He had been the one and only suspect in Mom’s case, and he just casually slipped it into a conversation before getting back to work? There had to be more to the story.

Vee’s voice floated across the street and into the alley. She’d moved on to a different song—one I’d never heard.

Seemed like everyone wanted to just move on.

Well, not me.

When was I ever like everyone else?

I stood and brushed the dirt off my butt. “Absolutely,” I said. I hooked my elbow through Marisol’s and marched her into position. “Let’s finish this.”

9

I LEANED ON Chris’s apartment buzzer, imagining the sound dragging him away from whatever it was he was doing. Honestly, I didn’t care if he was watching TV or asleep or on the freaking toilet. I needed his help, and I wasn’t going to wait around in the parking lot this time.

A breeze kicked up behind me. The sun had gotten too harsh for Dad’s photographing pleasure, causing shadows under Marisol’s eyes, and he’d called it quits for the day, but only after making me take about a zillion shots of her. As if I could concentrate on lighting and composition after the bomb he’d dropped on me.

I let my thumb off the buzzer, but only for a second. I peered through the double doors at the stark, industrial-carpeted stairs. Nothing. I jammed my thumb into the buzzer again.

Soon there was a thumping noise, and I saw Chris coming down. He was in a pair of baggy sweats and a ratty, stained T-shirt. His hair looked funky, like maybe he’d been lying down on it. His expression looked like he wanted to slap whoever was ringing his buzzer.

I let off the button and waited for him to open the door.

“What are you—”

I pushed past him and started up the stairs. “We need to talk.” I didn’t wait to see if he was following me. I knew without even looking that he would. Why was he the first one I always went to when shit got real?

Because maybe he didn’t remember, but I knew what we could accomplish as a pair. And I was sick of getting nowhere.

“You could have called. I was sleeping.”

“I could have,” I said, rounding up another flight of stairs. “But I didn’t. No time.” I jogged up that flight and threw open the door to his floor, my breath coming heavy. “God, would it kill your landlord to install an elevator?”

Chris took considerably longer to get up that second flight of stairs, and when he finally came through the door, he was limping a little, one hand protecting his ribs. Now that he was walking without his cane, it was easy to forget that he’d been mangled just a few months ago. I waited for him by his apartment.