by R. H. Herron
Omid looked tired, his eyelids heavy, but he smiled at their daughter. He always did. “And here I was thinking you’d forgotten all about me.”
“Never.” Jojo darted forward with a kiss for his cheek.
“What about you?” He looked at Laurie.
“Never,” she echoed, kissing his other stubbled cheek.
Honestly, he’d been the first person she’d thought of when her eyes had opened on the couch. She’d assumed she’d fallen asleep there after watching TV. Sometimes Omid woke her to come to bed, but sometimes he said she looked too peaceful and just draped the afghan over her. She’d thought Omid must be upstairs, twisted in the sheet—he slept like a hurricane—his CPAP mask whistling because he’d pushed it off his head again. Laurie had thought that she would start the coffee. She’d take him a cup, the way he did for her.
Then she’d seen Jojo’s empty red hoodie on the other end of the couch, and it all came back.
Her daughter had been roofied by an assailant and then by her own mother’s pills. Those fucking Ambien were going down the toilet today, the water supply be damned.
“Here.” Jojo opened the white plastic bag and shook the contents out on top of Omid’s legs. “Your favorite, sunflower seeds. And a People magazine. I know you don’t normally read it, but I’m telling you, it’s good. You can skip past the celebrity stuff and go right to the heartstring articles. I flipped through it, and there’s an article on a dog stuck in a well for three days.”
“Wow!” Omid opened it in the middle.
Harper’s missing. Laurie had told Jojo not to tell her dad, not right when they got there. Of course Omid knew that Harper had been with their daughter and hadn’t been located yet. But he didn’t know she was officially missing. Laurie could almost see the words bubbling up from her daughter’s head, a cartoon balloon of fear. Harper’s missing.
But Jojo held it in. “And Red Vines. And look, you love these.” She held up the sealed glass of cold-brewed coffee. “Snobby, hipster coffee, not even Starbucks. We bought it in the lobby.”
Laurie took half a step forward, rethinking their purchase. Wasn’t his heart supposed to be calm? “Wait, are you allowed to have coffee? Maybe it’s something you should cut back on?”
Omid barely glanced at her. He reached for the drink and snapped it open. “Coffee’s fine.”
“Did the doctor say that?” Although it was nice of him to want to please Jojo, he shouldn’t take it too far.
But Jojo shot her a look of fury so heated that Laurie felt sweat start under her armpits. “Way to go, Mom. Ruin my present. Thanks.”
Omid, though, waved a hand. “The doctor said coffee’s fine. I have to get some more levels checked, and it’s possible my ability to eat a pound of bacon on Sunday mornings might be suspended for a while, but coffee’s fine. Just nothing too high-stress for a little while as the meds kick in.”
Their daughter’s rapist was sitting in Omid’s jail, two and a half miles away. A man had been murdered just feet from her. Jojo’s childhood friend was missing. No stress, though.
Jojo dove into the plastic bag. “And gum! I got you so much gum! Look, honeydew flavor. That’s gonna be so disgusting. You have to chew it right now.”
Obligingly, Omid popped a piece in his mouth. He chewed and made a face. “Horrible. You gonna have some?”
“Gross!” Jojo squealed, sounding closer to twelve than sixteen. “I’ll have some sunflower seeds, though.”
And that squeal that Jojo made—that was maybe the hardest part of all to hear. That girly, innocent sound. Laurie wanted to roll time backward until she was kissing Jojo’s baby soft spot. She caught Omid’s gaze. He gave her a half smile, that slight lift to the corner of his mouth. Something calmed inside her.
Then he turned back to Jojo. “Honey.” Omid caught her hand. “How are you?”
Jojo glanced up at the ceiling, exactly like an adult would who didn’t want to answer a question. “Fine.”
“Did you sleep?”
Jojo looked at Laurie, the fury gone somehow. She snorted. Relief flooded Laurie’s brain like sunshine.
“What?” said Omid.
“She slept.” Laurie winked at Jojo. “She slept her face off.”
Omid looked at her. “Statement?”
“We’re going there next.”
“Nate Steiner’s lead.” Steiner was good—they both knew that. “But make sure you’re in there, too.”
“Dad!”
Omid shook his head. “Honey, I’d be there if I could be. Goddamn it, I should be.” He jerked his IV line.
“I don’t need either of you.”
Was Jojo hiding something? Laurie hated that her mind went there, but she couldn’t help it. Jojo must know that both her parents would read the report, no matter what. Nothing would be a secret from them.
Omid reached to squeeze Jojo’s hand. “You know I love you more than anything in the whole world, right?”
Instead of rolling her eyes, Jojo nodded solemnly, and that by itself brought a lump to Laurie’s throat.
“Good. Now, get out of here. Wait in the hall, okay, kiddo?”
“Hey!”
“I have to talk to your mom.”
Jojo crossed her arms, but Omid’s face didn’t budge from its firm look. Eventually she broke the stare first and muttered, “Fine. But I’m taking the magazine.” She snatched it from the top sheet and stomped into the hall.
Laurie closed the door behind her gently.
“How is she really?”
Laurie perched on the edge of his bed. Omid shifted his weight so she could sit closer to him. “She’s okay. She’s cried twice, big time.” Just saying the words out loud made tears spring to Laurie’s eyes, as though they’d been waiting right behind her lids.
And it pissed her off. She didn’t have the luxury of crying, not right now. Omid was here, out of commission. She had to be the tough one, the one who fixed this whole thing.
Omid gripped her hand, hard. “How about you?”
Laurie shook her head. “Don’t worry about me. I’m here to worry about you.”
“I bet a million dollars that Jojo had to remind you to come here. You were probably headed straight for the station as soon as you woke up.”
Sheepishly she said, “I was already there. Early this morning.”
Omid scooted upward in the bed, tugging impatiently at a cord that got stuck beneath him. “Did Jojo go?”
“No, the Cunninghams stayed with her.”
“Back up. I still don’t understand the Harper connection. Has she been located yet?”
Laurie shook her head.
“Shit. You’re kidding.”
“She’s in the wind.”
“Like, run off?”
Laurie winced. “Maybe? Her parents are freaking out.”
“But—the girls are friends again?”
“Apparently.”
“And we didn’t know?”
Jojo wasn’t their baby anymore. She had things, maybe lots of them, that she didn’t share with them anymore. “Nope.”
“Fuck, Laurie.” Omid’s face went red, and he pulled at the neckline of his hospital gown. “Harper’s always been bad news. Always. I gotta get out of here.”
“Chill.” She pressed her hand against his chest, right over his heart. With more confidence than she felt, she said, “Harper’s a tough cookie—we’ll find her.”
“But she’s—” He jerked sideways again. “The blood . . . in his house . . .”
“ID thinks it’s Zach’s.”
Omid wiped his hand across his stubble, a dry, papery sound. “They’ll do the fast DNA kit.”
“They’re swamped with the scene and making sure they’ve gotten everything there, but Vero said they’ve already got it working. Should be done
by this afternoon.” DNA tests used to take weeks, if not months. They had to be sent away to the state, and the backlog was always impossible. There was inevitably someone’s more important case ahead of yours. Now the ID techs did it in-house, with their own level of urgency, which in this case was going to be pretty sky-fucking-high.
“We have to make him talk. He has to tell us where she is.” Omid was the one who handled things, who got shit done. It would make him insane to be left out of the investigation.
“They’ll get it out of him.” Steiner was the best detective on the force when it came to getting suspects to admit to things. If anyone could do it, it would be him.
Omid said, “I can AMA out of here. I’ll go home and shower and get back to—”
“Over my dead body you’ll leave here against medical advice.” Laurie pressed down on his chest harder. She pushed until she could feel his heart pumping under her hand, the thump steady and fast. “You will stay in this bed if I have to use your own handcuffs to get you to stay.”
Omid shook his head. “I’m sure about this. I’m fine.”
“If you die, Jojo will think it’s her fault. Forever.” She kept her voice light, but she was serious.
Omid went pale, and sweat stood out at his hairline. “Shit.”
“And I’ll have to kill you if you die. Don’t make me do that.”
He tried to smile, but his face didn’t look right.
“Are you okay?” Laurie looked up at the heart monitor. His pulse was faster, at ninety now, but it was steady, still thumping strongly under her hand.
“A man hurt my girl, a man who might be the one sitting in my jail, and Laurie—” His voice broke. “I really think I’d kill him if I saw him right now.”
“I know.”
His voice dropped to a whisper. “I honestly think I would.” His eyes flickered open wider. “And you—you stay away from him. For that reason.”
It hurt. Of course it did. But he was right—Laurie had proved long ago she wasn’t reliable in terms of high-stress incidents. That time with the taser was why she got off the street and went to dispatch, where there was always someone else in the room, always someone to back her up, to stop her from making bad decisions.
“Whatever. That was a long time ago. And that’s why you stay here.” Laurie’s shoulder ached from where Sarah had pulled her arm back, keeping her out of the locked cell area. She shifted so that she could put her other hand over the one already on his chest. She pushed harder, as if she could weld him to the bed. The thumps slowed. Eighty-six, said the monitor. Then seventy-two. “That’s better. You just lie there and breathe, goddamn it. I’ll tell you everything I learn, every single thing we do.”
Omid closed his eyes. “Everything.”
I love you. She said the words in her head, the way they always did. They told Jojo they loved her all the time. But for her and Omid, I-love-you’s were saved for going to war, for the apocalypse, for the very last moment.
NINETEEN
DAD HAD ALWAYS called Jojo and Mom his station girls. Growing up, Jojo had had free run of the department. This interview room—the blue one—was where she’d always preferred to hold her doll interrogations. Once Barbie had confessed to stabbing Sheriff Woody to death, and she’d been sentenced to die. Jojo had stolen a ladder out of the janitorial closet and fashioned a noose out of her hair ribbon. She’d attached the noose to the light fixture over the table, but just as Barbie had swung for her sins, Darren Dixon kicked Jojo out because he needed to interview someone. He hadn’t noticed the doll’s corpse dangling overhead, but the suspect had and raised bloody murder, thinking the cops were threatening his wife, whom he apparently called Barbie.
Jojo got into big trouble for that one.
Now she was alone in the room. Mom was getting them both Cokes, and Nate Steiner was getting some paperwork together.
She finally had a moment to think.
It was coming back. In the car ride on the way here, a whole chunk of the night before had dropped into Jojo’s brain all in one piece, as if driving over a bump had dislodged something and opened a ZIP file of memories.
They’d been in the backyard of a squat in Oakland. Some guy named Squid, who was a wannabe crusty punk but actually liked showers, had invited them over after the meeting.
Harper was across the yard, laughing with like five guys that Jojo didn’t know. Jojo sat on an ancient swing. It creaked so much she wasn’t sure it wouldn’t break if she swung high, so she kept it mellow, her feet in the dirt, just swaying. She drank her beer and felt the small hit of weed she’d inhaled move in her blood. She liked the way it relaxed the skin around her bones. She didn’t worry as much when she was high.
Kevin gave a laugh at the back door, and honest to God, all the people around him laughed, too, even the ones who hadn’t been talking to him. He was charismatic as fuck. And he liked her.
She really wished she liked him back. That way. It would make everything easier.
He headed across the yard to her, gesturing to the beer bottle she held. “Don’t go crazy with that. Last thing we need is your parents finding out you’re drinking underage. You’ll never be invited to street-medic training again.” Kevin was the only CapB who knew what her parents did for a living. Harper had told her not to tell anyone, ever. They’ll think you’re a mole. A narc. A squealer.
Are you done spouting sixties television?
Screw you, I watch The Americans.
But Kevin had been different. When he’d asked what her parents did, she’d told him. And he’d thought she was brave, doing something they might not be proud of. (“Might not.” Ha! They’d kill her!)
Now she said, “They wouldn’t care if I had a beer.”
“They so would.”
She laughed. “Oh, my God, they so would.”
“How are you getting home?”
Jojo aimed the neck of her beer bottle at her best friend, who was slow dancing by herself on the overgrown lawn. “Harper.”
“Where do your parents think you are?”
She grinned. “Hanging out with a friend they like.”
“You’d think that parents would realize at some point that kids lie their asses off.”
Something about the way he said “kids” smarted. She wasn’t a kid. She was so not a kid. How else could she explain what she felt about Harper?
Kevin sat in the swing next to her, settling in slowly. The chains protested with metallic shrieks. “This gonna hold me? I’m big.” He laughed that infectious laugh again, and Jojo felt her heart lighten.
“Look at her,” Jojo said, gesturing again to Harper. “She’s up to her old tricks.”
She watched Harper with a greediness she hoped didn’t show on her face. Harper was doing the cigarette dance with a bummed smoke, the way she always did to whatever music happened to be on. Right now it was some lame trip-hop, all beat and no groove, but Harper made it seem like the sexiest music in the world. She held the cigarette up in the dark, and someone on the porch shut off the single bare bulb that had been burning. Now all they could see of Harper was her shape, moving in the dark, and the low red glow of her cigarette. She wound it above her head and spun, slowly, the red gleam tracing her motion. She inhaled, and the tip glowed so bright that her face looked feral. Needy. Gorgeous. Jojo’s stomach twisted as Harper spun the other way. She tore her eyes from Harper’s outline and glanced at the other people in the yard. Everyone was watching, the girls with thinly veiled looks of envy and the guys with obvious lust.
Only Kevin’s face was unreadable.
The dance ended. Harper tossed the cigarette to the dirt and ground it out with a flourish. The weak porch light came back on. People went back to talking, flirting, planning.
“So,” said Kevin, rubbing his palms against his jeans. “You in love with her?”
It was l
ike he’d set a bomb off inside Jojo’s chest. The detonation left her ears ringing, her head hollow. “What? Who?”
“Nah, don’t be like that. It’s cool.”
“You have the wrong idea. We’re best friends.”
“Mmmm,” was all he said.
Jojo’s legs were numb from the small plastic seat, and Harper was busy making out with some guy who’d come to his first meeting just tonight. The guy was going to think social activism always meant getting laid. “I mean it. She’s my best friend.”
There was a long pause before Kevin spoke. She felt him looking at her, taking her in, but she didn’t turn to face him.
Finally he said, “Yeah, well. I feel like that about my best friend, too.”
She must have heard him wrong. Zachary Gordon, the assistant athletic trainer on the team, was his best friend. They were both CapB activists. And they were both straight. “Huh?”
“Yep.”
“Holy shit,” she breathed.
He turned his head fast then, facing her. “I’m not gay, though.”
“Me neither!” Was it a lie? She wasn’t exactly sure.
“I just like him. Love him.”
“I just love her!”
Kevin’s chin jutted out as if he’d forgotten to retract it. “That’s cool. Like, besides that, though, I’m totally straight.”
“Me too.”
“I like you, for instance.”
Pleasure curled in Jojo’s belly. “I like you, too.” The weed in her bloodstream unwound, and she let her arm trail to his. They linked hands and swayed on the swings.
“Want to come over here?” he asked.
“Where?” She knew.
He patted his lap.
She got off her swing with some trouble, one leg still asleep, and then straddled his lap, fitting her legs somewhat painfully between the chains and his upper thighs. Kevin grinned. She grinned back at him. Would she feel a boner if he had one? She assumed she would. She waited for it.
She knew that Harper, who was always conscious of the people around her, would be watching. So Kevin was twenty-two and she was sixteen. Why should that matter? And so what if she didn’t feel anything for him but fondness and the notion that she should be more attracted to him than she was? They were playing parts in a play she hadn’t auditioned for but didn’t hate being cast in. Words she didn’t see coming tumbled out of her weed-loosened mouth. “What do you like about me?” God, she sounded like any other sixteen-year-old girl trying to get a boy’s attention. Stupid.