Wherever She Goes(60)

“Okay.”

“As for my mother, I don’t think I ever dated anyone who lived up to her expectations. You were too young for me. Too different from me. She thought you were after a husband with a good job, and then you’d leave and take half my money.”

“A gold digger.”

“A gold digger with very modest aspirations.”

I laugh at that.

“Obviously, she was wrong,” he says, “though it did make me more sensitive to the issue of why you married me when I found out—” He stops short. “And that’s not dropping the subject, is it?”

“No, but I understand.”

He sighs and leans back against the headrest. “I say I want to put it aside, but that’s cowardice. I want to forget it. I want to pretend . . .”

“It never happened. Because when you remember it did, you question whether I should be here, whether you should be helping me.”

He makes a face. “Not like that. I accept that you didn’t marry me as a shield to hide behind. But you did lie, and you did deceive me, and I do feel betrayed. I do feel like I married a stranger. I’m just . . .” His fingers tighten on the wheel again. “I’m hurt.”

“If I could start over, I’d do it differently. But I understand that there’s no undoing that now. There’s no making up for it. Which means I appreciate this all the more, Paul. I really do.”

He nods. There’s silence, then. So much silence, before he says, “If you won’t come to my mother’s, will you at least stay at the house?”

I hesitate.

“I’d like you to stay there, Aubrey,” he says. “With the security system and . . .” He glances to make sure Charlotte’s asleep, but still lowers his voice. “That gun. Just stay there, safe, until I return. Please.”

“All right.”



I’ve been at Paul’s place for about two hours when he calls. That’s what I must think of it as. Paul’s place. Not ours. Not even “my old house.” That’s a dangerous path. He bought it. I left it. Now it is his.

Paul calls about Laila Jackson. His contacts have gotten back to him, and the word is that while she can be “difficult” and “ambitious,” there’s never been any hint of corruption.

“As my one contact said,” Paul says, “she’s more likely to be the person reporting corruption. In hopes it’ll free up a job, he says. Which isn’t fair. She’s a woman of color, and she’s ambitious, and that doesn’t always play well with the good old boys. But someone like that isn’t going to risk her career for a quick payday from the mob. Even those who don’t care for Laila Jackson say she’s good at her job.”

“Should I report the video directly to her, then?”

“I would. You know her, and that’s more useful than placing a call to the switchboard. I could give you a contact of mine if you’d prefer . . .”

“No, I’m okay with Laila. She’s not my biggest fan, but sometimes that’s helpful. She’ll be straight with me. I’ll tell her about my encounter Sunday night and the video today. I won’t mention Ellie Milano.”

“Unless it means lying,” Paul says. “If she asks you anything where you’d need to lie to protect Ellie’s privacy, I would strongly suggest you don’t. Just avoid volunteering information.”

“Got it. Oh, if Laila wants to speak to me in person, should I go to the station?”

He pauses. “I’d rather she came to the house. I’d like her take on this—how much danger you might be in personally—before you go out alone. She’ll bring her partner to take the report, and I’ll be home in about ninety minutes.”

“Great. Thank you.”



I call Laila. She’s out on patrol, but when I ask if I should report this to another officer, she’s quick to say no. Less than an hour later, she’s on the doorstep. And she’s alone.

“Where’s Officer Cooper?” I ask.

“Buried in paperwork. He said I can handle this.”

I hesitate in the doorway, not moving aside to let her in. “I thought police were supposed to work in pairs.”

“Technically, yes, but I know you, and this is part of an ongoing case. A case he’d rather not bother with.”

When I still don’t move, she arches her brows. Then she laughs. “Ah, you think this is suspect, me showing up alone.”

She holds out her phone. On it is a text string between her and Cooper, where she tells him “that Finch woman” wants to report an incident, and he grumbles. She says she’ll take it.

“Yes,” she says as she puts her phone away. “I was dismissive, because I wanted to talk to you alone. Coop is . . .” She seems to check herself and says, carefully, “Let’s just say that I’m sure you thought he was the one taking you seriously about the boy, and I was the one blowing you off, but that’s not the way it worked. While I was suspicious, I still investigated. Mostly alone. Whatever you say to me tonight will go into an official report, and you can call the station later to verify that.”

I back up. “Sorry. I’m just a little suspicious myself right now.”

“I see that.”