Page 26 of Freeing Ruby

I’m starting to feel foolish, fearing I called him in here for nothing. “I swear I heard it,” I whisper.

He raises his hand. “Wait.”

And we wait some more.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

“There!” I cry. “That’s it. That’s him.”

Miguel rushes out of my bedroom.

I race after him. “What are you doing?”

He pulls on a black T-shirt and shoves his feet into a pair of white sneakers. I watch in shock when he pulls a holstered black handgun out of his duffle bag and straps it to his chest.

He unlocks the door. “Lock up behind me.”

Panic threatens to overwhelm me as he steps out into the hallway. I grab his forearm and try to pull him back inside. “You can’t go out there!”

He glances down at me. “Ruby, this is why I’m here—to verify your claims. And this is how I do it—I catch him in the act.”

“Please don’t go out there. It’s the middle of the night. It’s dark outside. Let’s just call the police and let them handle it.”

“By the time the cops get here, he’ll be long gone.” His expression softens. “Ruby, this is my job. I know what I’m doing.”

I tighten my grip on his forearm. “If something happens to you—”

He frowns. “Honey, I have to go.” And then he gently pries my fingers free and walks away.

Immediately, I shut and lock the door. Then I run back to my bedroom and peer out my window. The parking lot is mostly dark, lit only by two light poles. I scan the lot, looking for movement, but I don’t see anything until Miguel emerges from the building’s rear exit almost directly beneath my window. I watch as he makes his way into the sea of cars, searching.

He’s not going to find anything—I just know it.

After searching the lot, he comes back into the building. A few minutes later, there’s a quiet knock on my door. “Ruby, it’s me, Miguel.”

I let him in. He locks the door before he crosses the room, removes his chest holster, and returns it to his duffle bag. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t see anyone. I must have just missed him.”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you didn’t get hurt. I can’t deal with anyone else getting hurt because of me.”

He gently takes hold of my hands. “Ruby, what happened to your mother was a horrible tragedy, but it wasn’t your fault.”

Without warning, my eyes flood with tears. “It was.”

Miguel sighs. “Sweetheart, no.”

When he pulls me into his arms, I stiffen. I’m not used to being held like this. He loosens his hold, but he doesn’t release me. His hand strokes the back of my head, like he’s gentling a frightened animal. Gradually, I allow myself to relax.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he murmurs. “It was a random act of violence. You couldn’t have known that would happen or prevented it.” He releases me and holds me at arm’s length so he can look me in the eyes. “You need to let go of this guilt.”

I pull free and use my sleeves to dry my cheeks. “Lots of people have told me it wasn’t my fault—therapists, teachers, Edward—but that doesn’t change the facts. We were out shopping for me.”

“That still doesn’t make it your fault. Do you think your mother would want you to go through life blaming yourself for her death? Would she want that?”

My chest tightens. “No.”

“Don’t you think it’s time to let this go?”

Tears burn my eyes. “It’s not that easy.”

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