And Now She's Gone(28)
No.
That’s what she told herself the next morning as she stood, puffy-eyed, in front of the bathroom mirror with light that, just the day before, had made her look glamorous. That light now made the cut on her lip, the tender purple bruise around her right bicep, and the matching bruise at her kidney appear uglier and meaner than they were. Yeah, the light did that.
Sean came into the bathroom and stood behind her. He met her eyes in the mirror’s reflection. “We got a little carried away, huh?” He wore 501s and his favorite V-neck sweater over a white T-shirt. Nice Guy uniform. He swiped his hand across his beautiful face.
A teardrop tumbled down Mrs. Dixon’s cheek. That was the only movement on her body.
Watching that teardrop fall made anger flicker in Sean’s eyes. “I…” His nostrils flared.
Barely breathing, she tore her gaze away from his. She grew rigid as his breath scorched her ears. What was he about to do to her?
He said, “I’ll never touch you like that again. Okay?”
His words traveled like a giant pill scraping her throat and leaving behind a bitter taste. She swallowed whatever it was, then whispered, “Okay.”
He grasped her shoulders, then kissed the top of her head. “I don’t deserve you. I know that. You know that. The world, including dude last night, knows that, and I let it get to me. You’re incredible, Mrs. Dixon. You take my breath away, and I’m gonna make it up to you.”
He’d said almost the exact collection of words once he’d apologized for forgetting her birthday last month. I’m gonna make it up to you.
This morning, he kissed the bruise on her arm. “Get dressed. We’ll eat breakfast and then we’ll go shopping, okay? And I was gonna surprise you, but…” He grinned, bashful all of a sudden. “I got us tickets to see Copperfield tonight. You love Copperfield. So … Okay. Let’s get going.” He winked at her reflection and patted her butt.
Mrs. Dixon tensed beneath his kinder hit that was still a hit. Even after he’d left the bathroom, she stayed there, in front of that magic mirror, with that diamond in her nose. Flawless. But those bruises were getting uglier as blood continued to spill through broken veins beneath her skin. She didn’t want to see that ugliness, not on this, her first anniversary.
So she pawed through her makeup bag, moving aside eyeliner, lip gloss, mascara, a tampon, moisturizer, sharpener, cotton swab, tweezers … Ah. Here. And she twisted the cap off the bottle of liquid foundation, and she dabbed a perfect drop on her finger.
14
Tea ordered dessert, then asked Gray to promise she wouldn’t drag Isabel back to L.A.
But Gray hadn’t been hired to drag anybody anywhere. After watching Tea consume churros and ice cream, and after paying the bill, she walked the woman out to the parking lot, to a scraped-up green Altima with its rear window lined with thousands of troll dolls.
The sun had set and all light came from hundreds of headlamps and brake lights that buzzed east and west on Jefferson Boulevard. It was time to join the fray.
“Just ask Isabel to send the few things that I need,” Gray told Tea, “and I’ll pick up the dog from wherever she decides, and then we’ll be done. Promise.”
“I’ll do my best to convince her,” Tea said. “Thanks, Gray. Be blessed.”
Back in the restaurant, Jennifer grabbed her purse from the banquette she’d shared with Gray for just six minutes. “So much for us not working tonight.”
“Don’t worry,” Gray said. “You didn’t work. And it couldn’t be helped.”
“You told her to meet you here,” Jennifer pointed out.
“Rookie mistake,” Clarissa said.
Jennifer slipped her arm through Gray’s as they strolled to the exit. “Productive?”
Gray glanced back at the bar. Hank was pouring beers for the college kids. “She claims that the boyfriend used to beat Isabel.”
“What’s that in your voice?” Jennifer asked.
“I’m just not sure why Nick gave this case to me. I mean, I get it, but…”
Jennifer squeezed Gray’s arm. “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it. And you can go back to doing what you do best. What was that again? Typing?”
“Typing and proofing,” Gray said. “Anyway, Isabel should be sending proof of life tomorrow and I will have solved my very first case. Yay, me.”
With that, Gray climbed back into the Camry and started her twisty, five-extra-miles drive home. Her route was a centipede, a tableau of red ribbons, a bullet ricocheting through a 503-square-mile corpse. No black Range Rovers or red Jaguars reflected in her rearview mirror. And that made her think about her promise not to drag Isabel Lincoln back to Los Angeles.
Because the truth was this: every nine seconds, a woman was battered in America. Over ten thousand women were killed by their current or ex-partners every year. America—the world—had a woman problem, and there was not enough money in Warren Buffett’s bank account to compel Gray to contribute to those statistics. If it came down to that, to dragging Isabel back to Los Angeles, she’d hand the case over to Jennifer and apologize to Nick.
Do unto others.
15
Just five years ago, Beaudry Towers had been one of the swankiest places to live in downtown Los Angeles. Apartment units either boasted northern views of the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion and city hall or southern views of downtown skyscrapers and the bulk of south Los Angeles. The Towers had a swimming pool and patio space that sparkled. Trees and shrubbery had been regularly trimmed and tended.