Killing Ruby Rose (18 page)

“If I’d reported the abuse earlier, documented it, documented some evidence against my father before it all blew up? Maybe he’d be the one with the record and not me.”

“You were just a kid, Liam,” I argued. “How could
you
have documented evidence against him? That makes no sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense, Ruby,” he said, shaking his head. “After the fact, it was our word against his. And his word meant a whole lot more than ours. He was a well-respected businessman who donated regularly to the campaigns of anyone who mattered in the City of Santa Cruz. The police couldn’t help me even
if
they believed me.”

“I get it, Liam. I know how much it matters to have connections. I’ve obviously been on the receiving side of that crooked line lately, and I have the same problem you did! I don’t have any evidence. Silver has made damn sure of that,” I said, burned out. Tired of being cold, sick of thinking, and weary of being me.

“I know,” Liam said softly. “I know.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes, staring into the dark night. There were no easy answers, and we had almost no one to trust.

“I just need some time.” I interrupted the silence. “I promise, I’ll think about it.”

“In the meantime, is it OK if I come up?” he asked.

“Up where? To my room?” I said, surprised.

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” he said. “Your mom isn’t home yet.”

I looked at the clock. 11:02. “Yeah, I’m not surprised. She’s probably having ‘campaign drinks’ downtown.”

“So
…
yes?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“Uh, I guess,” I said, sure about wanting him near, but unsure about what a
yes
actually meant. “You might want to park your Jeep around the corner, though, so Jane doesn’t immediately call in the cavalry.”

“Cool, because there’s something I want to show you,” he said with a wicked gleam in his eye that my virgin brain couldn’t interpret. Suddenly he was moving his whole body in my direction, and all the frozen blood in my body turned hot. Until I realized he was just leaning over to press the gate-opener button clipped to my sun visor. “I’ll meet you inside,” he said, his lips so close that his breath mingled with mine. “Let’s do this.”

CHAPTER 19

When I finally emerged from the shower, my skin burned bright red. I wiped some of the steam off the mirror and stared at my pitiful reflection, counting up the reasons why I resembled a Hot Tamales candy.

It could’ve been the scalding water I’d used to warm the icy marrow in my bones.

Or the vigorous scrubbing with my loofah to remove the evidence of ever having touched Father Michael.

Or the anger I felt toward Silver for turning me into something I hated.

Or the intermittent impure thoughts I had about Liam alone in my room.

I cracked the window to let the ocean breeze turn me back to a normal color before I got dressed and went out.

I opened the door to find only a bedside lamp was turned on. I’d forgotten for a second that I told Liam not to turn on any more lights in case my mom came home. This way she’d think I’d fallen asleep already.

As I let my eyes adjust to the low light, I discovered Liam totally relaxed (and fully clothed) on my bed. Disappointment (that he had no physical expectations) and relief (that he had no physical expectations) duked it out for control of my emotions. Then a third reaction won out—surprise—when I saw what he had in his hand. A photo. Of a man. With a well-groomed beard that could only be…

“Is that a picture of Silver?” I asked, racing to the bed to snatch it from Liam’s fingers. “How in the—”

“You’re not the only one with high SAT scores,” he said, pulling the picture out of my reach.

“Really? I thought you got on the honor roll by batting your girl lashes at teachers,” I teased back, grabbing the picture.

“Hey, I don’t have girl lashes!” He pretended to be offended. “And I’ll have you know, I study very hard to get my grades. Not all of us are naturally brilliant like you.”

“Whatever.” I smiled without looking back at him, staring at the photo.

It wasn’t great. In fact, it was terrible. But it was something. Silver looked just like Liam described. Handsome, in that “look at my sexily groomed beard” kind of way. Well built. Well dressed. No more than forty years old, if that. What would a guy like this want with me? He looked too normal. This had to be the man that I’d seen across the crowded cafeteria as I was about to faint, and through my blurred vision I made a facial hair miscalculation, projecting my fear of Martinez onto someone else.

“Seriously, how did you get this?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the picture.

“You know Mrs. Peabody in the front office?” he asked. I nodded. “This morning, when I was supposed to be in second period, I took her some donuts. When she went to the break room to get her coffee, I took a peek at the security footage. It’s all digital, so I typed in the date, zoomed in on the clearest image, and printed this sucker out. It was easy.”

I finally looked up at him. Genius. Why hadn’t I thought of that? And why did I keep underestimating, distrusting, and generally misjudging him? I could have reached over and kissed him in gratitude, but instead I said, “This is amazing. Thank you.”

Our eyes lingered on each other’s, until I had to look away, blushing. His neon sign was back on, and mine had blinking red lights. And in this situation the red lights didn’t mean STOP.

I wondered if he felt the same. If he could forget all the awfulness of the evening. After all, we didn’t need to go all the way. We could just—

“So now that we have proof of what he looks like, it should be enough for the police to ID him, right?”

OK. Not what I was expecting.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Isn’t this good news? This could help clear you. It shows that the guy is following you. He’s somewhere he’s not supposed to be.” He reached toward me, not to touch me or comfort me but to take back the picture. “If we show this to the police, they have that face-identification technology—”

“I told you, Liam,” I said, standing up. “I can’t go to the police with this. Not yet. Just having a picture of some dude doesn’t prove anything. How do we connect him to any of the abductions or killings? How do I prove he made me do anything?”

“Hang on,” he said. “Just a few minutes ago, you were ready to plant one on me for getting this picture.”

“I think it’s time for you to go.” I crossed my arms, ready to close the doors on the vault. I knew I was being ridiculous, but exhaustion, shame, and confusion were drowning me just like Father M—

“Look, I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do. I promise.” He held up his hands and moved toward me slowly, like he knew what I was capable of. “I’m just trying to help you.”

I bit my lip, unsure of whether I should believe him. I couldn’t even trust myself. Just moments ago I was ready to kiss him, and now I could just as easily knee him in the jewels if he said the wrong thing.

I dropped my head and ran my fingers through my damp hair. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know how to feel anymore. I don’t know who to trust or where to turn. I should probably just run away to Mexico where no one can find me, and then I wouldn’t have to kill anymore or go to prison.”

“OK, let’s go,” he said, smiling and moving in closer again. “Let’s just get some sleep before we make a run for the border, all right? You’ve had a busy day.”

It was true. It had been one freakishly long day, and I didn’t want to spend any more energy or emotion recounting it. I was ready to collapse.

“Come and lie down.” He took me by the waist and guided me back to the bed. Part of me wanted to steel myself against his charm, but there was no denying the larger part of me wanted to give in to him. I wanted to believe him that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. He wouldn’t do anything stupid behind my back, like talk to the police. Whether I was willing to admit it or not, the vault had been unlocked. I’d let him in completely somewhere along the way.

I was falling—
out
of control,
into
bed, and
for
Liam Slater. Falling hard.

I slid under the covers and felt him slide in right behind me. Within moments I was drifting. Not just into sleep, but closer to another human being than I’d ever been before. He pulled me tight to his chest, and I melted into him. Every part of him entwined with every part of me, like I didn’t know where he started and I ended. My head rested on his arm, and our breathing slowed to match one another’s. I’d never experienced anything like it. His hot breath near my ear sent prickles up my neck.

I lay there, waiting to feel his lips against my skin, or his free hand on my thigh. I wanted it. But apparently not as much as my body and mind wanted sleep.

The last thing I remember was his arm reaching over me to turn the lamp off, and the feel of his body against mine. I didn’t even care if my mom came home to find him in my bed. What was she going to do? Kill me? She could get in line.

In the morning, Liam was gone, but his scent wasn’t. I breathed in my pillow, the smell of his cologne and shampoo reminding me of his warm skin and soft hair. I longed to feel him again, to be held by him. So much for my aversion to touch.

I wondered when he’d left. It was Saturday, so he probably had early-morning practice or something. I hadn’t even asked if he’d won his game last night. It didn’t seem like it mattered at the time, but now my omission just felt rude.

My stomach rumbled. It had been nearly a day since I’d eaten anything. I rolled out of bed and went to the kitchen. The smell of coffee not only alerted me to my mom’s presence but also spiked my awareness of a possible confrontation with her. I almost went back up to my room to search for a granola bar in my backpack when I heard her voice.

“Is that you, Rue-girl?”

I gulped and shuffled into the bright light of the kitchen. I felt like I needed sunglasses just to enter this side of the house. Maybe I had some kind of hangover from last night’s horror.

“Hey, sunshine,” she said.

“Hey, Mom.” I went straight to the fridge without looking at her. As I searched for the quickest and easiest nourishment, I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She put down the paper and watched my every move. Why was she just staring at me without her normal assault of judgment or cross-questioning? She knew something.

“Good night’s sleep?” she asked.

“Uh-huh,” I said, grabbing the orange juice.

“Not too tired this morning?” she prodded.

“Nope.” I filled up a glass and sipped the juice while studying the fruit bowl for something I could grab and get out of there with. But damn it, the bananas were too ripe and the oranges looked a day or two past edible.

I turned to the cabinet to snatch some bread instead while Mom continued staring. Had she seen Liam in my room—or had she seen him sneak out this morning? Did she know something about what I’d done last night?

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” she pushed.

We were exceeding our spoken word limit for the day. I didn’t have time to toast this bread. Butter and jam would have to be enough.

“Not that I can think of,” I said, throwing a fake smile in her general direction.

She took off her reading glasses, sat back in her chair, and crossed her legs. One of her signature D. A. moves that meant,
OK, I’m getting serious now
. I bet it worked great on unwitting criminals ready to plead out, but it wasn’t working on me. At least, I was
trying
not to let it work on me. It would be a lot easier
trying
from my room. I started to go, but then she said, “Ruby, why do you lie to me?”

I skidded to a halt. I didn’t even know which lie to cover for.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, turning and accidentally making eye contact.

“How long has this been going on?” she said.

What? Stalking people, killing murderers, or having sleepovers with a boy?
“Could you define what you mean by ‘this,’ counselor?”

“It’s not a game,” she said, standing up and making her chair scrape against the tile floor. “You could be jeopardizing your future.”

I needed a few more specifics. Everything I did lately was jeopardizing my future. “Seriously, Mom, just tell me what you’re talking about.”

“Well, we’ve never had this conversation, and it is probably overdue…” She put her arm around my waist and led me back to the table.

Two horrible “overdue conversations” sprang to mind: Either she’d found out about the deaths piling up around me or she actually wanted to have
The Conversation
. Yeah, like at seventeen I didn’t already know about the birds and the bees.

I honestly couldn’t decide which discussion would be worse.

I sat down at the table with my bread and butter as my only defense against her attack, jamming in mouthfuls of food so she couldn’t expect me to speak first. She sat down across from me.

“I don’t know exactly how to say this,” she said, “but I hope you at least used protection.”

As much as I suddenly longed for her to be talking about the gun and the knife, I knew she meant something else. And I wished she did know about Father Michael. Then she wouldn’t feel the need to torture me with this awful subject.

“The last thing you need right now is to bring a child into the situation,” she said, now talking more to herself than to me. “Believe me, a mistake like that would be devastating, not just for you—but everyone involved.”

I stared at her, trying to read where this was coming from. Something in her eyes made it seem like she wasn’t talking about me anymore. Like she was alluding to someone else. Maybe even herself. But that didn’t make any sense. She was in her thirties when I was born. Right about the same time she admitted to her affair with—

“Please don’t tell me that Martinez is my real father.” I closed my eyes, unable to look her in the face.

“Ruby! Of course not. No, that’s not it at all.” She paused, speechless.

I reopened my eyes to make sure she was telling the truth.

“I’m talking about
you
,” she said, straightening her posture to regain control.

“What about me?”

She hesitated. So un-Jane Rose. She was rattled, flustered. I’d never seen her thrown, so completely off her game.

“I know about you and that
boy
.” Those words practically spurted from her mouth, oozing with disdain. “I asked him to leave this morning. I didn’t wake you because I wanted to know if you would be honest enough to just tell me the truth. And apparently, the answer is no.”

“Really?” I asked, cocking my head. “This is so interesting coming from someone who lies for a living.” I set down my bread. I no longer needed it to defend myself. “You lie to the press, lie to the Court, lie to your only child—and you’re accusing
me
of lying!”

“Young lady—”

“You promise the world to everyone,” I said. “Promise the community to be tough on violent offenders and then cut them deals or allow enough incompetent mistakes to let them off.” I ripped that one straight from Bill Brandon’s talking points. I knew I should stop, but the words kept bubbling up.

“You promise your family that you’ll be there for us, and you aren’t.” Just mentioning the “us” brought flames to my heart. There was no “us” anymore. Just her and me in our glorious isolation. At least she couldn’t cheat on Dad
again.
But I didn’t dare mention that. “So please remind me,
Jane,
where I was supposed to
learn
honesty.”

“This discussion is not about me, Ruby, and I will not let you attack me to protect yourself. Don’t think I’ve forgotten this is how you work. Dr. Teresa has told you over and over that this is not an appropriate way to communicate.” She smoothed out her hair and narrowed her eyes. “
I
am the mother.
You
are the daughter, and you will treat me with respect. And you will tell me whether or not you are sleeping with
that
boy under my roof.”