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Several emotions swirl in her eyes. Confusion, shock, maybe even intrigue. But not judgment. And that’s only because I didn’t confess to her about the gun incident. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to talk about that one.
I roll my lips. “Pretty much.”
Without taking her eyes off me, she leans over and grabs the bottle of tequila we used to make the margaritas. She pours a shot into both of our empty cups and then hands one to me.
We take the shot, cringing at the taste, and then stare at each other in silence.
“I’m just not even sure what to say.”
I groan. “Daya, I don’t know what to do. He didn’t hurt me, but he did. He definitely forced himself on me. But I would’ve let him go farther had he tried. I’m so fucking confused. And I feel dirty and wrong, but when it was happening, it felt…”
I trail off with another groan, and this time I just bang my head against the granite countertop.
“Really good?” she fills in. "Amazing? Out of this world?"
"All of the above," I confess. "I have never come so hard in my entire life.”
“Damn,” she breathes, a note of awe in her voice. “Has he contacted you since then?” she asks gently, running her fingers through my hair in a comforting gesture.
I lift my head, a frown on my face. “Yes. He just… he said he didn’t want me to fall in love with something fake. He pretty much said he’s showing me who he really is, instead of lying to me about it. The fact that he thinks he can make me fall in love with him in the first place goes to show how deranged he is.”
“That’s… oddly nice? But really fucked up. There’s something wrong with him. But we knew that from the chopped-off hands.”
I snort. “Yeah, just a bit.”
“Have you, uh, asked him about that yet?”
I nod. “Yeah, he basically played his usual macho man act and said not to worry about it and that he’d take care of it.” I roll my eyes, but in all honesty, I’m glad for it. If I can count on my shadow for anything, it’s to fuck someone up.
He’s made that more than clear.
I sit up and bring Gigi's journal back towards me. “Anyhoo, let’s just focus on figuring out what happened to my great-grandmother.”
It’s not hard to put Daya back into hacker mode. She slides her laptop towards her and immediately starts tapping away on the keyboard. The quickness of her fingers gives me a run for my money when I’m in a particularly good part in writing my book. She’s been known to have to replace a few keys from how hard she types.
“So, time of death for Gigi was estimated about 5:05 P.M. Your great-grandfather claimed that he had run to the grocery store and when he came home, he found her dead in their bed. I found some witness reports claiming they did see John in Morty’s grocery store around 5:35 P.M. But they didn’t specify if they had seen him walking in or out of the store, or if they just saw him shopping during that time.”
I nod my head, twisting my lips in contemplation. “In her last few journal entrie
s, she was frantic and kept saying that he was coming for her. She never said who he is. But it has to be Ronaldo, right?
“So, maybe he waited until John left and snuck in and killed her while he was gone. He stalked her after all, he’d know exactly when my great-grandfather would’ve left.”
Daya shrugs a shoulder, looking a little unconvinced.
“But don’t the diary entries say that John was getting aggressive, and Gigi said she was going to divorce him, right?” she questions.
I frown. “Well, yeah, but I don’t think he would’ve killed her. He loved her too much.”
“Couldn’t the same be said for her stalker?”
Noting my expression, Daya sighs and rests her hand on mine.
“Addie, I love you and I’m going to say this with all my love. But don’t project. I’m starting to get the feeling that you want Ronaldo to be the killer because in your head, that will criminalize your stalker, too. Please tell me that’s not why you’re seeking justice for Gigi. Because you’re looking for a reason to hate your stalker when in actuality, you don’t.”
I pull my hand from under hers and look away. Uncomfortable feelings invade my body, preventing me from speaking right away.
“I don’t need to look for a reason to hate him,” I grumble.
