Page 47

“Listen, I’m sorry.” I sit in the chair in front of his desk but don’t indulge in any of the donuts.

They do look good, but my own appetite is pretty much nonexistent these days.

“I would’ve liked to resolve this another way, but you and Detective Williamson are my only leads.

And I understand Detective Williamson retired. ”

“Yes, he did, that lucky bastard,” Contreras replies.

He’s in his mid-forties, judging by his expansive forehead and salt-and-pepper hair.

Retirement is still a distant dream for him.

“Kid, I’m sorry about you losing your mother, I really am.

I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone. You know it was ruled a suicide, so I’m not sure how you expect me to help you. ”

“It was ruled a suicide—interesting word choice.” My heart is sinking fast. I really didn’t think I’d get confirmation here.

He frowns at me. “Don’t know what you mean,” he says.

“Well, if you thought she killed herself, you’d say so. ‘You know she committed suicide.’ But no—you don’t tell me what she did, even though you should know the facts better than anyone. You tell me how it went down in the books.”

Contreras shifts uncomfortably and scowls at me. “Don’t get smart with me, kid.”

Too late. I’ve picked up the scent and I’m not about to let it go. “Detective let’s not beat around the bush, here. I wouldn’t be sitting here if I thought my mother killed herself. We both know that’s not what really happened.”

“You’d better stop talking before you say something you might regret,” the officer warns me in a low hiss. There it is. The fear in his eyes. I know that shade of yellow. My father has inflicted it upon so many people.

“Detective, I’m not here to beg you for the truth,” I say, feeling sick to my damn stomach. My head’s trying to make excuses. Saying this is how he usually is. That maybe he’s just intimidated because I’m my father’s son. “I only want to have a look at the case file. That’s all.”

He scoffs, only partly amused. “You’re either bored out of your mind or dumb as a rock. They say you’re smart enough to break your mother’s heart with athletic scholarships, though, so I’ll assume you’re in dire need of a hobby.”

“Detective, I’m in dire need of the truth regarding my mother’s death.”

“She killed herself,” Contreras says bluntly. “That was the ME’s conclusion. Written and certified, black and white. It’s right there in the official record. There’s nothing else I can offer at this point. The case was closed last year.”

I decide to throw a fox inside the chicken coop and see what happens. “Right. But did the ME come to that conclusion before or after someone paid him a visit?”

Contreras pauses for a long moment. All of the humor drains out of his face. “Like I said, son. You really want to think twice before you open your mouth.”

The air thickens. The room is suddenly small and overcrowded, even though it’s just the two of us.

Contreras does have a way of putting his whole weight into a conversation.

I can easily see him pulling confessions out of suspects.

This is a man who gets what he wants. Right now, despite his less than desirable first impression, he aims to intimidate me.

“You forget who my father is if you think you’re gonna scare me into giving up,” I tell him.

Contreras leans forward, elbows resting on his desk.

“You forget who your father is if you aren’t scared.

What do you think he’d do to you if he found you poking your nose in this business right before his election?

What do you think the media would do if they had a clue what you were up to?

I hear you, kid—I got issues with my old man, myself.

But I’m not going to help you sabotage his election. I like my job.”

“That’s not what I’m after,” I tell him. “And your name will never come into it. All I want is the truth—not the sugar-coated bullshit they tell kids who just lost their mothers. You feel me?”

Contreras nods. “I feel you. Listen, kid, we did what we needed to do. Case closed.” As he speaks, he opens a drawer of his desk. “There’s nothing else I can do.” He pulls out a manila folder. “Officially, your mother’s death was suicide.”

He tosses the manila folder onto the desk, inches from the donut box. I stare at it for a moment, then flip it slightly open. The first page is blank except for my mother’s name typed neatly in the center.

“Thank you,” I tell Contreras. “I can’t tell you how much this means to—”

“Save it, kid. I didn’t give you a damn thing.

” He goes back to his half-eaten donut, as if his appetite has returned from the depths of his conscience.

"You’re gonna want to get lost,” he tells me.

“Certain people have a habit of showing up around here, making sure their donations are being spent right. You hear me?”

I get up from my seat as calmly and as casually as I possibly can and stuff the folder in my laptop bag. “I hear you.” I zip it up and sling the bag over my shoulder. As I do, Contreras looks up, his gaze going past me. His expression morphs into a deep scowl.

“Day just keeps getting better,” he growls.

I turn around and just about jump out of my skin.

My father stands outside Contreras’s glass office, glaring furiously.

The navy blue suit and red tie are all business, but his expression reeks of ill-intent and violent thoughts as he looks back at me.

Man, if I weren’t his son, he’d chop my head off without hesitation.

“Leave him to me, Detective,” I mutter.

“Don't have to tell me, kid. I’ll be damned if I’m touching this hot mess again,” Contreras replies. He only gives my father a brief nod of acknowledgment before digging into the remainder of his donut box.

Bracing myself for the shitstorm I know is coming, I step out of the office.

“Hey, Dad,” I say, then head straight for the double doors of the staircase.

He comes after me, the air seeming to ripple furiously around him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Rhue?”

“You’re following me. I could ask you the same thing.”

He stops me at the bottom of the stairs before I can make it to the lobby.

He pushes me against the wall, a vein throbbing in his temple.

“What kind of stunt are you trying to pull here, huh? I have to get calls from the fucking police to know you’re digging into your mother’s death?

What’s the point? What’s your angle here, huh? ”

“No angle. I just want answers.”

If I push back, he’ll bite. He’ll lash out. I don’t want to give him that satisfaction, so despite the blood boiling in my veins, I keep my cool. My father, on the other hand, is about to blow an entire fuse box.

“What answers? Your mother killed herself. It’s in the medical examiner’s report. The case was closed. What the fuck else do you want?”

“The truth,” I reply dryly.

“Have you lost your goddamn mind? Right before my election? Rhue, do I have to take drastic measures here to stop you from hurting your own family?”

This is where I draw the line. I push myself from the wall and ram my shoulder into his chest. My father is so shocked by my response that all he can do is gasp as he’s forced to step back. I raise my hand to keep him at arm’s length, my breath ragged.

“I’m going to get to the truth one way or another,” I tell him. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“What has gotten into you? Did that whore tell you to do this?” he replies, hatred dripping from his gravelly voice as he avoids using Madison’s name. That just pisses me off more. I shake my head slowly, unable to hide my contempt.

“Nobody put me up to this. I’m just tired of the bullshit. What have you got to hide, Dad?” I ask. “Why not let me pursue this? Did you have something to do with Mom’s death?”

“Of course not. Don’t even fucking suggest it.”

I shrug. “Then why are you so adamant that I leave this alone?”

“Because it will break your sister’s heart, you insensitive little shit,” he hisses, fists balled at his sides.

He takes a moment to deliberately relax his posture.

“You know how hard she and I have both worked on this campaign. You poking around in here is going to get people talking. It’ll derail my campaign, her reputation as a campaign manager will be tarnished, and you will be personally responsible for ruining her career. ”

His words hit me in the gut. Manipulative bastard knows just what to say. When Contreras mentioned the election, I was only thinking about Julian—thinking that if my investigation derailed his election, it would serve him right.

But Laura doesn’t deserve all that.

“Look,” I tell him. “All I wanted was the official report.”

“I told you what happened.”

“Yeah? Just like you ‘told me what happened’ with Madison?”

His eyes narrow and his face begins to turn a deep shade of red. “You keep bringing that slut up,” he says. “You got something you want to say, you better fucking say it.”

I lean forward and lower my voice. “You’re a fucking rapist.”

For a moment, I’m absolutely certain that he’s going to kill me.

Then the door opens overhead and footsteps ring on the stairs.

A nervous-looking rookie gives Julian a curt nod as he walks by us and out into the lobby.

By the time the door swings shut behind him, Julian’s regained a portion of his control.

“You’ve gotten way too brazen, you know that?

This—" He snaps his fingers. “––is all it would take for me to disown you and leave you to fend for yourself. The world isn’t what you think it is, Rhue. You won’t survive without me, my money, and my reputation.

Whatever you decide to do going forward, you better think carefully, son.

Because if you force me to sever ties with you, there will be no turning back. ”

“You do what you need to do,” I tell him. “I’ll do the same.”

Even if it means war.