He felt his phone vibrate again in his pocket but continued to ignore it. He wanted to finish.
“What we found points to a small child—” Gil said before the girlfriend jumped in.
“Yeah, well, come talk to us when you know for sure,” she said.
Gil decided that he was pushing the limits of what Chief Kline had wanted him to do. He was taking down all their new contact information when his phone vibrated again.
“Thank you for your time,” Gil said automatically as he headed out the door. Once outside he popped open his cell phone just in time to catch it before it went to voice mail.
“Gil,” his chief said before Gil could even get out a “hello.” “Get to the Santuario de Guadalupe. Now.”
Gerald, finally finished with his good-byes, met up with Lucy in the foyer of the restaurant, and the two walked outside together, the new morning starting to cast its shadows.
“We need to talk,” he said.
Lucy groaned. No good conversation in the history of humankind had ever started that way. It was a line used all over the world, a thousand times a day, to break up with boyfriends, to fire employees, and to order assassinations. She waited for Gerald to say something.
He considered his words carefully before saying, “So, what’s going on with you?” He stared her so dead in the eye that she had to turn away.
“What do you mean?” she asked in what she hoped was a calm voice as she looked at her combat boots.
“I mean like on the fire call you seemed . . . out of it.”
“How so?” she said, her voice sounding high to her own ears. She could keep up these deflecting answers for days. She hadn’t even used the classic “Am I?” response yet.
“Have you been drinking?” The question almost made her take a step back. She thought she had been so careful. She had taken every precaution. She had the Breathalyzer. She had popped a mint. She had masked her dark circles with big sunglasses.
Without thinking she gave the lie she’d personally heard a hundred times. It inevitably was uttered by guys who caused DWI crashes and men who’d beaten their girlfriends in an alcoholic haze. She said, “I had a couple of beers.”
“When was that?
“Last night, but I’m totally sober now,” she said. Legally, she knew that at least was true.
“How much are you drinking?”
“I told you, a couple of beers.”
“How often?”
“I dunno. A few times a week. It’s no big deal.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” They stood in the parking lot as Gerald watched her and waited for an answer.
“I don’t know, I’m just . . . I’m tired,” Lucy said.
“Tired?” Gerald asked.
Lucy didn’t say anything more. She only felt honestly, truly tired.
“Have you ever treated patients when you’ve been drunk?” he asked.
“No,” she said. When he didn’t look convinced, she said again, more strongly, “No. Never. I swear.”
“What about driving? Have you driven drunk?” he asked, his voice starting to edge into judgmental territory. Lucy was about to insist that of course she would never drink and drive when she thought about last night. How had she gotten home? She couldn’t quite remember. Surely Nathan had driven her. Although in the morning her car had been at her house, as had Nathan’s. She must have drivenhome from the Cowgirl. She couldn’t remember. Oh, God. She looked up at Gerald, knowing she had to lie but not wanting to. She did anyway. “No. I’m really careful,” she said firmly.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you . . .” he said without finishing the thought, then sighed. “Just . . . take care of yourself.”
“Yeah. Thanks,” she said hesitantly as he turned to leave.
Take care of yourself? That’s what you said to a person you hope to never see again.
CHAPTER FOUR
Friday Morning
Gil was driving lights and sirens while Joe sat in the passenger seat checking out the neighboring cars as they zipped by them.
“Hey, slow
“What we found points to a small child—” Gil said before the girlfriend jumped in.
“Yeah, well, come talk to us when you know for sure,” she said.
Gil decided that he was pushing the limits of what Chief Kline had wanted him to do. He was taking down all their new contact information when his phone vibrated again.
“Thank you for your time,” Gil said automatically as he headed out the door. Once outside he popped open his cell phone just in time to catch it before it went to voice mail.
“Gil,” his chief said before Gil could even get out a “hello.” “Get to the Santuario de Guadalupe. Now.”
Gerald, finally finished with his good-byes, met up with Lucy in the foyer of the restaurant, and the two walked outside together, the new morning starting to cast its shadows.
“We need to talk,” he said.
Lucy groaned. No good conversation in the history of humankind had ever started that way. It was a line used all over the world, a thousand times a day, to break up with boyfriends, to fire employees, and to order assassinations. She waited for Gerald to say something.
He considered his words carefully before saying, “So, what’s going on with you?” He stared her so dead in the eye that she had to turn away.
“What do you mean?” she asked in what she hoped was a calm voice as she looked at her combat boots.
“I mean like on the fire call you seemed . . . out of it.”
“How so?” she said, her voice sounding high to her own ears. She could keep up these deflecting answers for days. She hadn’t even used the classic “Am I?” response yet.
“Have you been drinking?” The question almost made her take a step back. She thought she had been so careful. She had taken every precaution. She had the Breathalyzer. She had popped a mint. She had masked her dark circles with big sunglasses.
Without thinking she gave the lie she’d personally heard a hundred times. It inevitably was uttered by guys who caused DWI crashes and men who’d beaten their girlfriends in an alcoholic haze. She said, “I had a couple of beers.”
“When was that?
“Last night, but I’m totally sober now,” she said. Legally, she knew that at least was true.
“How much are you drinking?”
“I told you, a couple of beers.”
“How often?”
“I dunno. A few times a week. It’s no big deal.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” They stood in the parking lot as Gerald watched her and waited for an answer.
“I don’t know, I’m just . . . I’m tired,” Lucy said.
“Tired?” Gerald asked.
Lucy didn’t say anything more. She only felt honestly, truly tired.
“Have you ever treated patients when you’ve been drunk?” he asked.
“No,” she said. When he didn’t look convinced, she said again, more strongly, “No. Never. I swear.”
“What about driving? Have you driven drunk?” he asked, his voice starting to edge into judgmental territory. Lucy was about to insist that of course she would never drink and drive when she thought about last night. How had she gotten home? She couldn’t quite remember. Surely Nathan had driven her. Although in the morning her car had been at her house, as had Nathan’s. She must have drivenhome from the Cowgirl. She couldn’t remember. Oh, God. She looked up at Gerald, knowing she had to lie but not wanting to. She did anyway. “No. I’m really careful,” she said firmly.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you . . .” he said without finishing the thought, then sighed. “Just . . . take care of yourself.”
“Yeah. Thanks,” she said hesitantly as he turned to leave.
Take care of yourself? That’s what you said to a person you hope to never see again.
CHAPTER FOUR
Friday Morning
Gil was driving lights and sirens while Joe sat in the passenger seat checking out the neighboring cars as they zipped by them.
“Hey, slow
Similar Books
