Wherever She Goes(82)

“I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head and keeps surveying the situation. “Helluva mess. Didn’t know what you got yourself into, did you?”

“Nope, but I’m guessing you didn’t either. No one’s ever really prepared for gun-toting, mobster grannies.”

She snorts at that. “I’ve heard stories about Mama Zima, but I’d almost be impressed . . . if she wasn’t such a cold-blooded bitch.”

Laila’s about to speak again when Brandon appears at the doorway, clutching Paul’s hand.

“And there’s the cause of all this commotion,” she says. “Looks pretty good for an imaginary boy. Poor kid. His aunt should be here—”

A police car rolls into the drive, the passenger door opening before it even stops. Ellie leaps out, and Laila says, “Perfect timing.”

Paul lets go of Brandon, and he runs for his aunt, who scoops him up in a bear hug. As we watch, another car appears, this one a BMW roaring into the drive. Laila swears. Before she can move, Cooper appears at a jog, shouting orders. Officers train their weapons on the vehicle as Cooper yells for the driver to get out of it. He already is, and seeing him, Laila curses again.

It’s Denis Zima. He has his hands on his head, but he’s stepping away from the car. Cooper shouts for him to stop.

“He’s okay,” I say. “Or I think he is. Oh, hell, at this point, I’m not even sure.”

“I just want to see my—” Zima begins. Then he spots Brandon. He stops and stares, and he wobbles, just a little. There’s a moment of absolute silence. Then he turns to Cooper. “I was speaking to my father. He had no idea what I was talking about. That’s when I realized he wasn’t the one behind this.”

Zima’s gaze shoots to the front door as it opens, his mother coming out in handcuffs. Zima surges forward, fists clenched, but Cooper gets in his path. Zima rocks back. Then his gaze goes to Brandon.

“May I see . . . ?” he begins.

Ellie picks Brandon up again and heads toward Zima. I turn away and glance at Paul, who passes me a smile and starts for me.

“Go on,” Laila says, jerking her chin toward Brandon. “Join the reunion. You’re the one who made it possible.”

I shake my head. “I’m done. This part’s for them.”

I walk to Paul instead, and he takes my hand as I collapse against his shoulder.



We don’t just get to walk away after this. We have to give statements at the station, and it’s hours before I’m released.

As I’m leaving, Laila comes jogging after me.

“You still owe me,” she says.

I turn. “What?”

“You owe me a link to that sword-fighting class. You probably also owe me a lift to it. The least you can do, really, since I saved your ass.”

“You saved my ass about as much as I solved your case, which is, I believe, about fifty-fifty of each. We’re taking turns driving to class.”

She gives me her personal email address, and we talk for another minute, and as I walk away, I think back to that moment in the park with Kim, when I thought she was someone I could talk to, someone I could relate to. I may have actually found that, just not in the place I expected.

I walk out to find Paul waiting. He says nothing, just takes my hand, fingers interlocking with mine, and leads me to the parking lot, where the officers let us bring our car earlier.

“How are you doing?” he asks when we reach the car.

“I’m glad it worked out but . . .” I shake my head and climb in the passenger side.

When he’s in, I say, “I’m sorry. Yes, it all worked out, but I could have gotten you killed. I was in over my head. Way over my head.”

He manages a smile. “Seems like you were swimming just fine. You didn’t drag me in, Bree. We both underestimated the situation, but neither of us went in with our eyes closed. I’m a lawyer. I knew I was getting involved in something potentially dangerous, and I chose to do so.”

I nod and say nothing, just turn to stare out the window.

He backs the car out. “I’m fine. Charlie’s fine. You’re fine. And so is Brandon.”

I nod again.

He drives from the lot. A couple of minutes pass, and then he starts to say something, but I’m already speaking, saying, “Does this change anything?”

His fingers tighten on the wheel.

“I don’t mean with us,” I say. “You stuck by me, and you can’t imagine how much I appreciated that, but I know it doesn’t mean things have changed. I’m talking about Charlie. You knew what I was . . . and now you’ve seen what I can be. What I’m capable of. Does that change anything with her? With the custody? I know that after what’s happened, you might not think I’m the most responsible parent, but I swear, I would never have done any of this with her around.”

He nods. That’s all he does. He nods, and my heart hammers.

“Paul—”

“We’ll discuss that later.” He makes a sharp right. “First, I want to show you something.”

As we ride in silence, I can barely breathe. When I asked if this changed his opinion of me as a mother, I was hoping he’d say of course not, that he’d acknowledge that I’d looked after Charlotte first, that he’d say he knows I’m a good mother. Instead, he’s made that sharp—angry?—turn and ended the conversation.