“Just work, Shelby. Stop acting like my mom.”

It’s always hot and cold with him. One moment, he’s apologizing, the next he’s snapping.

“Okay, fine. Want to meet at the Mexican place at eight, then?”

“Sounds good,” he answers, and I hear the change in his tone. He sounds pretty over the guilt and he’s moving on to something else.

“Hey, Ez, don’t worry about it anymore, okay?” I ask.

“Okay, but just be careful with him. If you decide to talk to him. He’s fucking crazy.”

You have no idea, I think but don’t dare say it.

Dinner with my brother has me feeling relieved. I have an excuse to avoid Rafe’s apartment. Maybe a couple days to cool off will get him out of my head. Maybe as long as I don’t see him, I can stay away.

Chapter Nine

Rafe

The weekend flies by, and I don’t see Shelby once. Saturday night was frustrating, to say the least. Especially after that kiss in the morning. I couldn’t get the sweet taste of her lips off my mind all day. I actually had myself convinced that I could let myself go with this girl. Just so I could kiss her again.

But she doesn’t show up Saturday night. Or Sunday. Her car is gone Monday morning before I leave for work, and I keep waiting for my head to just move on. She clearly has.

Work is quiet today. Mostly paperwork from the weekend, and I do my best to stay on top of the buillshit, but I need something else to keep my attention.

Opening the file on the kid arrested last week, I decide today would be a good day to do a little poking around. So I grab my jacket and head into town.

The owners of the gift shop downtown see me coming as I park the bike and walk up to the storefront. I can see when someone has something to hide before they even open their mouths to speak. It’s all in how they react to seeing me. It’s a different brand of fear. Fear of getting caught, and fear of causing trouble.

These people, a young couple from Juarez, have the latter written all over their faces. It was the woman’s nephew who was picked up last week, and by the look she’s giving me, she’s currently saying about a hundred Hail Mary’s in her head that I’m not here to pick him up again.

“Good morning,” they both chime as I walk in the door.

“Morning,” I answer, politely. “Is Mateo around?”

“He hasn’t gotten into any more trouble, has he?” the girl asks, stepping toward me from behind the counter. I try to show her a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t seem to be calming her down.

“Not at all. Just checking in on him,” I answer, which is true. Last week, Mateo didn’t drop a word to the investigators on where the drugs came from or who set him up to sell on Wicked. He just claimed he sold them because he wanted to. Got them from a kid whose name he didn’t know. Typical cover-up story. And since he’s here on a visa, getting tied up in a felony could cause major problems for him and his family.