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“He’d worn a wire and recorded some conversations.”
“Why did you lie when I first asked you?” I softened my grip and turned her arm over to look at the soft inside of her wrist, so small and delicate, then returned my gaze to hers.
I squeezed again, hurting her.
She flinched.
“Why did you lie?”
“I don’t know.”
We locked gazes while water boiled over in the pot. “Do you have access to the recordings?”
Her jaw tightened, and I twisted her arm behind her back, standing so close our bodies touched, hers small and soft, mine wanting.
“Yes.”
I waited, twisting again so that she cried out.
“You’re hurting me!”
“Where?” My voice came clear and calm compared to her panicked cry.
“At the library where I volunteer.”
“You volunteer at the library?”
“I like to read.”
“Where exactly?”
Water spilled out from under the lid of the pasta, hissing as it fell to the stove top.
“Mateo saved the file on one of the computers. A public computer. No one will find it.”
I smiled. “Clever.”
“You’re really hurting me.”
As if I needed a reminder. Hell, she was the one who needed one. “I told you I would.”
She didn’t have a comeback for that. I released her, and she stepped back, rubbing her arm. I turned down the burner.
“Did you listen to the recordings?” I asked.
She shook her head. “He’d only done it the day before he disappeared. I found out the next morning when I went in for my shift and found an envelope tucked under the keyboard at my workstation with my name on the front. I recognized Mateo’s handwriting and looked when I got a chance. It was a scribbled note with a file path. That’s all. I didn’t have time to download it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“You didn’t ask me.”
“Omission is lying.”
“This is a fucked-up situation. I don’t know left from right, and you go from torturing me to…to…” she gestured around the kitchen. “To fucking playing house.”
“We’re not fucking playing house.”
“No fucking joke. My brother is dead. He died because of what was on that recording. Excuse me if I don’t give it up without a second thought to a man I called Death!”
I backed off, filled a glass with water from the tap, and drank, forcing myself to breathe, to calm the fuck down. “What were you going to do with the file?” I finally asked.
She shrugged a shoulder. “Depended on what was on it. I guess turn them over, get Victor arrested, sent to prison.”
“That’s naive.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
I know she tried to sound hateful, clever, but she didn’t. She just sounded sad and a little lost, actually.
I shook my head and took the pot of pasta off the burner.
“Don’t lie to me again,” I said without looking at her.
She stood back while I drained then plated the pasta and poured olive oil over it. After wiping down the kitchen table, I carried them over and set them down.
“Utensils are in there.” I pointed.
She looked as though she wasn’t sure if the conversation was over or not.
I went into the living room and found a bottle of wine, picked it up, and took it and two glasses back into the kitchen. Gia was sitting by then, silent, her gaze on me.
“Hope you like red.” After rinsing the glasses, I sat at the table, poured the wine, and started to eat.
Gia ate too, each of us silent, the clanking of forks and knives on the plates the only sound breaking the heavy silence.
“What now?” she asked when we’d finished. “I don’t want to hide.”
“I need to listen to those conversations. Where’s this library?”
“Philadelphia.”
“We’ll go tomorrow. Does Victor know about the recordings? Does he know that you know about them?”
“I don’t think he knows there’s a copy. I know he had a flash drive he destroyed. He’s dumb enough to think that’s the only copy. When he questioned me, he didn’t ask me outright about it, so I think Mateo told him I wasn’t involved and knew nothing.”
“Don’t underestimate him.” I didn’t think Victor was a stupid man. An asshole, but not stupid. Although arrogance tended to give one blinders. I’d learned that myself. Maybe his arrogance would get him caught.
After eating, Gia took the dishes to the sink and began to wash them. I watched her as I finished the wine. Neither of us spoke.
“I’m sleeping in Lucia’s room?” she asked once she’d finished and wiped her hands clean.
I nodded.
“Where are you sleeping?”
“Not in your bed. Don’t worry.”
She gave me a smirk. “I’m going up to bed, then.”
I watched her walk to the swinging door. “Gia,” I called once she’d opened it.
She turned.
“Don’t go anywhere else.”
“Like where do you think I would go?” she asked, a hand on her hip.
I crossed one leg over the other and smiled, tilted my chair, and balanced on its back legs. “Like don’t do anything stupid,” I said, mimicking her.
