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“Not at all.” I sat back from my desk watching her squirm uncomfortably. There were rumors circulating that she wasn’t a favorite of The Red Tribe, nor was she accepted into the Sunshine Sisters. For a mite of a thing, she was certainly a storm of trouble and an outcast no matter how much she tried to avoid it.
What the hell was she doing here in the first place? She was keeping me up at night with my own lewd thoughts wondering how the fuck I was going to stay away from her and yet here she is at my request. I had no one to blame but myself for that one.
“Garcia said you wanted to discuss something?”
I cleared my throat.
“I heard a rumor you like books.” Watching her throat constrict and cheeks flame pink, my pants grew uncomfortably tight. I knew she thought I was going to suggest something highly improper, and the thoughts were a strong temptation. I wasn’t going to suggest something, but I still thought about it.
“How?”
“I might have asked around.” I shrugged. I actually did ask her cellmate in exchange for something Sharee wanted which was easy enough to give. Who knew chocolate bars were a high currency around here.
“I do like books but what does that have to do with anything?” She’s wary and I don’t blame her. I’m trying to couch what I’m doing to keep her safe and out of trouble from being obvious.
I shift a few papers on my desk before speaking. “There’s a job opening in the library, but I want something in exchange.” I looked up at her and watched the expression on her face change.
“What?” She asked biting her lower lip.
“Tell me about that night,” I opened the file, paging through the document to the summary of events listed on the police report.
“The night? What night?” Her eyes dart around the room as if she’d been looking for a way out. No such luck, I wasn’t giving up this bone without a fight or answers from her pretty pink lips.
“The one where Grant was killed.” I rested my forearms on the wood surface, sleeves rolled up, rearranging the desk blotter. I waited for her to speak.
“It’s in the file.” Her voice small and worried.
My hands rested over the spread out papers tapping as her eyes scanned the desk with petulance. “I know what’s in the file, but I want to hear it from you.”
“Why? The court didn’t believe me.” Flippancy would not be a good move on her part despite my attraction to her.
“Don’t be dismissive with me, Ms. Cruz.” Her eyes followed my every movement. “I don’t like it and it doesn’t help you.” I waited for a reaction. She was good, but the twitch of her eye told me another story.
“I’m here aren’t I?” I gripped a pen clicking it to distract myself from getting up and doing something I shouldn’t like touching her. I wanted to touch her badly, I’d take any excuse I could, but I knew it would be wrong. I’d be taking advantage of my power, but the temptation was there. I almost in twisted way pitied the lesser men who fell far and hard giving in.
“Yes, here you are, but do you deserve to be here?”
“Ask the judge.” Her defenses were high and I was getting nowhere with my questions.
“I’m asking you, and I’m willing to listen.” I softened my tone by giving her a smile. Her hands started fidgeting. I made a decision I hoped wouldn’t backfire by moving a chair next to hers and taking her hand in mine.
She struggled, trying to pull away, but I held fast, waiting for her to give in. I touched her hand only and let my fingers rub over her in a soothing gesture. How could such small hands be so destructive? I looked them over examining them. Soft skin, neatly trimmed nails bare of shine or color. It didn’t seem possible she could wield something like a tire iron with deadly force without the other person hurting her or fighting back. There was so much more to her story, and I needed to hear it.
Urging her, “Tell me, Benedicta.” My thumb rubbed circles on her hand, now pliant in mine.
“No one has ever believed me. Why would you?”
She looked defeated.
“Because I don’t think you did it. I don’t think you could have physically bashed his head in thirty something times.” I tell her with conviction and wait her out.
Finally, she surrendered.
“I was working late that night at the El Diablo. It’s a bar not far from my apartment. I had parked my car in the back lot. There’s a video camera, but my boss never fixed it after some boys hit it with a soccer ball last summer. It’s a shitty parking lot where one of the old waitresses had been mugged at knife point.”
“So no video.” Unfortunate for her, but not earth shattering.
