I took a deep breath. Michelle was right. I screwed up.
"Okay," I said. "How do I fix it?"
"You want to fix it?" Michelle crossed her arms over her chest and glanced out my window. She pressed her lips together, thinking. "I don't know how you will fix it. If what you're saying is true, if she did try to kill you, then she's on to you. She's going to play everything closer to her chest. You screwed yourself and this paper. Which sucks, because how fitting would it be to release an article taking her down the day before her gala tomorrow night?"
I furrowed my brows. "Wait, what gala?" I asked. I tried to rack my brain about whether I had heard about the event or not.
Michelle snorted and flung her arm in the air. "You're so wrapped up in your own issues that you're doing a shitty job of paying attention to what matters," she said. "The Guzman family is having their annual fundraising gala for the nonprofit they choose. It's a different one every year. This year, I think it's domestic abuse for both men and women. It's tomorrow night at the Segerstrom building."
"The Gold Tower?" I asked. My mind started to bring in the various thoughts. "I do remember hearing about that." I started to log in to my computer. "Can I get a press pass so I can attend?"
"I already gave out the two passes I had to Lockheart and his guy," Michelle said. "I wanted to give them to you, but after The Post scooped us, I had to throw my hat in a different ring. And I'm glad I did, after what you just told me. You need to sit this one out, Lara. You need to regroup and figure out your next plan of attack. What do you want with your life? Is this really it?"
"You did the same when you wrote for this paper," I pointed out before clicking on an Internet browser.
"Yes, and now I'm a jaded bitch, sitting on top of an Onyx tower, looking down at this corrupted city I can't write about alone," Michelle said. "I don't want that for you. Hell, I don't want it for me. But I made my bed. You haven't yet." She rubbed her temples with her hands. "Do you have anything? Anything at all we can use?"
I wanted to say yes. I wanted my account of what happened yesterday to be enough.
But I had nothing.
I gave her a sheepish smile.
"You mean you didn't even interview her?" Michelle asked. "In between shooting leading statements that were probably more insulting than actually informative?"
"I'm going to make some calls," I said slowly, reaching for my office phone.
"You're on thin ice, Tucker," she said. "I can't keep protecting you. You know that, right?"
"Yeah," I said with a nod. "I know."
I quickly dialed Detective Estrada's desk phone. I hoped he was there. He answered on second ring.
"Estrada," he said.
"Did you know Guzman tried to have me killed yesterday when I went over for an interview?"
I heard him heave a sigh on the other end of the phone. "This again?" I could picture him rubbing his temples and shake his head, like he was so done with me he refused to even contemplate starting.
"Not this again," he muttered to himself.
"It's true," I insisted. "Weren't the cops called to her place of residence yesterday, around nine, nine thirty in the morning?"
There was a pause. "Are you being serious right now or are you trying to manipulate me into giving you information?" he asked. "Because I'm not going to be a pawn in your little game, Lara. I'm through with it, okay?"
"Manipulate you?" I asked. "I want to know if a report was taken. I'm a victim, Isaac, a victim. Second time over. All I want to know if a report was filed because if not, I want to file one."
Another long pause. "The only thing I've heard is multiple sightings of your friend, the Big Bad Wolf, roaming around her place of residence," he said. "Knowing you and what you think of the mayor, I wouldn't be surprised if you got your buddy to do some recon on her. Maybe you are trying to kill her."
I scoffed. "You're smarter than that, Estrada," I said. "You know Jon wouldn't trouble himself with the mayor unless it had something to do with what he is now."
"Or you."
"Excuse me?" I started to tap my fingers on my desk, feeling my body tense up.
"You heard me," Isaac said. "Don't pretend you aren't aware of it, either. I wouldn't be surprised if you use it to your advantage."
"What are you talking about?" I shook my head, even though he couldn't see me.
"You're smarter than that, Tucker," he retorted. "Jon Hawkins or whatever the hell he is will come to you the second you lift a finger. I don't know what the hell you guys have got going—"
"There's nothing," I tried to insist but Estrada didn't want to hear it.
"Whatever you guys have got going," he repeated, "between the two of you, it doesn't make you look good. And this whole thing between you and the mayor makes you look even worse. And now, you're calling me, asking about some phantom report when all I've heard is that there were sightings of a wolf. That's it. Sightings of a wolf. We had to send someone—you know how we cops love to call us over every little thing—and he saw nothing."
"No bullet casings, no bullet holes?" I asked.
"Why would there be bullet anything, Tucker?"
"Are you deaf?" I asked. "I told you she tried to have me killed. I was shot at."
"You better change your tone if you want me to keep listening to the garbage coming out of your mouth," he shot back.
I clenched my jaw. "I'm sorry," I said, though I was more annoyed than sincere. "Look, I don't have any evidence except what I told you."
"Why was your wolf there?" Estrada asked.
"What?"
"The Big Bad Wolf," Estrada said. "Why was he there?"
I frowned. I didn't know the answer to that question. What I assumed was Jon heard about me going to interview the mayor and he wanted to keep an eye on me, but that could be me being delusional and self-involved. What if Jon had his own agenda when it came to visiting the mayor?
I cleared my throat. "He heard about me interviewing Guzman," I told him.
"Hmm." There was a long pause on the other line. "You sure about that? You sure he doesn't think Guzman has something to do with what he is?"
"How would Guzman be involved in the first place?" I asked. "She's six, seven years older than I am. There's no way she would have personally ordered serum to be injected in fallen military heroes."
"Maybe it's not Guzman he was after," Estrada pointed out.
I pressed the phone tightly to my ear and waited for the words to sink in. It left a lingering silence between us but I didn't care if it was awkward or quiet. I needed to think. There was something there, something that tickled the back of my mind. Something I was missing.
"Ramiro," I said out loud. My eyes widened. Could Jon be after Ramiro? "Estrada, how do you—"
"Look, Tucker," Estrada said, cutting me off. "I don't have time to play your little games. You either file a report or you don't. If you do, you need to come down to the station with a valid ID and any proof you might have about your story. Personally, it doesn't sound like you have proof at all, which is a shame because there's nothing I can do without proof, you understand?"
I opened my mouth to argue but stopped. Sometimes, I got so wrapped up in a theory that I forgot what people were doing, that people could be helpful without making it obvious. That I was cleverer than I was behaving.
"Uh, yeah," I said, nodding my head. I stopped when I remembered he couldn't see me. "Thank you for the advice."
"I'll catch you later." A beat. "Oh, and Tucker?"
"Yeah?"
"For the love of all the things that are holy, stay out of trouble."
I allowed myself a small smile as I set down the phone.
Michelle had given me the rest of the day to get my head on straight, which I appreciated because I needed it. I didn't like to admit to needing things like that, but in this case, I needed time and space.
I picked up a couple of sandwiches before heading back to Robbie's penthouse. I smiled at the doorman wh
o knew me nearly as well as mine did simply because when Robbie and I had been dating, I was constantly over at his place. He was nice to me and I always tried to bring him some food or a hot chocolate during the winter.
When I reached the top floor, my mind was already buzzing with energy.
"Can you get me a ticket to the gala tomorrow night?" I asked. I dropped Robbie's sandwich on his keyboard, hoping it would suffice as a bribe. Not that Robbie needed it. He was as rich as sin. But it made me feel somewhat useful.
"What?" He grabbed the sandwich and began to unwrap it without asking what kind it was or why I got it for him. "Why would you want to go there? Isn't that…?" His voice trailed off. Just before he took a bite out of the sandwich, he stopped and his eyes slid to me. "No."
"Robbie, please," I said. "I talked to Estrada. I need evidence or else—"
"You almost got killed!" he pointed out. "Does that not register with you? Your friend had to come over to me and get me to take you in. Not that he needed to do that, I would do it no matter what, but—"
"Robbie, I'm asking you to help me get in," I said. "Maybe if I just talk to her, I can get her to admit something. I can have it recording. She wouldn't even know."
"Guzman is not that stupid," he insisted.
I raised my eyebrow.
"She might be a bitch and maybe she's not the brains of the operation," Robbie said. "My gut's telling me her uncle is pulling the strings. But she's not stupid."
"Robbie, she's telling everyone Jon tried to kill both of us," I said. "More than that, she told The Post. Our competitor. Not only is she fucking me over and trying to kill me, but she's trying to make Jon look worse than he is."
"He's a serial killer, Lara!" Robbie said, all but tossing his sandwich back on the keyboard. "He can't really look worse unless rape and child molestation are involved."
"Robbie, you know he's not a serial killer. Serial killers are random. Jon is taking out everyone who made him what he is."
"Like that's any better."
"I'm not justifying his behavior—"
"It certainly sounds like you are, which is complete horseshit, Lara, because there need to be lines." He shot up like a rocket and caught his breath. "I know…I know he's your friend. I know you understand him. But that doesn't make what he's done right."
"So it's okay for Guzman to lie about Jon because Jon deserves it?" I asked. "Because he's a killer, so an attempted murder is okay because he fits the profile?"
Robbie looked away. "You know that's not what I'm saying," he muttered.
"Please, Robbie," I said. "Just one ticket."
He plopped back in his seat and took a large bite of the sandwich. That was as good of a yes as I was going to get.
Chapter 13
I never knew what to wear to parties or formal events, so I typically opted for professional business attire like a pantsuit or a pencil skirt. When Robbie’s eyes fell on my body and what I was going to wear to the gala that evening, he pinched the bridge of his nose and huffed a sigh that seemed to last for thirty seconds. He muttered to himself in Hebrew before waving his hand and shaking his head.
"No," he said. "Nope. Not this time. If you don't go out and buy a dress that will blend in with everyone else's attire, I quit."
I refrained from rolling my eyes, but I took his offered credit card and bought the first nice dress I found. It was a black strapless gown that cinched at the waist and flared at the hips, reaching the floor unless I wore black high heels—which I did. I almost chose not to, only because I was afraid of running in them and subsequently losing another pair. My hair was in a high ponytail in order to keep the hair from getting in my face or being an easy target for someone to pull. My makeup was light, save for the red lipstick and dark mascara. It took me maybe a half hour to get ready.
When Robbie saw me, his mouth dropped open and his eyes studied me the way he studied his computer screen.
"What?" I asked, feeling myself shift underneath his gaze with obvious discomfort.
"You look…" He let his voice trail off as he ripped his eyes away from me and began to tug at his cufflinks. "Are you ready to go? I have a car service waiting downstairs. They just called to let me know they're here."
"I still don't know how I feel about you going," I murmured. I grabbed my clutch from the leather coach. "You are a private person, Robbie. Showing up to a gala…"
"You're going to be there," he pointed out, deigning to look at me once again. "I have a reason to be there. And I can't let anything happen to you. I may not be able to turn into a wolf, but I do have a black belt in jujitsu so I do know how to kick ass."
"I can kick ass myself, thank you," I said, though my lips did turn up.
"You took one lesson from me before we broke up," Robbie pointed out as he attempted to tie his tie. "I think I need to start training you again because you keep getting yourself into shit that you can't get out of. Jon isn't always going to be around to save you."
"You think I want to be saved?" I dropped my clutch once again and stepped over to Robbie, taking the tie in my hands. He dropped his arms to his sides.
"I think you act before you think and you put yourself in situations that require you to be saved, yes," he said. "And I think you're too deep to realize it. I think you shut people out. Why do you think we broke up?"
I walked past Robbie, rubbing my temples with my fingers. "I don't want to talk about why we broke up, Robbie," I said. "That's not why I'm here."
"No," he agreed, following me. "You're here because the only other person who seems to care about you, besides me, is some fucking serial killer with a vendetta against our military program because he believes our government turned him into a fucking werewolf to be used as some kind of weapon, so said werewolf went on a rampage and killed twelve people before disappearing. And now he's back, conveniently showing up when Guzman's thugs are just about to kill you."
I stopped walking and let Robbie's words sink in. I wasn't sure what he was getting at, but the fact that he managed to get all of that out was both impressive and scary. It meant he was passionate about what he was saying, and usually, when he was passionate about something, it typically meant that he was right about it.
"That should say something, Lara," he pushed.
"All right," I said, more calm than I actually felt. I turned to look at him. "What does that say, then?"
"It says you should get out more," he said. "You don't have any girlfriends. Don't you think that's a problem? No, wait. Scratch that. You don't have any friends, period. Besides me and that serial killer. And that's only when you want to honor me with your presence."
"And what is that supposed to mean?" I crossed my arms over my chest.
"What do you think it means?" Robbie asked. "When was the last time you went out of your way to invite me over for a cup of coffee?"
"Robbie," I said, closing my eyes. Was he really going to give me a hard time because I hadn't made time for him? My life was already in turmoil. I nearly died. Why was he giving me shit about something as innocuous as this?
"Don't ‘Robbie’ me. Don't say it in that tone."
"What tone?"
"It's the same tone you use when you're exasperated with a subject, you think you're right, and you don't want to waste your precious time doing me a favor and attempting to look at it from my point of view," Robbie said. "This is so typical. You don't consider anyone else. Lara, I worry about you constantly. I'm proud of you. I check in with you once a week."
"I'm sorry my life is too busy to check in with you," I snapped. "I'm sorry that you think I don't care about you because I don't check in. But, Robbie, you have to understand. I'm not ready to confront the fact that we aren't together. The last person I want to be is the ex who still depends on my ex for things. I need to be able to stand on my own two feet, and it feels like you still want me to need you."
Robbie walked towards me. The wrinkle between his brows told me how frustrated he was with me. I hope
my glare did the same to him. But the minute he reached me, it was like he lost steam. He sighed. He reached out like he wanted to touch me, maybe hold my shoulders, maybe to hold my face. I didn't know. But he dropped his arms, choosing not to try and talk to me at all.
For that, I was grateful.
"I don't need that," he said. "I promise, I'm not looking to be your knight in shining armor. I would be honored just to be your pool boy. I just want to help, Lara. I just want to keep you safe. And it's like, you don't care. You don't care about how I feel or how Hawkins feels. You're going to do whatever you want to do with no regard for anyone else because you think you're right. And honestly, as someone who has loved you with every piece of his being for over a year, that fucking sucks."
I faltered. My heart squeezed painfully. More guilt shot through me.
I turned from Robbie to look out the window. I didn't want him to see me cry. I just did my makeup. I had an Uber waiting downstairs for me. I needed to go. And yet, leaving Robbie would have been the worst thing I could do.
"What do you want me to do, Robbie?" I finally asked. I turned my head to look over my bare shoulder. "You want me to stop being an investigative journalist? You want me to stop wondering what happened to my uncle? My grandfather? You want me to stop caring about the fact that Guzman is a snake surrounded by other snakes and she's feeding on the city of Perry like she's some kind of succubus?"
"Of course not," Robbie said. "I don't want you to change who you are. But I want you to care about yourself more than about everything else."
I nodded my head. The tears had subsided for now.
"I do," I said. "That's why I have to go. I have to do this."
I heard him sigh but I stopped looking at him. Instead, I walked around him, picked up my clutch from the couch, and headed out the door without saying anything else to him. I couldn't. If I did, I might have completely fallen apart, and right now, I needed to be strong.
Bloodshade Page 12