Page 74 of Love is Angry

“That’s not what I’m after,” I tell him. “And your name will never come into it. All I want is the truth—not the sugar-coated bullshit they tell kids who just lost their mothers. You feel me?”

Contreras nods. “I feel you. Listen, kid, we did what we needed to do. Case closed.” As he speaks, he opens a drawer of his desk. “There’s nothing else I can do.” He pulls out a manila folder. “Officially, your mother’s death was suicide.”

He tosses the manila folder onto the desk, inches from the donut box. I stare at it for a moment, then flip it slightly open. The first page is blank except for my mother’s name typed neatly in the center.

“Thank you,” I tell Contreras. “I can’t tell you how much this means to—”

“Save it, kid. I didn’t give you a damn thing.” He goes back to his half-eaten donut, as if his appetite has returned from the depths of his conscience. "You’re gonna want to get lost,” he tells me. “Certain people have a habit of showing up around here, making sure their donations are being spent right. You hear me?”

I get up from my seat as calmly and as casually as I possibly can and stuff the folder in my laptop bag. “I hear you.” I zip it upand sling the bag over my shoulder. As I do, Contreras looks up, his gaze going past me. His expression morphs into a deep scowl.

“Day just keeps getting better,” he growls.

I turn around and just about jump out of my skin. My father stands outside Contreras’s glass office, glaring furiously. The navy blue suit and red tie are all business, but his expression reeks of ill-intent and violent thoughts as he looks back at me. Man, if I weren’t his son, he’d chop my head off without hesitation.

“Leave him to me, Detective,” I mutter.

“Don't have to tell me, kid. I’ll be damned if I’m touching this hot mess again,” Contreras replies. He only gives my father a brief nod of acknowledgment before digging into the remainder of his donut box.

Bracing myself for the shitstorm I know is coming, I step out of the office.

“Hey, Dad,” I say, then head straight for the double doors of the staircase.

He comes after me, the air seeming to ripple furiously around him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Rhue?”

“You’re following me. I could ask you the same thing.”

He stops me at the bottom of the stairs before I can make it to the lobby. He pushes me against the wall, a vein throbbing in his temple. “What kind of stunt are you trying to pull here, huh? I have to get calls from the fucking police to know you’re digging into your mother’s death? What’s the point? What’s your angle here, huh?”

“No angle. I just want answers.”

If I push back, he’ll bite. He’ll lash out. I don’t want to give him that satisfaction, so despite the blood boiling in my veins, I keep my cool. My father, on the other hand, is about to blow an entire fuse box.

“What answers? Your mother killed herself. It’s in the medical examiner’s report. The case was closed. What the fuck else do you want?”

“The truth,” I reply dryly.

“Have you lost your goddamn mind? Right before my election? Rhue, do I have to take drastic measures here to stop you from hurting your own family?”

This is where I draw the line. I push myself from the wall and ram my shoulder into his chest. My father is so shocked by my response that all he can do is gasp as he’s forced to step back. I raise my hand to keep him at arm’s length, my breath ragged.

“I’m going to get to the truth one way or another,” I tell him. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“What has gotten into you? Did that whore tell you to do this?” he replies, hatred dripping from his gravelly voice as he avoids using Madison’s name. That just pisses me off more. I shake my head slowly, unable to hide my contempt.

“Nobody put me up to this. I’m just tired of the bullshit. What have you got to hide, Dad?” I ask. “Why not let me pursue this? Did you have something to do with Mom’s death?”

“Of course not. Don’t even fucking suggest it.”

I shrug. “Then why are you so adamant that I leave this alone?”

“Because it will break your sister’s heart, you insensitive little shit,” he hisses, fists balled at his sides. He takes a moment to deliberately relax his posture. “You know how hard she and I have both worked on this campaign. You poking around in here is going to get people talking. It’ll derail my campaign, her reputation as a campaign manager will be tarnished, and you will be personally responsible for ruining her career.”

His words hit me in the gut. Manipulative bastard knows just what to say. When Contreras mentioned the election, I was onlythinking about Julian—thinking that if my investigation derailed his election, it would serve him right.

But Laura doesn’t deserve all that.

“Look,” I tell him. “All I wanted was the official report.”

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