Page 13 of Faded Gray Lines

“Right.” He could never look me in the face when he lied.

An awkward silence settled between us, and he glanced at the clock, scratching the back of his dirty blond hair. “There’s no easy way to say this, but were you able to bring anything from Luis’s apartment?”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? First of all, we have to pull your information off it. Secondly, maybe it’ll help us find out who else is involved.”

I considered refusing, but where would that get me? I barely knew how to operate my own phone, much less knew what to look for when hacking into a criminal’s software. As long as Brody didn’t suspect I knew about his cartel affiliation, he’d share whatever information he found with me. I had to believe that.

“Yes,” I admitted. “I have his laptop and his phone.”

“What about the gun and bloody clothes?”

“I threw them away.”

Well actually, Alex took them, but he didn’t need to know that.

His face tightened. “You didwhat?”

“You said to clean up my mess, so I did. I dumped them.” I had no idea how I forced my mouth to say such a lie.

He clasped both hands on top of his head and tilted his chin up. “Jesus, Leighton, of all the stupid—”

“Don’t yell at me, Brody. I just did what you told me to do, and I wiped everything down first. Don’t get all sanctimonious on me. You try standing over a man you just shot and see how fucking clear your head is.”

“Okay, calm down,” he said, dropping his hands. “Eventually, we’re going to talk about this, Leighton. I still don’t understand why it happened in the first place.” I opened my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand silencing me. “In the meantime, we’ll just concentrate on pulling whatever information we can off Luis’s computer.”

“Fine.”

Guilt ate at me as a worried frown settled across his face. “Hey, how about I drop you off at Mom’s today? I don’t like the idea of you staying here by yourself.”

“I’d rather take my chances back in San Marcos.” That wasn’t an exaggeration. I’d sooner walk back into Luis’s apartment and call in my own confession to the police than step foot inside my mother’s house. There was a reason I hadn’t been back to Houston in almost four years.

Brody pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Leighton, come on...”

I fisted my hands by my side, poised in battle-ready stance to take on this fight when I replayed Alex Atwood’s parting words.

“Emilio Reyes owns Caliente Cantina.”

“You think a cartel member is going to hand me a job just because I ask for it?”

“No, he’ll hand you a job because your brother asks for it.”

The last thing I wanted to do was crawl out of the safety of my brother’s four walls, but if I was going to get both of us out of this mess, I had to play by the DEA’s rules.

“I’ll go stir crazy cooped up in this place all day, Brody. It gives me too much time to think, about...well, you know. Besides, I need a job. I can’t sponge off you while I’m here.” I waited. I bit my lip. I shuffled from foot to foot, praying my constant fidgeting didn’t give me away all while wondering how long it would take him to cave.

The answer? Less than half a heartbeat.

“A friend of mine owns a cantina not far from here, and I know he’s short staffed,” he offered. “I could get you a job waitressing. I know it’s not much money, but—”

“I’ll take it.”

He leaned against the wall and studied me. I immediately wished I hadn’t sounded so eager.

“It hasn’t been offered. I still have to talk to Emilio.”

“You’re the assistant district attorney, aren’t you?” My brother was no idiot. I walked a fine line that could trip his bullshit detector with one false step. Taking a deep breath, I crossed my fingers behind my back and balanced on my high-wire of lies.