I whirled around and started to walk backward. “Oh, well, because an old rival gang member was trying to kill you for taking the drugs away from his dealers, that should totally take precedence over the fact that I think I’m currently living with a potential killer. Nice.”

He laughed incredulously. “Okay, well, because you think your dad might have had something to do with your mom’s death—which you have absolutely no proof of, by the way—and despite the fact that he’s never so much as raised his voice to you, that should totally take precedence over the very real car that hit me. Nice.” He matched my glare.

I growled and turned back. Now I was churning up the sidewalk, and not caring if he was able to keep up with me.

“You know, life isn’t always about you all the time, Nikki. We were partners once.”

I raised my eyebrows, surprised. He nodded.

“Yeah, I remember. We were partners when it was all about looking for your bad guy. But when it comes to mine, we’re not partners. It’s still all about you. It’s always all about you.”

“Oh, really?” I said. “So when I was sitting at the community center all damn day looking for Heriberto, that was about me? Or when I was getting plate numbers and Googling Heriberto and busting my brain to try to remember anything that might help you, that was about me?”

“You help me when it’s convenient for you. But you don’t even consider what might be convenient for me. Maybe I don’t have time to deal with your drama.”

“Drama?” I said, noticing my voice ratcheting up several notches. “So almost being killed repeatedly is drama now?”

“You’re not the only one defending your life,” he spat.

We’d turned another corner and found ourselves skirting the church’s playground. I tromped through the pea gravel and sat on a swing. It made a rusty creaking noise. Chris stood on the perimeter. I threw up my arms. “So what do you want me to do? Help you find the drugs you stashed? Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know, maybe because it would help solve my case?”

“And what about mine?”

He pointed at me. “See, there you go again. Your case. My case. Yours. Mine. Not ours. So what are we doing here if we’re not helping each other out?”

I had no answer for that. Irritation pulsed through me. I’d been hoping to get some support here, not accusations that I was somehow responsible for ruining our so-called partnership that he, up until this point, couldn’t even remember existed.

“I don’t know,” I said softly. There was a long pause between us, during which the swing I was sitting on continued to screech.