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1048 Words
“That’s because she knows what I’m capable of. And let me tell you, boss man, if me, you, and big papi over there get into it, I’m the only one who walks out of this office alive.”
Chuckling, Emiliano says, “I’m really starting to like this girl.”
Me too.
I hold up my hands in surrender. “I hear you. Okay? We’re good.”
After a moment of narrow-eyed doubt, Chelsea decides she’ll let me live for a moment longer.
“Walk me through what happened. She left the table to go to the bathroom. Ten minutes later, big papi comes to get me and brings me back here. She’s passed out on the sofa, and you’re hovering over her like some psycho who wants to make a suit out of her skin.”
Emiliano chuckles again.
Ignoring him, I tell her everything that occurred since I came in the restaurant. When I’m done, she folds her arms over her chest and gives me a slow, calculated once-over.
“You watched us on the security cameras.”
The way she says it sounds really bad. Emiliano thinks so too, because he throws me an I-told-you-so look over his shoulder.
“Yes.”
“So you followed her here from work.”
Jesus, she’s sharp. I should hire her.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I saw her getting into her car in the parking garage. Because I wanted to know where she was going. Because I couldn’t help myself.”
She steps closer, demanding, “And because what else?”
“Because I haven’t stopped thinking about her since we met.”
“You like her?”
“I more than like her.”
She searches my face with the unblinking focus of a hawk in a tree searching for mice in the bushes. I let her look. I don’t have anything to hide.
At least where Shay is concerned.
Into our standoff, Emiliano says, “Got it. That pinche puto.”
Chelsea and I turn to see a slow-mo image on his screen of Dylan taking a tiny vial from the pocket of his slacks. He hides it in his palm. When the bartender sets two drinks in front of him, he passes his hand over one of them, tips it quickly, then picks up both drinks and turns away.
“Guedo’s done that before. He’s good at it.”
Watching the screen with glittering eyes, Chelsea says softly, “That wasn’t GHB or Rohypnol. It worked too fast. I’m thinking ketamine.”
I agree, but I’m interested in how she knows. “You in law enforcement?”
“I’m an ER nurse.”
That explains the battle-hardened nerves. “I’ve got a doctor on the way to take a look at her.”
“You have a doctor coming here? No, she needs to get to the hospital.”
“If she goes to the hospital, they’ll test her for drugs.”
“Exactly.”
“There will be a police report.”
“That’s what we want!”
“No, it isn’t. Let me tell you why.”
With thinned lips and flared nostrils, Chelsea stares at me for a beat. She glances at Shay lying quietly on the sofa, then looks warily back at me.
“I’m listening.”
“Dylan passed an extensive background check when he was hired. It’s a process everyone goes through. If HR discovers any hint of impropriety in your history, you don’t get the job. I’m talking criminal convictions, but also arrests that don’t result in a conviction. Charges that were brought but dropped. Lawsuits. Settlements. Liens. Credit. References. Education. Social media profiles. Everything.”
“What’s your point?”
“He’s squeaky clean.”
“He’s a scumbag! You saw that tape! We’ll give it to the police and get him thrown in jail!”
“Maybe. Maybe not. He has no priors. No criminal history of any kind. He’s a smooth-talking Caucasian male with a sympathetic face. The court system is historically lenient on people like him. And he can afford to hire a very good attorney. Best case scenario, he gets sentenced to a few years but probably doesn’t spend any time in prison.”
She mulls it over silently for a moment. “Community service, not conviction.”
“Yes. Which means he’s free to do it again.”
She turns away, props her hands on her hips and stares silently down at Shay on the sofa. Then she turns back to me.
“I assume you have an alternative.”
“Yes.”
“Which is?”
“I’ll take care of him.”
She scoffs. “What, you’ll demote him to the mail room?”
“No. That isn’t what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
I gaze at her steadily but remain silent.
She lifts her brows and looks at Emiliano. “Is he serious?”
“As a heart attack, mami.”
She reassesses me, looking me up and down. Then she folds her arms over her chest again and c***s her head. “You’ll take care of him.”
“You heard what I said.”
“How will I know? Will it be on the news? Local Business Mogul Buries Scumbag in the Desert?”
“It won’t be on the news. And it won’t be in the desert.”
After a moment, she laughs. “You’re joking.”
“You know I’m not. But if it helps you feel better, you’re welcome to think that.”
When she only stands there staring at me in disbelieving silence, I say, “Let me ask you a question, Chelsea. How many girls have you seen pass through your ER in Shay’s condition?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“And how many rape victims? Assault victims? Domestic violence victims?”
Her jaw works. She swallows. Her voice comes out low. “You know the answer to that too.”
“And how many of the men who abused all those women got the punishment they deserve?”
“A few.”
“Too few. Most of them walk, and the abuse escalates until somebody’s dead.”
- Writer
