Page 25 of Shadows of Justice

“I lied,” he says, leveling me with a look that makes me feel two inches tall. “I confirmed that as true—that she did say that, and that I heard it.”

The silence that follows is so tense I can feel a squeezing in my throat. I draw my knees up to my chest and hug them to me, feeling the burn in the backs of my eyes.

“Why did you lie, Viv? I could tell something was off about the Sugar shit, but you were so excited, and I didn’t want to piss on your parade. But, why lie? Why did you even need to?”

“They don’t trust me, Los! I had to say you heard it too, or he would have thought I was just spouting bullshit and would have shoved that report to the bottom of the stack!” I rake my hands through my hair, tears of frustration welling. “You don’t know what it’s like for me. They just look at me like I’m a joke. ‘Officer Barbie,’ ‘Cadet Kelly.’ No one takes me seriously, especially not the chief.”

He looks at me with pity, but it only makes me feel worse.

“I’m sorry I lied. And I’m sorry I involved you. That was bullshit. I shouldn’t have roped you into this. You don’t deserve it.”

“Well, it’s cool. I mean, we’re cool, Schaeffer,” he says quietly. “Just keep your nose clean from now on. This shit has a way of coming back to bite you in the ass.”

I nod, sniffling, and wipe under my eyes.

“It wasn’t that bad of a lie, I was just caught off guard.” He huffs a laugh. “I mean, as long as Sugar really said that to you and I just hadn’t walked up yet, then it is what it is, right?”

I look at him, wondering if he’s testing me, but I keep my face controlled and don’t give anything away. Finally, I trust myself to nod, and smile tightly. “Right.”

Estefania returns, handing me another brimming margarita and also a shot glass rimmed with salt.

“What’s this?” I ask with wide eyes.

“I’m teaching you how to celebrate the right way,” she says, tsking her tongue at me. “I can’t drink, so you two have to do it for me. Salud!”

I groan as she splashes tequila in the shot glasses. Carlos and I clink them together and toss them back. She giggles at the face I make that probably looks like a toddler eating a lemon, and instantly pours up two more.

Grateful to drown my guilt in Casamigos, we drink late into the evening. Long enough for me to forget my troubles, forget my lies, and forget all of the things my life is lacking—at least for tonight.

Chapter Nine - Esmeralda

Wednesday, July 15th

“Five stars for Benito!”

I laugh at myself as I wobble up the third flight of stairs to my floor. I punch the fifth star on my Uber app, generously rating the driver that picked me up and brought me from Carlos’s back to my apartment. I talked his ear off the whole way and he never interrupted me.

I respect that.

I lurch, my shoulder hitting the wall to catch me as the room spins, and I slap my hand over my mouth to quiet my ridiculous snickering. We drank a lot. More than I have in years. Enough that the burn of the tequila shots faded to nothingness, along with the aching from the damage that Tim did to my throat. We polished off the first bottle and then opened another in Carlos’s stash, swapping academy stories long after Estefania and the kids went to bed.

I have to admit, it was nice. They feel like the closest thing I have to family.

Now I can’t wait to chug a glass of water, get in my comfies, and fall asleep to cheesy, late-night reruns.

I drop my keys trying to fit them into the lock and curse. Mrs. Gonzalez probably heard that.

On the third try, I finally get my door open. I lock it behind me and pat the wall, feeling for the oddly placed light switch halfway hidden behind the console table next to the door. I flip it and it turns on Mémé’s art-deco lamp in the far corner of the room, bathing my apartment in soft, yellow light. I sigh, throwing my stuff down on the couch and making a beeline for the kitchen, toeing my converse off along the way.

As I round the corner, I freeze. There’s a person’s form in my kitchen, standing in front of the sink. Their back is slightly lit from the window behind them, highlighting their silhouette. I can’t see who it is, but it’s definitely a man. My stomach drops, my drunken mind trying to calculate how long it would take me to dash into my room, open my safe, and retrieve my gun.

Tim.

He came back to finish what he started.

My heart racing, I dash to the knife block and pull out the closest choice as the form comes toward me. I raise the knife over my head to bring it down into—hopefully—Tim’s eye socket, when his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist in midair.

I’m wafted with heady musk, and a hint of motor oil. My breath hitches and I freeze, my muscles relaxing instantly beneath the firm hold.

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