Page 92 of Love Her

Despite what TV shows you, most cops don’t want to look too hard—especially when the story’s already been handed to them. And what they’d see when they got here was just like I told Ramona: a drug deal gone bad.

Zane had tried to buy from Bix, they got in a fight, and Zane got the shit beat out of him, before he got lucky with a tire iron.

And, courtesy of Sable, both of their new phones would have the texts now to prove it—because she’d bought phones identical to theirs and spoofed them accurately—only now there were texts that show showed a relationship between them that’d been escalating for weeks.

I found Bix’s phone, and Zane’s phone— his new one clean and sans pornography—just to let him know someone, somewhere, had the real one, full of blackmail—and swapped them.

By then, Zane’s arm was as red and swollen as his face was, and getting a syringe full of heroin inside a vein was as easy as throwing a dart.

I undid his torniquet when I was finished, pulled his sleeve down, coat on, then staged the rest of the scene. I put the tire iron near Zane, and adjusted Bix’s body so it looked like he’d put up more of a fight, and made sure the angles worked—and like Zane had stumbled back to his car, trying to get into the safety of his Porsche’s handcrafted leather interior, with his phone out but hadn’t made it before he succumbed to his injuries.

And when I was finished, I took those gloves off, and put on a new pair, before taking my phone off speaker, so Sable couldtalk without the world listening in. I got into my BMW and drove well around the scene to get out, confident that Sable’d looped the security cameras long enough for my safety.

“And you’re sure the phones will work?” I asked her, on my way back to the chop shop, so they could detail the beamer just in case and take the tinted cling off the windows.

“You’re an asshole, Rhaim.”

“Why? I mean—this particular time, not in general,” I said, pulling my balaclava off.

“For doubting me,” she sniffed, laughed, and then hung up without an answer.

After that—I checked myotherphone—and found I’d missed a bunch of texts from Lia.

I skimmed them at a stoplight and smiled—I’d only missed the last one by fifteen minutes.

The adrenaline I’d denied myself while working was soaring now, and the temptation to call her rode me hard, but I was stronger than it was while I still had work to do.

She deserved a response though—and it was easy to send her the truth.

Of course I’m proud of you. No matter what.

I love you.

See you tomorrow night.

54

LIA

Iwoke to my phone blowing up like a four-alarm fire—and for once, it wasn’t because of me.

There were innumerable calls and texts from Arnold—I hadn’t read or listened to any of them—but then this morning there was a call from Trevia.

Had I…ruined things?

With my little unscripted show on live?

I ignored everything else and called her back. “Trev?” I said, when she picked up, and I heard the relief in her voice as she answered.

“Lia!”

“Yes?” I popped her on speakerphone and looked at my other phone.

I’d gotten a sweet good night note from Rhaim, and another one this morning—if she was calling me, it wasn’t because of him.

“Uh—” Trevia began, which made me nervous—I couldn’t imagine her being lost for words. “Have you seen any news today?”

“Oh God. What now?”

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