Page 46 of Tango
“First of all, I never wear my hair in a braid.”
“Alice, that is not enough?—”
She whirls on me. “I told you. I had a foster mom who would braid my hair every day, but she’d braid it so tight I’d get a headache. Ever since then, I literally cannot braid my hair. I just don’t do it.” She gestures to the shirt. “And this—is not my shirt. I was wearing a black long-sleeve shirt and gray slacks that night. You know how I know? Because they were my favorite pair of pants, and I had to throw them away, thanks to the blood. I wasn’t wearing a pencil skirt and a white blouse. I never wear skirts. Another fun side effect of a traumatic event,” she snaps. I don’t dig, but the anger at what she’s insinuating infuriates me.
Even still, I bury it down because, right now, all that matters is proving she didn’t murder Ramiro, even though everything points to her doing so.
“All circumstantial.”
“Yes, but it’s the truth.” She groans. “I don’t know how they did it, but I’m telling you—this is not me.”
“I don’t see how they could have faked a video good enough to have both of us stumped.” Even as I stare at the screen with the results right in front of my face, I know she’s innocent. But how do you prove something you know to be true when the evidence is literally pointing toward it? It might as well be a large, flashing neon sign that reads ‘murderer.’
“I don’t know either.” Alice crosses her arms and turns toward the computer. “But I’m not lying.” She takes a deep breath then faces me. “Look, if you want to take me in—fine. Do it. I won’t stop you. We had a deal. You let me prove the video was a fake, or I let you have me arrested. I couldn’t prove it.” She’s staring me down, daring me to make that move. “But I’m not guilty.”
I told Dylan I would.
I said that if it came back valid, I would turn her in because it was the right thing to do. So why does the thought of doing so—of following through on my word—feel wrong?
“It’s late,” I tell her. “Nothing can be done tonight.”
Alice stares at me. “How do you know I won’t run?”
“Because I’m your only hope, and you know it.”
Chapter 16
Alice
I can’t sleep.
Not even a few minutes. I know this video is a fake, but even as I sit here staring at it, rewatching it over and over again, I’m even starting to wonder how it’s possible. That woman is not me—the braid, the clothes—but she looks enough like me that, in this grainy footage, it might as well be me.
And Ramiro—he’s wearing the same clothes. A gray T-shirt and dark jeans. My chest aches, so I rub the heel of my palm against it, then get up and walk to the large picture window overlooking the ranch. The moon is high tonight, illuminating the world beyond this pane of glass in silver.
Does Tucker stand here often? Does he take in this scene every day and on nights when he can’t sleep? I glance down the hallway where he said his bedroom is. Is he sleeping now? Or unable to sleep like me?
“Because I’m your only hope, and you know it.”
He’s not wrong, which is why I’m still here. If he wakes up in the morning and chooses to still turn me in, then I’ll have to face that. But I know that, even if I’m cuffed and hauled away to be shoved in a cage, he’ll keep looking for the truth.
Because I may not have known Tucker Hunt long, but he strikes me as a man who won’t rest until he knows—without a doubt.
My computer dings, so I take a seat behind it again and check my email.
One new message from Logger91. Logan. Quickly, I open it, my heart pounding. Did he find something? There’s no message or subject line, just a voice memo attached as a file. I stare at it a few moments, honestly wondering whether or not I should wait for Tucker to open it.
What if this is the key piece of evidence that will clear me?
Then again, what if it’s only another red herring with my name on it?
And with that in mind, I decide it will be better if I hear it first, just in case. If it’s not helpful, I can keep it to myself—for now. But if it’s something that helps, then I can get Tucker to stop looking at me like I’m a liar.
I tap the attachment, and my entire screen freezes.
It pixelates, starting from one corner to the other as the virus takes over the computer byte by byte. Why would Logan—and then it hits me.
Logan wouldn’t maliciously hack my computer. But someone else would. Someone who knew that I went to Logan for help. Which means everything on Tucker’s network is at risk.
