Shattered Glass(94)
“Couldn’t get to my house past the feds,” I speculated.
“Or didn’t know they were all there.”
“Or that,” I agreed. “But the feds weren’t trying to hide their presence. Maybe the fire starter wasn’t after the kids. Maybe the doer was after someone else. Any of the injured names released to the press?”
“Not yet.”
“Maybe our fire starter was after something else?”
Luis grunted. “Get that kid here to look over the evidence.”
Looking down at the disaster that was me, I sighed. “Give us fifteen minutes.”
Driving While Intoxicated
Sliding into the passenger seat was an adjustment in attitude. Immediately, I went for the steering wheel and bit back a curse when my hands came up empty.
“Buckle up,” Peter ordered. He waited to pull out until I had complied.
“Head to the station downtown. The big building on 14th.”
“Police plaza?” He frowned and swerved off the road, parking the car near a stop sign. “You need to take a shower and get into bed.”
“You can get me into bed later. Right now, we need to look over that evidence box.”
“You want Darryl there, too? He looked through most of the stuff.”
“Is he at home?”
Peter’s smile killed me. “Yes. He’s home.”
“Was he last night?”
“Sure.” Peter answered. “I carried him to bed before coming up to you. Why?”
“He was drunk?”
“Asleep. He takes Ambien and Benadryl because of his weird shifts at the club. Doubled the dose last night because he hadn’t slept since Cai got arrested.” Peter tapped the steering wheel. It was so like what I did when my mind was buzzing, I had to check his face. A miniscule wrinkling of his lips as they pressed white was my only clue that he was puzzling things together. “Why? Did someone get murdered?”
“Why would you say that?”
“Don’t do your fucking interrogation thing on me.”
“I wasn’t.” Yes, I was. “The diner’s gone.”
“Another fire?” His fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles blanched.
“I’m sorry.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Yes. We need to drive. Now, Peter.”
“Fine. To the restaurant.”
“No. We get Darryl and then to the police station. You both need to interview with Luis and stay out of the way of the cops at the scene.”
“My friends are there.” It was the second time I’d heard a tremble in his voice.
“Peter, you can’t help them. All you’ll accomplish is getting in the way, or getting questioned under suspicion of arson for the insurance.”
“I was with you.”
“Darryl wasn’t, and I didn’t see you for part of the evening.”
“He needs a lawyer.” The white knuckle grip threatened to break his fingers, I put a hand over his, gently prying them away.
“Peter, you need a lawyer.” The way I was positioned, angled off my stitches, prohibited leaning across, but I wanted to grab him and shake him senseless. “Get out so I can drive.”
“You can’t sit properly,” he argued.
“Then get moving.” He pulled onto the road and took my hand.
I picked up the phone, intoxicated by the way his hand stayed in mine, shifted gears and returned to lace our fingers together. As awkward as it was to speak into the cell and hold his hand, I refused to move it after I’d dialed.
My Father, The Philandering Asshole
I didn’t miss the way Peter looked at me when I asked to speak to Desmond Glass.
“Whom shall I say is calling,” Nina, my father’s assistant with bigger boobs than brains, asked.
“Who shall I say is calling,” I corrected spitefully.
“That’s what I asked,” she replied, wheezing her squeaky voice into my ear.
Oh, Lord.
“Nina, tell my fucking father I’m on the fucking phone or I’ll fucking wring your fucking gold-digging neck.” The fact that she had slept with me behind my father’s back may have played a part in my assholeness.
Unsurprisingly, she hung up on me. “Cheating, conniving, dumb, stupid, bitch!”
I took a deep breath and redialed. “You need a lesson about how to treat women,” Peter said.
“Nina, please put my father on the phone.” I smiled at Peter with teeth clenched so tight, plaque could crumble off.
“I’ll see if he’s in.”
I knew damn well he was in, I could hear his cigar humidifier. Which meant the cow was in his office. Most likely under his desk giving him a blow job. This bothered me why? I wouldn’t have recognize my mother if she gave me a blow job. Why should I care if my father banged his dumb secretary?