chapter forty-two

They released me from the hospital the next day. The crime scene team was just packing up as Jo and I pulled into the drive behind our house around 10:30: They nodded as we passed them on our way in. A blue-suiter stood guard at the door. Taking no chances, Jo had put in the call to her brother Craig on the ride home and ordered a joint security and clean-up team.

I bobbed my head to the uniformed officer. Even that took energy I didn’t have. I felt weak as a newborn kitten.

“Probably be a good idea to stay someplace else for a while,” Shin had said when we left the hospital. “Until we know what’s what with the Aztekas.” I glanced around at the mess in our living room. He might’ve been right.

The damage to the house was even worse in the light of day. The place looked like I felt. Broken glass crunched under every step. The home theatre wall film had been ripped off its organic mount over the fire place.

Hot spots embedded in the walls had been damaged along with the visible security cameras, so home holo-functionality was down, as was our default access to the web. We had only glove-phones.

At least the acute throbbing on the left side of my head had turned into a dull faint ache. I poured a glass of orange juice and tossed back two extra-strength aspirins.

“I’ll pick up the cats on my way back,” Jo said, heading for the front door. She’d packed up the felines and left them with a neighbor. All except for Woolsey the big tom. He’d hidden somewhere even Jo couldn’t find him. “Is there anything you want from the store?”

I shook my head.

“Rest up, Eddie. The team will be here in fifteen.” The door closed quietly behind Jo.

Very gingerly, I bent down to retrieve the now dented frame of a digital photo. The glass over the photo had shattered. The blow from Salazar’s bat had broken the photo’s digital function, too. The photo was of Jo and me—a goofy romantic shot we’d had taken on our first date down at the Santa Monica pier. Jo and I stood frozen in the now damaged picture.

Jo—the Aztekas had smashed her house and pointed the gun at her head. But it was me who’d pulled Jo into their crosshairs. Frank and now Jo. Protect and Serve. I felt like a total chump.

I couldn’t wait for Craig’s clean up crew. Digging out a broom, I started to sweep up the mess. Each brush of the broom hurt. I welcomed the pain.

When the promised cleaning crew arrived fifteen minutes later, I let them in and watched as they began their efficient clean-up operation. Feeling both underfoot and out of place, I surrendered the broom and headed outside to the deck, carefully lowering myself onto the chaise longue. The hot sun beating down from its position directly overhead made me feel drowsy. I closed my eyes and must have dozed off. I woke with a start when one of Jo’s cats began winding around the legs of the chaise longue, yowling and nudging. Woolsey, the black tom built like a bull dog, had come out of hiding.

“Where were you when the bangers were here, huh boy?” I chuffed his fur, then pushed him off my lap.

Woolsey strutted back and forth, nudging my hand with his head.

“All right.” As I got up to let him back into the house, I heard the front door open behind me.

It was Jo, back from the market with the cats in tow. I must have been asleep for at least a couple hours. She cast me an appraising glance when I offered to carry groceries into the kitchen. “Let your ribs mend.”

“I’m fine. Those meds they gave me really work.” I helped her carry in the cat carriers and released the furballs.

While I’d slept, the clean-up crew had cleared out the broken glass and put paintings back on the walls that didn’t need repairs. The security team was starting in on the walls that did, rewiring the smart-home features, patching and painting the drywall. Drills whined and there was a sharp tang of new paint in the air. But there was still a lot to do.

“Shame about the house,” I said. “It’s gonna cost a fortune to get things back to normal. Even with Craig’s crew, the place is a war zone.”

Jo waved away my apology with a dismissive little wave of the hand. “You’re okay. I’m okay.” She smiled at Woolsey. “The cats are fine too. We can always replace stuff.”

People with money. I nodded. I wasn’t one of them.

I watched Jo’s face as she spoke, almost tuning out her words. Jo’s skin and that white blonde hair glowed. She was so alive, so smart and beautiful. If things had gone the other way—I didn’t even want to think about that. But I had to.

“Maybe you should stay somewhere else—just for a while,” I said.

“Me?” Jo closed the kitchen cupboard and turned around, leaning her back against the counter. “Don’t you mean us?”

“The Aztekas aren’t after us.”

“We can talk about it later,” she said.

I shook my head. “Jo.”

She came over and laid her hand gently on my arm. “I know you worry about me. Her hand exerted just the slightest pressure as she squeezed my flesh. “Don’t. I’m a pretty good shot.” She kissed me. “Thanks to you. And I’m not letting those thugs drive us out of our home.” Jo started to put groceries in the subzero. “Or spoil my news.” Jo smiled a sly little grin.

I gave her the point, deciding to try again when I felt stronger. “Good news?”

“The city’s lawyers settled the Ramirez suit out of court today.” Jo continued in a breathless rush. “For two point five K.”Two hundred fifty thousand—we both knew a typical settlement was in the seven figure range.

I stared at her. Opened my mouth to say something, then thought better of it.

Jo nodded, and in a giddy voice said, “I know, right? It’s incredible. That figure’s practically an admission of how groundless the suit against you was.”

“Nobody said anything to me. Not Captain Tatum, not Espinoza. Not Shin.”

“They probably don’t know yet.”

“And you do—how?”

Another dismissive toss of her head. “The judge in the case had a little too much Pinot Noir over lunch yesterday with one of the partners.”

I stared at her, gleefully relaying the story. While I’d been napping, one of her partners must have phoned Jo to tell her the good news. Forces well beyond my control were in play, and my whole future had been a tasty little morsel of gossip shared over a casual lawyer lunch, nothing more. Piedmont Sr. had been right about one thing. Jo was part of a world I didn’t belong to and never would.

“I thought you’d be thrilled.” A muted note of disappointment played under her words. “Now that there won’t be a public trial over the original shooting, the demonstrations will stop. The L.A.P.D. will want this investigation to go away quietly.You’re home free. We can put this whole business behind us.”

“It’s good news, Jo,” I said, pulling her close and breathing in the vanilla and lavender scent of her pale hair. “Really.” I held her against my chest for a few seconds. Until she broke away, nodding.

“You sure? You don’t look happy.”

“That’s just my face,” I said.

“It’s a nice face.” Jo kissed me, then took a seat on the sofa, her smile enigmatic as she tapped the seat next to her. “I have more news.” Jo kicked off her flats.

I sank back into the white leather of the seat next to her, waiting. “Good or bad?”

“Definitely good.” She curled up close to me but glanced around the living room. “You know, you may be right about this place. We should look for a new house together in a few months. Someplace bigger.”

My phone rang. The ringtone told me without looking it was my mother. I let the call go to voicemail.

Jo’s phone pinged a couple seconds later.

“Don’t answer it,” I said, kissing her neck.

Jo glanced down at her phone. Her face paled. “Eddie, you need to take this.”

I looked from her to the text my mother had sent. And as Shin would say, the tiger rolled over again. The cancer had won. My father was dead.