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On the sidewalk, I spy a familiar face with a microphone. “Let’s roll, Walker.” I’ll have to face the press eventually, but today is not that day, the lousy bunch of stalkers. Don’t they know we arrest people for that kind of thing?
Traffic is heavy, so we lose the bloodhounds straight off. They’ll be back, and next time I’ll be ready for them. Silence settles in.
“What, you got nothing to say for yourself?” Palming the wheel, Tripp shoots me a glance.
“Thank you?”
“Thank you? Is that all you got? Use all your words on a cute cellmate?”
I snarl while he laughs like he’s front and centerat a comedy show.Well, he’s not funny.
“Aw, come on. That was a good one.”
Maybe in the old days, but now…it feels like everything’s changed. I hopenormalis still out there for me. I reward him with a wince-like grin, best I can do. I press my hands to my denim thighs. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Walker.”
“Then I’ll start: Youarewelcome. Guess we’re even now.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“You did save my sister’s life.”
“And then I nearly cost her her life.”
“How do you figure?”
“If she hadn’t been tangled up with me…”
He frowns. “She was tangled up withme,I believe.”
Oh. He’s…right.Huh.I see now how he defaulted to self-blame when the woman he loved got hurt.
Gulp.
“Is this going to be a thing with you now? Blaming yourself for stuff? ’Cause if it is, I got the name of a good shrink to give you.”
“Maybe it is.” Now he’s just being annoying.
“What have you done to the real Marco Gonzalez and where did you put him?”
I stare at the blur of restaurants around the outskirts of a mall. A dry laugh. “I think he’s gone.” I sigh. “Might not be such a bad thing.”
“Hey, what’s the matter? This is supposed to be a happy day.”
Shrug. “I guess.” But I’ve taken a hard look at the man in the mirror, and I’m not a fan.
Tripp moans a long-suffering sigh. “Aw, crud.” He flips the blinker and takes the off-ramp to a Chili’s. “This alright?”
Whatever. “Sure.”
It’s mid-afternoon, so the lunch rush is over. I’m glad there aren’t many people here, though I think our waitress recognized me from the news when she took our drink order. Thankfully, she kept it to herself.
I plunge a straw into my ice-cold soft drink. Now that I’m here, my stomach is talking at me. Jail food is worse than my cooking.
A cough rises up, and I cover it with my hand, then take a long swig of soda.
“You alright?”
I nod, the straw still in my mouth. Swallow. “Getting over the flu.” Yep, it was Annalise’s parting gift. Spent my week in lockup sicker than a dog.
