Page 101 of Say it Ain’t So

With her shoulders squared, she slipped inside, and I braced myself for whatever new hell she’d bring.

What she brought caught me off guard. She pulled a pill bottle from her jacket pocket and set it on the table in front of me with the cup of coffee in her hand.

“What’s this?” I asked, not willing to touch either item.

She snatched the bottle and held it in front of my face. “A peace offering.”

It was my pills. Relief hit me like I was a junkie about to get a fix. I snatched the bottle from her hand, but my own hands fumbled with the childproof lid.

“Let me help.” She came around the table and took the bottle back. I wanted to protest, but she had it open and a handful in her palm before I opened my mouth. “How many?”

“One,” I bit out.

She narrowed her eyes at me, then poured all but two back into the bottle, then handed them to me. I didn’t object. I tossed them in my mouth and sucked them down with a mouthful of coffee—or rather, cold water, as it turned out.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” She glanced at the camera before returning her attention to me. “You doing okay?”

“No.” I grimaced and rubbed my aching leg.

“I’m sorry about that.” She shifted uncomfortably. “I told Carlson you can’t stand without your crutches, but he wouldn’t listen. He ordered them to take you in no matter what.”

Narrowing my eyes, I tilted my head to one side and looked her over. Her arms were crossed in front of her, and her posture was stiff even though she was leaning against the table with her ankles crossed.

“How’d you know I can’t stand on my own?”

Her eyes flared and she lifted her chin. Her pursed lips came apart slowly before she bit her bottom one. “It’s obvious.” She stood and stepped around the table before gesturing to my leg. “Anyone with eyes can see you’re not faking this.”

“Anyone with eyes?” I shook my head. “Then why didn’t the other five recognize it?”

She didn’t answer, only looked back at the camera near the ceiling before glancing at her watch. She moved to the door, saying, “I’ve gotta go,” as she went.

“You’re Van’s friend, right?”

Hernandez spun on her heel, her eyes flashing with something like hatred. She came back to the table and grabbed the pill bottle from my hand. “We’re not friends.” She scowled when a grin tugged at one corner of my lips, then added, “He’s a pain in my ass.”

My grin widened. “He said the same thing about you.”

With her lips pressed flat, she tucked the bottle into her pocket and walked away. She grabbed the door handle but peered back at me. The hard edge on her face that was there earlier was gone. “You’ll be out of here soon.”

* * *

She wasn’t lying. About an hour after my pills finally dulled my pain to a bearable level, Hernandez was back at the door. This time, she brought my crutches and keys to my handcuffs with her.

“You’re free to go,” she said as she unlocked my cuffs.

I rubbed my wrists, then accepted my crutches as she shoved them my way. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” The way she pinned me with her glare made me think she said it because she meant it—that she didn’t want me to mention what she’d done for me—rather than issuing it as a platitude.

Of course, that only made me want to tell everyone I knew.

“You know,” I said after I’d stuffed my belongings back into my pockets, “I really don’t feel like I got to know you that well. I mean, you dropped me in here and never once came in to ask questions or anything.”

She glared at me as I struggled to get to my feet—and she didn’t offer to help.

“I was thinking, maybe we could go out sometime.”