Girls Like Us(57)

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

I sigh. “Okay. I’ll think about it. But we have to move fast.”

“Just be smart, okay? Don’t take unnecessary risk here.”

“I never do,” I tell her, even though it’s far from true.

I hang up the phone and cross the street in a few long strides. I stare straight ahead, my shoulder aching but held back; I’m careful to move quickly but not too quickly. I won’t let him see me sweat. Before I left, I told Elena to lock her door and call me if she felt uncomfortable. As I lock the truck, I wish I had someone to call myself.

I’m pulling away from the curb when my phone rings. It’s Lee. I clench my jaw, debating whether or not to answer. I still haven’t worked out how I feel about him. On one hand, I don’t think he would have dragged me into this investigation if he knew it would lead back to the department. On the other hand, Dorsey’s his boss. It’s possible that Lee has been watching over me all this time, just like the guy in the sedan.

Curiosity gets the better of me, as it usually does.

“What’s up, Lee?” I turn the phone on speaker and pull out onto Pulaski Street. It only takes a second for the sedan to do the same. I speed through a yellow light, testing him. He guns his engine so as not to lose me, causing an oncoming driver to lean on his horn.

“Where are you, Nell?”

“Riverhead. Why?”

“Morales confessed to both murders.”

“I heard. Shouldn’t you be out celebrating?”

“Dorsey’s organizing something tonight. Hank’s place, five o’clock. He wants you to be there.”

“Great. Can’t wait for that.”

“We really need to talk.”

“I’ll be there tonight.”

“Can you meet before that?”

“I’m a bit tied up right now, to be honest.” I glance back in my rearview mirror. The sedan’s still there, despite my foot pressing down on the accelerator like lead. I’m doing nearly eighty in a forty-five zone, and it’s possible I have a cop on my tail. I probably shouldn’t have picked up the phone.

“I ran a check on the clothes. From Adriana’s closet.”

“Oh yeah?”

“A woman named Manon Boucher purchased them. She works for James Meachem.”

“Mm-hmm.”

I can’t focus on what Lee is saying with this asshole on my rear. I consider my options. It could be anyone. One of Dorsey’s guys, keeping tabs on me. It could also be Giovanni Calabrese or someone who works for him. Maybe he checks out his girls before he sends them out to work. It’s possible it’s one of Dmitry Novak’s henchmen, here to finish what we started a month ago, but I doubt it. Novak’s a trained killer. If he wanted me dead, I’d be dead. I wouldn’t see him coming, either.

“Also, I tracked down some info on the woman you mentioned. Maria Cruz.”

“Oh yeah? Do you know where she is?”

“I think she’s in Miami. Let’s talk about it in person.”

“Fine. I’ll see you at Hank’s tonight.”

“Okay. Are you all right? You sound tense.”

As he says it, I swerve from the middle lane onto the exit for Hampton Bays. I skate in front of an SUV, its fender barely missing the broadside of my truck. Horns go off all around me, but I don’t care. I can’t care. If the sedan gets me alone on an empty stretch of road, there’s no telling what will happen. As I turn onto the roundabout, I see the sedan fly past. The driver’s head swivels around. I smile and give him a wave. He’ll be back, I’m sure. But for the time being, it feels good to be alone.

“Yeah, everything’s okay,” I say, exhaling slowly. “It’s just been a long day.”

“For you and me both.”

“Listen, I need another favor.”

“What can I do?”

“A car’s been following me around all day. Maybe it’s nothing, but I want to be sure. Could you run the plate for me? It’s a New York plate, HB-778.”

“Yeah, I’ll do it now. See you tonight.”



* * *



—

WHEN I PULL into the lot outside of Ty Haines’s garage, I cut the engine and sit still, listening to the rush of traffic on the Sunrise Highway. My heart is pounding. It takes me a minute to unwrap my fingers from the steering wheel. I’ve lost my tail, at least for now. I have to assume he’ll find me again soon. Next time, he might get aggressive.

Ty Haines’s place is one of a handful of auto-body shops in town, but it was the only place Dad trusted to take care of his bikes. Ty, like my dad, was a Marine Corps vet and a collector of classic motorcycles. He approached them with the same meticulous touch that my father did; a tenderness that I can only describe as love. When my father was having trouble finding a new part or fixing something on his own, he’d take the bike over to Ty’s. Some Saturdays, I’d come along. I’d watch them tinker together in near silence, amusing myself with whatever I found around the shop.

I find Ty in the back, lying beneath the carriage of a vintage Aston Martin. I wait until he slides himself out so as not to startle him. When he sees me, his face lights up.