Light of Day (3 page)

I WALKED INTO WKTU SUNDAY
evening, hoping to catch a few minutes with Caballero before I went live. Although I'd stopped in a couple of times that week, as I usually do, I kept missing him.

Olive must've had the night off, because Sapphire was at the front desk instead, dressed in a bright blue minidress and heels. When I'd first met her, she'd been a shy college student named Stephen. Now she mostly came to the station as Sapphire, a six-foot-two hoochie mama.

Sapphire looked up and smiled. “We're still getting emails about your last show. Have you logged in to read them?”

“Yeah, I read through a bunch. I'll quote one or two on air. They're great.” My stomach warbled. “Mostly.”

She gave me a sympathetic look. “There's always ones like that. Don't let them get to you.”

“I'm trying.”

Nasty comments about my show were part of the game. But I hadn't been prepared for the
you don't know what you're talking about, bitch
ones. That was why I wanted to talk to Caballero before I went on the air. I knew that he wanted me to stay on the topic, but maybe it would be better to move into less volatile territory.

Sapphire handed me a sticky note. “Some guy keeps calling for you. Normally I wouldn't pass on his number, but he was really insistent. He claims to be the mystery guy you were talking about on the show. Says it's important that he talk to you.”

I wanted to believe that it was Blue Eyes, but
anyone
could have said he was the guy who'd helped me at the club.

I glanced down at the phone number on the hot pink Post-it. It could be one of those haters who'd emailed. Or it could be Raul himself. I flashed back to that evil look in his eyes and shivered.

“Thanks, Sapphire.” I shoved the note into my pocket and glanced at the glass doors, which had clicked shut behind me. Thank goodness we had solid security here. You needed to swipe your pass to enter the building; random people off the street couldn't just walk in.

I headed for Caballero's office, more convinced than ever that I should change the topic of tonight's show. But I also hated to disappoint him. He'd texted me last Sunday night:
You killed it. More on this next week!

I hovered in the doorway of the studio until he went to commercial. Then he swung his chair around. He looked super cozy in a red velvet smoking jacket. “Gabby! What a show last week. Bet you're more famous than ever at school.”

I managed a smile.
Not exactly.
Caballero assumed that the radio show had made me into a school celebrity, and I'd been too embarrassed to correct him. Even when JC and I were still together, my radio show had been little more than a joke—it was
just Gabby trying to be big-time
. I'd learned that when you do something cool, something different, it doesn't make people like you. And since the breakup, my radio show was the number-one thing used against me. The consensus was that having a radio show had turned me into a diva.

“Did Sapphire tell you we've had a lot of feedback? Your story connected. That's what we want.”

“I know. But for tonight I was thinking—”

His phone must've vibrated, because he looked down at it. “Aw, shit. Little Cabbie's got a fever.” He pressed a button on his phone. “Can't wait for your show tonight, Gabby.” Then he started talking to his wife.

I sighed. There was nothing to do but leave. I headed to the lounge to wait until it was my time.

A few minutes later, I went live. I took a deep breath, trying to channel the magic.

“Hey, everybody. It's Sunday night and you're listening to
Light Up the Night
with Gabby Perez, coming to you in style, the miracle child from Miracle Mile in Miami. How are you doing? Are you alone or curled up with a special someone? Thanks for all your feedback on last week's show. I'm glad the word's getting out about the dangers of roofies and the pervs who use them. One listener named Amber tweeted, ‘Gabby, it's about time someone's talking about this. You effing rock.' Thanks, Amber. You effing rock too.”

The phone lines had already lit up. On the other side of the glass, Sapphire and Caballero were holding up their index fingers, indicating that I should answer line one first.

“Hey, what's your name?”

“Call me Shanae. I've got something to say about your last show. You see, I
know
this Raul you was talking about.”

My heart pounded. “So that's his real name?”

“Uh-huh. Raul's a daddy who got a dozen girls working the streets for him.”

I swallowed my shock. “You're saying that Raul isn't your average sleazeball. You're saying he's a . . . pimp?”

“Mmm-hmm. That's Raul's MO. He drugs the girls up, then when it wears off, they've already turned a few tricks and they can't even remember what the hell happened.”

Her words hit me like a fist in the gut. That could've been me and Maria. I glanced through the glass at Caballero. I
wasn't sure I could handle this. But he was nodding and winding his hand, which meant to keep going.

“How do you know all this?” I asked.

“My little cousin. She was one of his girls until he traded her off a few months ago. She so messed up that even when we bring her home, she always go back to the streets.”

“I'm sorry.” I tried to think of what to say next, but I was reeling from what she'd told me.

My pause allowed Shanae to keep going. “Yeah, I'm sorry too. These girls so dumb, they think the blinged-up daddies is gonna help them. But they just using them. And once they in, it's like the daddies brainwash them. . . .” She kept going on. Caballero made an X sign with his hands. Time to cut her off.

“Thanks for calling in, Shanae. You've given us a look into the twisted minds of these predators.” Before she could say more, I disconnected the call. I knew that I had to keep it together, but my mind was jumbled. Then I remembered Caballero's best ever advice:
Be real.

“Holy crap,” I said. “If Shanae is right, the guy my friend and I encountered last week is actually a pimp. And he was planning to add us to his lineup. I won't lie—I'm in shock right now. Even as I speak, I'm having flashbacks to that night. I can't help thinking about what might've happened if that guy hadn't warned me.”

Sapphire kept sending calls my way. The callers wanted to talk more about pimps and prostitution and all the dangers out there. I rolled with it as best I could, and played songs in between calls. But I was miles out of my comfort zone, and sweating bullets. My ignorance of all this stuff came across, I was sure. But judging from the riveted looks on Caballero's and Sapphire's faces, it made for good radio.

When I handed off to Caballero at ten o'clock, it was a huge relief. He put a hand up for me to wait, so I did. After he'd done his intro and put on a song, he said, “That was awesome, Gabby. Amazing. Great job.”

“Thanks.”

“Who knows? You might've helped someone out there.” He gave me the thumbs-up and put the headphones back on.

I walked by the control booth, poking in my head to thank Sapphire, then I went out into the parking lot.

The night cooled my cheeks. It had rained during the show, and the air held the soothing smell of palm trees. I drank it in, and felt my pulse finally start to slow down.

“Gabby.”

I stopped in my tracks, gripping my keys. Then I spotted him. Blue Eyes. He was leaning against a gray car, his arms crossed over his chest.

He wore jeans, a white T-shirt, and scuffed sneakers. God, he was more achingly cute than I remembered. But his vibe
was different than when I last saw him outside the club. There was a scowl between his brows, and he looked . . . pissed off.

“I didn't mean to scare you,” he said. “You should've just called me back.”

I bit my lip. “Sorry, I didn't know it was you. I don't take calls from listeners off the air.”

“I wasn't a listener until I heard about your last show. You gave a lot of details about what happened Saturday night. Too many.”

Was that what was bothering him? I didn't think I'd done anything to apologize for. I'd gone public with a story that could get
me
in trouble—thankfully my parents hadn't heard about it—because I'd wanted to warn people. “I was just giving everyone a heads-up about the danger.”

His eyes locked with mine. “And giving Raul a heads-up too.”

It was as if I'd broken some code I didn't understand. “What do you mean?”

“You need to stop talking about Raul on your show. The woman who called in tonight was right. Raul traffics girls.”

So Raul really wasn't just some scumbag perv. He was a professional perv, a sex trafficker. And last Saturday night the girls in his crosshairs had been me and Maria.

“Don't you think I should be warning people about him? Isn't it my job as a radio host to do that?”

He came closer. The sudden movement startled me. “Tell me one thing, Gabby. Can I trust you?”

“Of course you can.”

“So whatever I tell you will stay off the record? You won't go talking about it next week?”

“I won't.”

He was standing right in front of me now. His nearness made me feel buzzed, magnetized. It was the same effect he'd had on me at the club. I had the urge to step back and step closer, all at the same time.

“I'm going to get Raul off the streets,” he said. “That's why I was watching him that night.”

Get him off the streets? But how could he . . . ?

Of course. I couldn't believe I hadn't realized it before. He must be an undercover cop. It explained why he'd told me not to call the police that night. He
was
the police, and he hadn't wanted me to interfere with his operation.

God, I felt stupid. I'd actually thought he'd been watching
me
—that he'd just happened to spot Raul slipping us the roofies. It hadn't even occurred to me that he'd been surveiling Raul.

I cursed under my breath. “Did I screw up your operation?” I asked, afraid of the answer.

“I don't know. As of last night, Raul was still doing what he does best. He probably didn't hear about last Sunday's show.
Fingers crossed one of his girls wasn't listening tonight.”

I thought back to some of the emails we'd gotten about the show, and my stomach felt queasy. One of them could've been from Raul. “I won't mention him again, trust me.”

“Good.”

I'd actually tried to do the right thing by sharing the story, and it had backfired. “I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do to fix this . . .”

“Don't worry about it.” His hard gaze softened. “You're good at what you do. Keep doing it.”

I could tell he meant it. This guy's BS factor was zero.

He turned to get into his car. I didn't want to let him go. Somehow I knew he was going to haunt me.

“Hey, I didn't get your name.”

He paused, turning around. “It's X.”

“X?”

He shrugged. “It's just what I go by,” he said, as if that were explanation enough. Obviously an undercover cop would use some sort of street name. X was definitely a unique one.

“I bet you're good at what you do too, X. When you get Raul, kick him in the balls for me, will ya?”

He laughed, and my heart did a somersault. “Count on it.”

FOR DAYS, X'S NUMBER SAT
on the hot pink Post-it on my bedside table, tormenting me.

I knew that I should throw it out. It would be beyond stupid to contact him. What would that accomplish other than making me into a total nuisance? I'd already compromised his operation.

The problem was, I couldn't stop thinking about him. The guy without a name. The blue eyes that pinned me to the spot. The serious face that had transformed when he laughed.

Curiosity was killing me. I wanted to know more about him—why he'd become a cop, how he planned to catch Raul. He looked too young to be a cop, and yet he had a toughness to him, a jaded look in his eyes, as if he'd seen it all. As if nothing he encountered on the streets could faze him.

Okay, so it was more than curiosity. He was the cutest guy I'd ever seen—even the broken nose gave him a sexy edge. Just the thought of him made a wave of heat crash over me.

It was ridiculous. I had to stop thinking about him. My parents' anniversary party was coming up Saturday night, and I'd be screwed if it didn't go well. That's what I needed to focus on.

Luckily, I had Aunt Sarita's help.

On Saturday morning, I drove to her place. Sarita lived in a pretty bungalow surrounded by exotic, brightly colored flowers and wild rosebushes. We sat on her back patio, drinking virgin mimosas and eating buttery pastries. The morning sun warmed my skin and reflected off my sunglasses. I smiled to myself. My favorite place in the world.

“Did you sell out your show yet?” I asked her.

“Sold the last two paintings this week.” She refilled my glass with more ginger ale and orange juice. “You're gonna love this. One of the buyers is from Texas. She's the wife of a beef industry CEO.”

“No way. And you let her buy it?”

“Eventually. Once she promised to talk to her husband about industry ethics.”

I laughed, but I didn't doubt a word. Sarita treated her paintings like a litter of puppies—she only let them go to good homes. Mom thought it was ridiculous that someone
who lived “painting to paycheck” dared to ask questions about the buyers. Sarita had no pension, no benefits, and worst of all, no husband. I was sure Mom's greatest fear was that I'd end up like her.

Of all my aunts and uncles, I was the closest to Sarita. Ever since I was a little girl, she'd made me feel special. We even had the same untameable curly hair, though hers was currently dyed a deep garnet red. And she had the coolest peekaboo tattoos, including a tiny scorpion between two fingers and a blue butterfly behind her left ear.

“Are we all set for tonight?” she asked.

I nodded. “The food should be there at six. Hopefully that'll be enough time to set it up before the guests arrive—I don't want it to get cold. David says he'll come a little early to help out, but I'm not holding my breath.”

She gave a careless wave. “We don't need him. We'll be fine.”

“Knowing him, he'll make it look like he did everything.”

“Don't worry, Gabby. I won't let him steal the credit. I'll make sure your parents know how much work you've put into this.”

Another reason I loved Sarita: she was always on my side. Maybe it was because she'd grown up as the oddball—the daughter whose choices made my grandparents cross themselves and go to confession. She knew what it was like to be me.

“But no matter what I say to your parents, it won't be enough, Gabby. You know that, right?”

I sighed. “I know.”

Sarita didn't need to get more specific—we practically talked in code these days. One party wasn't going to fix my relationship with my parents. One party wasn't going to make them suddenly approve of my decision to break up with JC, or support my radio career, or stop worrying about my future.

But it was something.

They were pleased.
Hell to the yeah.

A little Esperanza Spalding played softly in the background. Fancy food was spread out over the dining room table. I'd even splurged on Dead Sea hand soap for the downstairs bathroom. What more could they ask for?

It was seven o'clock, and the first guests would arrive any second. I had changed at the last minute into a knee-length gray skirt and a short-sleeved black blouse. Even more important, my hair was tamed with lots of hairspray and a hundred pins. Neat, neat, neat, just as Mom liked it. I saw the flicker of approval in her eyes.

“Don't stress, you're doing great,” Sarita whispered to me as guests started to arrive. She was a walking work of art, her floor-length yellow sundress setting off her red hair.

“Thanks. When's your boyfriend coming?”

“Boyfriend? Oh, Mike and I broke up last week. I have a date later, though. Hopefully I can ghost outta here by ten.”

I grinned. Sarita was the best.

Around eight, I took over answering the door, since my parents were deep in conversation with some old friends. The house was becoming pleasantly packed, with a few guests drinking cocktails on the patio. Eventually I had a couple minutes to sit down and have something to eat, but then a colleague of my dad's sat down next to me and started talking politics. After ten minutes of nodding, the doorbell rang again, saving me.

Or maybe not.
I opened the door and came face-to-face with JC and his parents. I'd been expecting the Suarezes—they'd been church friends with my parents for years—but JC? What was that about?

“Hello!” I tried my best to sound enthusiastic. “I hope you're all hungry. We've got plenty of food. And there's wine and champagne and . . .” I waved my hands.

All politeness, the Suarezes smiled and came in. They were good at pretending not to hate me. JC didn't bother with a smile. As he walked past me into the living room, I caught a whiff of his trademark deodorant spray. I flashed back to a time when my heart would skip a beat when he came to the
door. When he was all shiny and eager and sweet, and I'd been so flattered that, of all the girls at St. Anthony's, he'd chosen me.

JC slid me a pained look that said he didn't want to be here. And I gave a shrug that said,
Then why are you?

Of course, his parents had made him come, and he was the ever dutiful son. But they weren't doing anyone a favor.

To avoid the living room, I gathered up dirty plates and brought them into the kitchen. The front door opened again, and it was David and his girlfriend. A little late to help with the setup, but I didn't care. At least JC would now have people to talk to, instead of just standing there watching my every move. He and David had always gotten along.

Melody was adorable. She was petite enough and pretty enough to get away with the blond pixie haircut. She gave me a hug, even while I held a dirty plate in each hand. “I'm so into your show, Gabby!”

I had to admit, it boosted my mood. “Thanks.”

Melody's good nature didn't seem to be an act. I wondered if she'd have the sense to dump David before he dumped her.

Dad started dinging his wineglass, and everyone hushed.

“Thanks so much for coming tonight,” Dad said, using his teacher voice. He slid his arm around Mom's waist. “What a wonderful thing to look around and see the people we care about. We'd like to thank our children, Gabby and David, for
organizing this party.” I forced a smile. Dad must know that David had done squat; maybe he was only saying it for show. “And thanks also to my sister-in-law, Sarita.”

Sarita gave a gracious royal wave.

Mom took over. “Twenty-five years. Can you believe it? We've been together since high school.” Wait a minute, was that Mom getting misty-eyed? That was so
not
my mom. “A few people have asked me what our secret is. But there's really no secret. Every partnership has its rough patches. The key is knowing that, underneath it all, you are cherished. I'm so lucky.”

To my surprise, I started getting teary-eyed too. My parents were not super affectionate with each other—at least, not in front of me. They didn't fight much, but they weren't all kissy-kissy either. I figured they loved each other, but it was strange hearing them say it.

I felt eyes on me. JC's eyes. He was demanding that I look at him. When I finally did, I saw an expression that wasn't love, wasn't longing. It was resentment.

When the applause started, I slipped upstairs to my bedroom. To escape. I had to be away from it all—especially JC.

I sprawled on my bed, heaving a sigh. Why did he have to show up and make everything so damned awkward? I bet he wouldn't have come if I'd had a boyfriend. An image of X surfaced in my mind, all serious and sexy. I couldn't shake him.
For some reason, the electric charge I'd felt in his presence still lingered.

There was a knock at my door. “Yes?”

“It's me.” JC pushed open the door. “Can we talk?”

I nodded reluctantly. I didn't see what he could possibly want to talk about. As far as our relationship was concerned, I was all talked out months ago.

He sat down at the foot of the bed, keeping his distance. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“For coming.”

I sighed. “Ah, don't worry about it. I'm sure your parents didn't give you a choice.”

“Actually, they did.” His brown eyes stared into mine. “I wanted to see you.”

Oh, God. Where was this going?

“I see how alone you are at school.”

“It's not a big deal. I mostly hang out with Adriana and Caro.”

He cocked a grin. “The paranormal freaks, huh? Guess you have no choice.”

I couldn't deny that Adriana and Caro hadn't been my first pick of friends, but they were actually really cool. “They're not freaks. They're my friends.”

“Whatever you say. Look, Gabby, I'm sorry I can't pretend
everything's okay with us. I know it would make things easier for you. It's just that you turned my whole life upside down. I never expected to be single in senior year.”

It took a lot of willpower not to roll my eyes. “Girls love you, JC. You know that. Take your pick.”

“I choose you.”

I closed my eyes. We'd had this conversation so many times. Guess it was time for my old line:
You could do so much better than me
. But I was tired of saying that, tired of putting myself down so he could feel better.

He must've misread my pause, because something sparked in his eyes. “Maybe we could get to know each other again as friends. Hang out, the group of us. And then . . . see where things go.”

No freaking way.
I knew what he was saying. He was saying that if I hung out with him again, he'd let me back into his circle of friends.

The sad part was, I could almost buy into it.

Almost.

I saw the hope in his eyes, saw a glint of something else . . . triumph? He knew my weak spot and was using it to reel me back in.

“I can't.” I got up and walked over to my dresser, pretending to arrange things in my jewelry box.

“Gabby, I
saw
your face when your mom was talking. Don't
you want that to be us? Every relationship has its rough patches; your mom said it herself. Do you want to throw away—”

That was when I lost it.

My head whipped around. “It's not gonna happen, okay? Let it go.”

He got to his feet. “
Me
let it go? You're the one looking at me with those puppy dog eyes like you're desperate to have me back!”

My mouth fell open. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on. You're always staring at me at school. This is all a game, isn't it? To make me want you.”

Had I been staring at him? I didn't think so. I mean, I looked at him when he passed me in the hallway, but . . .

He was doing it again. He was making me second-guess myself.

“It's not
my
fault no one wants to hang out with you,” he said. “I've always tried to help you. Tried to give you friends, give you a life. But if you want to be a loser, that's your call.”

I couldn't believe it. Was JC Suarez, supposedly the nicest guy at St. Anthony's, calling me a loser now? Had the breakup turned him into an asshole?

“You're speechless,” he said, standing over me. “Finally Gabby Perez is speechless. It's about fucking time.”

I wished I could slap the smirk off his face. “Get out of my room! Go!”

He opened his mouth to retaliate, but then his lip quivered. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I—” He reached out his hand.

“Don't touch me!” I sidestepped him, slamming into my mom, who was standing in the doorway.

Her eyes were huge. It dawned on me that they could probably hear us fighting downstairs. Hear
me
.

“Be quiet, Gabby,” Mom whispered. “I don't know what this is about, but this is
not
the time. You're embarrassing us.” She looked at JC. “I'm so sorry, JC.”

“It's okay, Mrs. Perez,” he said, hanging his head. “It's my fault . . . I shouldn't have come.”

Mom's sympathy for JC tore me up. Forget that I had any feelings, that I needed her on my side. She'd heard me shouting and assumed I'd started the argument.

I knew that if I stood here one more second, I was going to tell her exactly what I thought of her. So I pushed past her, ran down the stairs and out the door. And kept on running.

It felt good to run. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I didn't care—it was dark out; no one would see. I ran all the way to Aunt Sarita's, the place I'd been running to ever since I was a kid. But it was dark, of course. She was still at the party, or maybe she'd ghosted by now and was out on her date.

Letting myself into her backyard, I went over to the swing and rocked back and forth until I had calmed down. It was all so clear. JC had been using guilt to try and control me ever
since we broke up. He'd used people's sympathy for him to make them isolate me, and now he was trying to manipulate me into giving him another chance. I wasn't going to play his game one second longer.