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“You are letting me go?” My voice was small, and for the first time, the detective looked at me with sympathy in his eyes.
He nodded. “The doctor told me that your windpipe was nearly crushed. Given that there was no sign of a struggle with your brother, and your mother would have been too small to cause that kind of damage, I believe that we are looking for someone else.”
“So, what was the point of this?”
The detective’s dark eyes turned to my father. “To find the person”—he looked at me—“or persons who are responsible for gunning down your family.”
My father’s fingers tightened once more, and I tried not to wince. This time I did not think that he was doing it on purpose. “And harassing my daughter is part of that?”
The man rolled his eyes. “Questioning,” he emphasized that word, “her is part of getting to the bottom of what happened. After all, we aren’t just trying to find out who killed your family, but also, why.”
There was a threat in that, and my father heard it.
The detective looked at me. “If you think of anything, give me a call.”
As he walked away, I held my breath slightly, waiting for him to leave the room.
When he did, my father released his grip on my shoulder and started working the manacles off my wrist. “They never should have handcuffed you,” he grumbled. “You had an episode when they brought you in. You were screaming and fighting, and they used that as an excuse.”
The skin on my wrists was raw. “What happened?” I cried.
My father moved from his spot next to my shoulder, and instead, stood at the bottom of the hospital bed. His dark eyes looked at me, and though I could see the grief reflected in his features, I could see that he was wearing the façade of his position.
An interrogation was about to occur.
“I don’t remember what happened,” I said. “That wasn’t a lie.”
“I’m sure,” he said, his voice even. But I noticed that his fingers were wrapped around the edge of the bed. His normally olive-colored skin was white. “I also wasn’t lying about what the doctor said. You had enough drugs in your system to put out an elephant. It’s a miracle that you recall anything.”
Pulling the sheet closer to my body, I shivered. “Angel and Mama…” I sucked in air through my nose as I tried to calm my shaking voice. “That’s not something I would forget.”
My father rubbed a hand across his face. “I shouldn’t be grateful that you were out getting high but…” A sob escaped him, and the sound of it tore at my heart. The only time my father ever cried was when my sister, Carina, died.
And we’d been able to prepare for her death. She’d been sick her entire life, and though my parents tried everything they could, even all the money in the world could not cure her cancer.
He ran his hand across his face once more as he got himself together. “The doctor wants to keep you overnight, but when you are released, I’ve arranged for you to go to New York.”
“New York? What’s in New York?”
Millions of questions raced through my mind, but I couldn’t get them all out. I felt as though I were in shock. The reality of this situation had not fully permeated my brain.
He sighed. “Our enemies have breached the house. L.A. isn’t safe any longer. I’ve arranged for you to go stay with a friend of mine.”
I sat up straighter. “You are sending me away?” The betrayal of that statement burned through me. “After everything. You want to send me away?”
“I’m keeping you safe.”
My mouth was dry, and I thought back to the man who had attacked me. “I saw his face,” I gasped. The memory of his voice was like a piece of smoke, and as I tried to grab at it, it slipped through my fingers.
“Who?” The bed cracked under the pressure of his hands.
The memory was so close I could almost taste it. I’d recognized the attacker. It was someone I knew, but the drugs had affected my memory, and though I remembered what happened, the details weren’t sharp.
“Carla?”
Tears prickled my eyes. “I…” I tried to grasp the details of the memory, but it was useless. “I don’t remember his face.”
My father sighed and shook his head.
