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Neither of us spoke for a beat.
‘What happened to your family?’ he asked, and I heard the caution in his voice. Fresh tears sprang to my eyes, and I blotted them away with the sleeve of my T-shirt before they could roll down my cheeks.
‘Somebody tied them all up and poured gasoline on them,’ I said flatly. ‘There was a fire. Nobody made it.’
‘And your boy?’
‘He’s safe.’
‘Where is he?’ John pressed.
I stared openly at him, keeping my mouth shut. I’d never tell.
‘So you let me dispose of a DEA agent for you, but you don’t trust me?’ He looked affronted.
I shrugged. ‘Would you tell me where your daughter was, if the tables were turned?’
John nodded. ‘Yeah, okay. I get it. So what are you going to do?’
I looked around. ‘What do you mean, what am I going to do? I’m going to do nothing. I’m going to lie low and figure out what the fuck my next move is.’
‘You gonna run?’ John probed.
‘Of course I’m not going to run,’ I replied. ‘Running means dying. Besides, like you said, there’s nowhere to go.’
John nodded again, deep in thought. ‘When’s Guillermo due back?’ he asked finally.
‘A few days, I think. I’m not sure. Depends if his mother gets better or goes downhill.’
‘I’ll sleep on the couch,’ he said.
When I raised my eyebrows, he gave me a look that said it was out of my hands.
‘It’s almost five,’ he said. ‘I’ll crash for a few hours, have some coffee, and leave.’
‘Suit yourself,’ I said, not moving from my spot.
He left the room, and I lay down on my side, rolling myself into a ball. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I wanted to stay awake, and try to process the last several hours, but before I knew it, I was out like a light.
* * *
I woke to hear a fist beating on the front door. I jerked awake, sitting straight up in my bed. John appeared, looking tired as fuck. He hadn’t slept then. He had a gun in one hand, gesturing for me to stay put.
‘Open the fucking door!’ a female voice yelled outside.
Allie. That hadn’t taken long.
‘Murphy’s girlfriend,’ I whispered.
John’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at the front door, apparently undecided.
‘Let me answer it,’ I said.
John reluctantly moved out of my way, training his gun at the door.
‘She’s DEA too,’ I murmured, pushing his gun gently to his side. ‘Let me deal with this.’
I opened the door just a crack, to find a very irate Allie Baxter standing on my front stoop, dressed in jeans and a black Ramones T-shirt. She was off duty. Still packing, though, I could see, judging by the gun holstered on her hip.
