something I would say.”
“Uh-huh.” I sank down in the water next to him, aware of his shoulder brushing against mine. I drifted sideways a bit to break the connection. “So this was a dead end. What’s next? I guess we could go back to—”
He stood up suddenly, tipping his sunglasses so he could see over the top of them.
“What?” I asked, following his gaze. A man pushing a cart full of basketballs had stopped and was talking through the fence to some middle-school-aged boys standing in a recessed corner of the building. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” he said, but his voice said otherwise. “I think I know that guy.”
“That guy?” I pointed, but Chris pushed my hand down into the water. I stood so I was shoulder to shoulder with him again. Ignore the rainbow, Nikki. It is not a good time for the rainbow. “That guy?” I repeated, in a softer voice.
He chewed his lip, still watching. The man opened his cart, handed something through the fence, closed the cart again, and moved on. Chris sighed, resigned. “I don’t know. I thought maybe I knew him, but I guess not.” He pressed his palm to his temple and rubbed in circles, a scowl forming on his face. “I’m so sick of this. The ringing ears, the headaches. Trying to recall something impossible.” He gestured toward where the guy had been. “It’s like it’s all right in front of me, but I can’t grab it. Every time I think I’m back to my old self, I’m reminded that I’m not.”