No Witness But the Moon(11)

The way Dolan said it made Vega wonder whether he ever would.

Vega hugged Adele as soon as Dolan left the room. He leaned over and whispered a husky thank-you into her hair. She smelled of vanilla and limes and something entirely her own. He wanted to take her to bed with him, huddle under the blankets, and never come out.

“My car’s out back,” she told him. “Leave your truck here tonight. You can fetch it in the morning. You’re in no condition to drive home.”

“But Sophia—” Vega knew Adele didn’t like him sleeping over when Sophia was in the house.

“Peter agreed to keep her for the night.”

“You didn’t tell him, I hope.”

“No.”

Vega heard something sad and spent in her voice. And he understood what he hadn’t wanted to before: he couldn’t keep this a secret. Even if Peter didn’t know tonight, he would know. Everyone would know before the week was over. Friends. Family. The cops in his band. His ex-wife’s neighbors. Classmates Vega hadn’t seen in twenty years. He was sticking his head in the sand if he thought he could keep this a secret.

They snuck out the back entrance. Everything felt shameful now. Vega laced his fingers into Adele’s. He was hungry for her touch but it felt as tentative as her voice. When she smiled, there was something forced around the edges. He didn’t press. They walked past Vega’s Ford pickup, the black paint gelatinous under the cold wattage of floodlights. Adele’s pale green Prius was in the visitor’s parking lot, farther up the hill. She powered open the doors and Vega strapped himself into the front passenger’s seat. The silence between them felt like a third person. Adele fumbled to undo the buttons on her coat. She had trouble steadying her hands. Vega gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

“It’s okay, nena. It’s going to be okay.” He couldn’t believe he was the one consoling her. But in an odd way, it made him feel better. By soothing her, he was soothing himself. It gave him an outlet for his pain.

They sat in the car for a moment, their breath clouding white. Adele didn’t look at him. She stared out the windshield. “You didn’t tell me he was unarmed.”

Vega stiffened. He was going to tell her. Of course he was. But not like this. Not when everything was so fresh he could barely sort through it.

“Dispatch told me he was armed. I didn’t know until—” He turned to her. “How did you find out?”

“I overheard some of the cops talking while I was waiting for you.” Adele fiddled with a cross on a chain around her neck, sliding it back and forth. She seldom wore it. She was only nominally religious. “I drove over here picturing a gunfight. A struggle—”

“Would you rather I have been in intensive care?”

“Of course not!”

Vega picked at the skin around his cuticles until they bled. He didn’t know what to say.

“People from La Casa are already calling me,” Adele told him. “They’re saying they heard that the police shot a Central American dishwasher in Wickford.”

“You didn’t tell them I’m involved, did you?”

“No. But it’s bound to come out. I feel like I’m in the middle. My clients assume I know things I don’t and I don’t know things I do.”

Silence.

“Jimmy, I need to know what’s going on.”

“There’s nothing I can tell you. I’m not allowed to talk about the shooting. You know that.”

“But you can tell me the man’s name.”

“I don’t know it—not for certain, anyway. And even if I did, I couldn’t give it to you until my department makes it public, and that won’t be until after his next of kin are notified.”

“Was he part of that gang? The one that raped that girl in Quaker Hills?”

“In all likelihood? No.”

“He had a criminal record I assume.”

“I have no idea.” Did she think he ran background checks on suspects while he was racing to a crime in progress?

“Then how could you . . .” Her voice died away. They both knew what she was asking.

Vega ran a hand through his hair. It was sweat-dried and coated in grease. He needed a shower. “I know you want me to open up about everything right now. I want that, too. Believe me. Nothing would feel better than to unburden myself to you. But I have to do the right thing here. And the right thing is not to discuss the shooting. Not with you. Not with anybody. For your sake as well as mine.”

“But people will assume that you did something wrong.”

“I know.”

“How am I supposed to defend what I don’t know?”

“I’m not asking you to defend me, Adele. Just maybe not to—”

“Not to what?”

“Not to judge.” Vega swallowed hard and kept his gaze on his hands. He was already failing Isadora Jenkins’s shame rule. “People are going to say a lot of stuff about me in the coming weeks—bad stuff, in all likelihood.”

“Why?”

“I’m a cop who shot an unarmed suspect. Turn on the nightly news and ask yourself who the media is going to believe.”

Adele’s cell phone dinged with a text message. She fished it out of her bag. “I just want to make sure it’s not Sophia.” She frowned as she read the text.