Chris stared into my eyes for a moment. I gripped the seat of my chair with my one ungloved hand to keep the swooping, sweeping rainbow under me. He reached over and pulled the glove off my hand and began unwrapping it. “And you want to be there why?”

I looked at him incredulously. “Because I was there when you were run over. If this Heriberto Abana is behind it, I want to be there when you find him. Maybe seeing him will jog my memory.” I had tried a million times to picture the person behind the wheel of that Monte Carlo. But it had all happened so fast, I’d never even had time to look. Still, maybe I’d looked without knowing. That had certainly happened before.

“Yeah,” he said softly, turning back to my hand. His fingers brushed the inside of my wrist softly. I lit up with violet inside. I could feel my cheeks get hot. Damn it, Nikki, don’t blush. “I guess you’re right.”

“Today?” I asked. “I mean, I’m not doing anything. That I know of.”

“I probably should work until lunch at least before I bug out,” he said. “You up for an afternoon swim?”

I pulled my hand away from his and unwrapped the rest of it myself, then pushed the wadded wrap into his chest. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m up for anything.”

He grinned. “I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that I remember that.”

I unwound the other wrap, my jelly arms starting to regain some feeling, and pulled my T-shirt back on. It was hot and my sticky hair felt trapped between the shirts. I would definitely need a shower before going anywhere with him.

“It’s good, trust me,” I said as we walked.

“I have something for you,” he said as we pushed our way back out into the parking lot.

I followed him to his car. He opened a back door and tossed the gym bag inside, and then opened the front door and leaned in. He came back out with a fat manila envelope.

“What’s this?” I asked. My eyes burned. I knew exactly what it was.

He held it out. “It’s what you asked for. I told you I’d look.” I stared at the file, suddenly afraid of what it could do to my life. He shook the envelope. “Take it.”

“Did you look inside?” My voice was almost a whisper.

“No time.” He started to pull it back. “We can look at it together, if you want.”

“No.” My arm shot out and grabbed the envelope from him. My dad’s name, in its typical fuzzy tangerine, bounced around on the front of it. If there was something in there that implicated him in Mom’s murder, I wanted to be alone when I found out.