He stroked her back, listening.
April felt tears leak out of her eyes, because the memory was excruciating. “He wanted to take her away. He started circling the house, tapping on the windows. Saying he was going to shoot the door down. I called the police.”
“Good.”
“It took them forever to get here. My mom wasn’t home. We hid in Jenny’s closet until they came. I was terrified.”
“Who was the arresting officer?”
“Shanley. But no arrest was made. Raul was gone by the time he arrived. He told me to get a restraining order and left.”
Noah cursed his partner fluently.
“Raul was arrested for armed robbery a few weeks later. I hoped he would turn his life around in prison. Get sober, for Jenny’s sake. Obviously, he didn’t.” She pressed her face to his shirt. “Sometimes he sent her letters. Birthday cards. I don’t think she remembers much about that night, because she loved him. I couldn’t bear to tell her that her father was a … horrible person. She’s half him, so what does that make her?”
“A great kid. Beautiful and kind, just like you.”
“I’m glad he’s dead,” she said, lifting her head. “I hated Raul, and I’m glad he’s dead.”
“Who’s dead?”
April gasped, turning to see Jenny in the doorway.
“Are you talking about my daddy?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears.
Horrified by what her daughter had overheard, April rushed toward her. “Honey—”
“I knew you hated him!” she accused, backing up a few steps. “You sent him away. He wanted to see me, to give me presents and throw me a big birthday party, and you locked me in the closet.”
April’s mouth dropped open. She knelt in front of her daughter, holding her upper arms. “That is not what happened.”
Jenny twisted out of her grasp. “You sent him away! Now he’s dead, and I’ll never see him again. I hate you!”
April hugged her, sobbing out loud.
Jenny screamed and kicked. “You sent Abuelita away, too. Why are you so mean? You send everyone away to die.”
Noah stepped between them, trying to defuse the situation. Jenny started pummeling him with her fists. “I hate you, too! You’re not my daddy! I want my daddy!”
There was a muted knock at the front door, and Eric let himself in. The instant Jenny saw him, she held out her arms. “I want Eric!”
He came forward, extracting her from Noah easily. She clung to his neck and wrapped her legs around him, hugging him with her entire body. “I’m here,” he said, his voice rough. “I’m here now. Everything will be fine.”
Jenny pressed her face to his neck and bawled.
Eric looked from Noah to April. Behind the pain in his expression, there was curiosity and a little surprise. “I’ll take her to her room.”
April nodded her permission. With one last glance at Noah, Eric carried Jenny to her bedroom, shutting the door.
Noah looked … flattened. The other night, April had chosen Eric over him, in effect. Now Jenny had done the same.
Although April knew he felt awful, she was too traumatized to reach out to him. In front of Jenny, she’d said she hated Raul. She’d said she was glad he was dead. Jenny would never forgive her.
She was the worst mother in the world.
Sinking to the floor, she covered her face with her hands and cried. When Noah touched her shoulder, she jerked away, burying her head in her arms. She didn’t deserve his sympathy. She didn’t deserve him.
“Please,” she said, aching with emptiness. “Leave me alone.”
And, after a long, painful moment, he did.
21
Eric held Jenny until she fell asleep.
When her breathing slowed, he sat up, smoothing the damp hair away from her brow. She had a letter from Raul crumpled in her half-closed fist. Before she cried herself to sleep, she’d asked Eric to read all the cards her father had sent. There were pitifully few.
Jenny had saved his correspondence in her top drawer. There were two birthday cards, a Christmas card, and some rambling letters. Raul’s messages were vague but positive. Best wishes, take care, thinking of you. There were no apologies, no regrets.
Even to Eric, Raul had never admitted to any wrongdoing. Raul was misunderstood, a product of the streets, a victim of the system.
Of course Jenny felt confused. She didn’t really know her father or understand what he’d done to April. It was only natural that she blamed her mother for “sending him away.” Later in life, Jenny would be grateful for her mother’s protection. Now there was no use telling her the truth about Raul.
Her father was an abuser, a rapist, a drug addict, a criminal.
“Did my daddy love me?” she’d asked, her voice breaking.
“Very much,” Eric had answered, getting a little choked up himself. “And your mom loves you. And I love you.”
She’d hugged him closer. “I love you, too.”
Wiping the tears from his eyes, Eric gathered up the letters and put them back in the drawer. There was one he hadn’t noticed before, set apart from the others. It said, Have fun at Wave City! Love, Meghan.
He closed the drawer quietly, careful not to wake her as he let himself out.
April was reclining on the couch, a diet soda in one hand, a folded dish towel over her eyes. At her feet there was a large brown gift bag. Officer Young was gone. Eric hoped he wouldn’t come back in uniform.
She took the towel away from her face. “How is she?”
“Fine,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Asleep.”
“She overheard me say I’m glad he’s dead.”
Eric wasn’t surprised by the sentiment, although he didn’t share it. He wished he could. He’d have welcomed some relief. “She’ll forgive you.”
“Someday I’ll have to tell her what he did.”
“Wait. It’s hard for a kid to grow up knowing their dad is a monster.”
April knew he was speaking from experience. She stared up at him in sympathy. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
Eric didn’t want to talk about it. He sat down on the couch next to her, doing a quick survey of her appearance. The knees of her jeans were dirty, her eyes were swollen from crying, and she had leaves in her hair. She looked totally wiped out. Eric wondered if Meghan’s brother was responsible for some of her distress.
A couple of weeks ago she said she’d given a tip to a cop—Young, he surmised.
“So, what’s up with you and Mr. Patrol Officer? Have you two been rolling around in the backyard together?”
“Of course not,” she said, running a hand through her hair. But her eyes drifted toward the kitchen as she tidied her ponytail.
Eric followed her gaze. “On the dinner table?”
She flushed with guilt, though he’d been joking.
“Well, damn,” he said, getting the picture. As far as he knew, April hadn’t let a man near her since Raul. Meghan’s brother must have the magic touch.
She nibbled on her lower lip. “Do you mind?”
“Why would I mind?”
“Because of Raul.”
“I never thought you’d get back with him. I was afraid you’d be scared of men forever because of what he did, so I’m glad you’re seeing someone. You should be happy.” He frowned at her tearstained countenance. “Are you?”
Sighing, she reached into the gift bag at her feet. “He gave me this.”
Eric inspected the briefcase, impressed. It was a thoughtful, expensive purchase, suggesting they already knew each other well. He read the card. “What’s he sorry about? Did he treat you wrong?”
She hesitated. “We had a fight. We were … both wrong.”
He considered the way Young had looked when Eric walked in, as if his entire world had been disrupted. “Is he in love with you?”
Her face crumpled in dismay.
“Why are you so sad?”
“
I don’t know what to do!”
“Well, if you’re not that into him—”
“I’m into him,” she said, miserable.
“Then what’s the problem? Not the gift, I assume.”
“What’s the problem? He’s a cop, Eric. We’re from two different worlds. He doesn’t understand … hard times.”
“You think he’ll judge you?”
She shrugged, looking away. “I’ve made some really bad choices. He’s probably never even had a misstep.”
Eric thought April was being too critical of herself, but he could sympathize with her situation. He knew damned well that he wasn’t good enough for Meghan. Compared to April’s, his bad choices were epic.
“How could we possibly make it work?” she asked.
“You don’t have to marry him, April. It’s okay to have fun.”
She was silent for a moment. “He asked me if you sold drugs.”
Eric’s stomach sank. “What did you say?”
“That I didn’t know.”
“Don’t lie for me. Please. I don’t want you to.”
“Are you in some kind of trouble?”
He stood, pacing the living room.
“Get out of the gang,” she pleaded, crushing a wad of tissues in her fist. “Now, before it’s too late. I can’t bear the thought of you ending up in jail. Or worse.”
“I’m working on it, okay? Did he say anything about me and Meghan?”
“Meghan?”
“His sister.”
Her mouth went slack. “No. Eric—you didn’t.”
He refused to regret his actions. Although he’d promised not to touch Meghan, he wasn’t sorry he had. He’d do it again if he got the chance. Hell was worth it.
“You did. Are you crazy?”
“He’s going to kill me,” Eric said. “Arrest me and then kill me.”
“What can I do?”
“Ask him to give me more time. I’m trying to get some information for him. I have to go do that right now, actually.”
She rose to see him out. “Be careful.”
On the front step, he paused. “Did the warden tell you what caused Raul’s death?”
“Drugs, they think.”
Eric nodded. He’d been told the same thing. “I gave him money. Two nights ago.”
April reached up, touching his jaw. Forcing him to meet her eyes. “Don’t you dare blame yourself. It’s not your fault.”
He cleared his throat, trying to believe her. When she pressed her lips to his cheek, he noticed a white Monte Carlo cruise by, slowing at the curb. There was a guy with a shaved head in the passenger seat. Eric recognized him from the taco shop and knew immediately that this was Oscar Reyes.
“Go inside,” he murmured.
She glanced past him. “Eric—”
“Go!”
Perhaps because of Jenny, she didn’t argue further or ask him to come back in with her. Eric strode toward his Chevelle, which was parked down the street, and gestured for Oscar’s crew to follow. His heart hammered against his chest as he closed the distance.
When they were no longer in front of April’s house, and his car was nearby, Eric approached the Monte Carlo’s passenger side. There were three men in the vehicle, all Eastside members. The one in the backseat had a 9mm, holding it low.
Eric kept his focus on Oscar. “Qué honda?”
Surprise flickered in Oscar’s eyes. Maybe he hadn’t expected Eric to be so straight up. “You owe me a car, ese.”
Eric didn’t ask how he knew. The street had big ears. He also didn’t bother to explain that Junior had been trying to avenge his sister or that Eric had tried to stop him. Nothing mattered to men like this except action.
Talk was cheap.
“Your girlfriend has a nice ass,” the driver said, glancing toward April’s house. “I think I’ll come back and tap it later.”
Eric’s jaw tightened. “Déjala en paz. She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Oh, sorry. Your puta, I mean.”
He forced his attention back to Oscar. “Let’s bury this.”
“How about we bury you?” he replied, his lips curling into a sneer.
Eric had his back pressed against the wall. They were threatening April, threatening him. If he didn’t settle his debt, they might come after her.
“Brown Field, tomorrow night,” Oscar offered, a glint in his eyes. “Just you and me, mano a mano.”
Eric didn’t want to fight, but he had no other choice. “If I win, I walk away. It’s over.”
“And if I win?”
He jerked his chin toward the Chevelle. His pride and joy. His only asset. “She’s yours.”
Oscar laughed, revealing a gold cap on one of his incisors. “They’re going to scrape little pieces of you off the ground when I’m done.”
Eric knew the matchup was uneven. Oscar outweighed him by at least forty pounds, and he was solidly built. “Then you have nothing to lose.”
“Bueno,” Oscar said, accepting the terms. He slapped his hand against the passenger door, indicating that he was ready to go, and the driver stepped on the gas.
Eric watched the car speed away. He supposed he could have just handed over the keys and been done with it. But in order to survive in the barrio, a man had to be able to hold his head high. Sometimes he had to take a beating.
He’d made a fair deal.
Cursing under his breath, he climbed into his Chevelle and started the engine. He merged onto the freeway and headed east, his mind racing. He had a shitload of things to do before he met Oscar tomorrow night.
At San Diego County Jail, he waited more than an hour to see Tony Castillo, sweating bullets the entire time. If his name was flagged, he’d become a guest of the facility rather than a visitor. Eric must not have been listed as a person of interest, though, because he was led back to the visiting room without incident. He’d been there before. Unlike the communal area at Donovan, this space had Plexiglas dividers and telephone headsets.
Tony wasn’t happy to see him. He’d kept his mouth shut about Eric for a reason. If he had no trafficking partner, there was no one to pit against him, and he had a much better chance of beating the charge.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Eric didn’t take the attitude personally. “I need to talk to you.”
“We have nothing to talk about.”
“Raul’s dead.”
Tony flinched. For the first time in Eric’s recent memory, Tony looked sober. And sad. Maybe he was still grieving for Lola. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, sounding sincere. He and Raul had been best friends.
Eric had known Tony most of his life. Like Raul, Tony was a drug addict and a thug. Not exactly a great role model. But there was a small glimmer of humanity in him, Eric suspected. “We’re all fucked,” he said flatly. “Me, you, Junior. But I thought of a way out.”
“What?”
“We talk about the girl. From that night.”
Tony leaned back in his chair. “No. Hell, no.” His eyes darted around, checking the cameras that were probably recording their conversation. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. What night?”
“We didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You mean you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Don’t you want to make a deal? His name, in exchange for your freedom. At the very least, you’ll be looking at a reduced charge.”
Tony’s mouth thinned. He shook his head, refusing to consider it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“He choked her, man. Maybe he’s the same one who did Lola.”
“No,” Tony whispered, his eyes swimming with tears.
“We can go to the cops, explain what happened. I know they’ll take it seriously, do an investigation and all that. They might even catch the killer, because of us. We could do the right thing. For once.”
Tony wiped his eyes with the hem of his shirt, letting out a harsh laugh. “No cop in the
world would touch this.”
“Why?”
“Because Raul took his name to the grave. I heard him speak of that guy only one time. You know what he called him?”
“What?”
“El patrullero.”
Patrol officer.
Noah had a couple of hours to kill before his shift started, and he was too restless to spend them at home.
Meghan had been a little less distant lately. He suspected she was still seeing Eric, but he didn’t want to know for sure. He was damned tired of getting tossed aside for that wall-painting, drug-dealing little bastard.
His sister preferred Eric’s company to his. April would protect Eric at all costs. Jenny had screamed for Eric to hold her.
Everyone loved Eric.
Noah had left April’s house with his spirits low. He’d never had a woman cut him off at the knees so completely. This was why he dated women with no baggage: amicable breakups. There were no emotional scenes, no groveling.
There was no spur-of-the-moment sex against the refrigerator, either.
“Damn it,” he groaned, raking a hand through his hair. On impulse, he took the next freeway exit, heading to Patrick’s house. He had a few questions to ask and some aggressions to work out. Maybe he just needed to talk to someone, too.
Despite their last argument, Noah still considered Patrick a friend.
Patrick’s house looked the same as always. His front yard was clipped, green, precise. The Aurora Lee, his fishing boat, gleamed in the noonday sun. Noah parked at the curb and strode up the sidewalk, feeling surly.
Patrick answered the door in the same mood. He was wearing flannel pajama pants and a gaping robe. His eyes were bloodshot, and he smelled like booze.
“Can I come in?” Noah asked.
“Suit yourself.”
The interior of the house wasn’t quite as tidy as the outside. It was dark and depressing. The curtains in the living room were tightly drawn. There was a faint, musty odor Noah associated with old men. A mixture of unwashed skin and mothballs.
He didn’t feel like sitting down.
“Want a beer?”
“No. I have to work.”
Patrick snorted. He grabbed himself a can, popped it open, and sat down on his recliner. Taking a sip, he stared at the blank television screen.
The Edge of Night Page 24