Page 135 of The True Garza
“Sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” she asks. “Don’t mind me. I’m just jealous there are so many people who care about you.”
“With the Red Cage peeps, I don’t think it’s ‘care’ so much as it’snosy. It’s normal for them to be all up in everything.”
“No, they care about you. Trust me.” As the nurse leaves the room, Brook goes back to sitting down and picks up the stack of files. “I have an important meeting tomorrow—well, in a few hours—so expect to see Charles when you wake up again. But I’ll be back in the evening.”
“Okay.”
What abouthim? Will he come see me?
As if Brook can read my mind, without looking up from her files, she says, “He’s very angry at you, so he probably won’t come in to see you.”
“Why would he be—”
“And so am I,” she clips. “It’s…it’s as if you did this shit on purpose.” She wipes at her cheek, but keeps her head lowered. “Did you want to die, Lonny?”
My heart squeezes in on itself. “No.”
Sniffling, she grits out, “You never were good at lying.”
~
“Mr. Mattison gavehis statement to the LX-PD, but since there was a death, we need yours as well to corroborate.”
I roll my eyes at my brother. “Yeah, I know how it works.”
It’s been a crowded couple of hours, with people milling in and out of my room to check in on me, bringing me flowers and stuffed animals and fruit baskets. People who I’ve never even met before, like Monica—Mama Garza. And Tillie—the sole female sibling of the Garzas. One would thinkI’ma Garza. Their presence is utterly confusing, but they’re all kind, warm, and funny.
Unlike Uncle Walter, who gave me an earful about being “stubborn and foolhardy” the second he walked in. Or my brother, who strolled in with a notebook and pen at the ready and has been trying to get me to give a report, only to keep getting interrupted. Or my mother, who’s just been lurking outside the door like a timid cat.
The painkillers are wearing off, my head is starting to throb again, and I’m spinning with nausea. “Can you help me to the bathroom first before I give the report?”
Charles grimaces. “You want to throw upagain?”
“Yeah.”
With much reluctance, he helps me to the bathroom and holds me while I throw up virtually nothing, considering all I’ve been able to force-eat with a non-existent appetite is cup pudding.
Once I’m settled back in bed, I drink a gulp of water, then clear my throat to speak. “Please record my statement, because I’m sure Red Cage will need an account, too, and I don’t want to repeat this a bajillion times.”
Lord knows I’m familiar with this process. I’m not surprised the BI has taken this over from the LX-PD. Red Cage is involved, and Uncle Walter will do whatever he can to try to get a leg up on them.
Trent walks in the room then. All serious and daunting as usual.
“Ah, here’s the mean boss,” I say hoarsely. “Just in time.”
Trent shakes his head at me, then reads the room, settling on the readied pen and notebook in Charles’s hand. With a curt nod, he crosses his muscled arms and leans back against the wall. Like he’s the goddamn boss of everyone.
“Go ahead, Lonny,” Charles says.
“Our shift was over,” I begin, my throat sore from throwing up all morning. “The client’s daughters had just arrived and would be there for the weekend. The daughters are uncomfortable with our presence at the house, so whenever they’re visiting, the client pauses our rotation. This means once we left, another team wouldn’t be back for the next two days.
“The client’s personal chef had arrived about an hour earlier—he only uses this personal chef when his daughters or guests visit. But something felt off about the chef this time. He was shifty, impatient. He’s familiar with the operation, so with the daughters there, he knew there wouldn’t be a shift change. No security for the next two days.
“Anyway, while we were leaving, a produce delivery van drove in. Two suspicious-looking men got out and went in with boxes of produce. I knew something was wrong. But we were already off the premises. And per Red Cage’s rules, we are never, under any circumstances, supposed to return to the premises after being dismissed. I couldn’t tell my colleagues that I thought something was going down because I knew they wouldn’t turn around. So, I waited until we’ve been driving for a few minutes, then pretended I forgot my comms gear and company phone. I figured we wouldn’t be penalized for that because those phones have sensitive information on them.
“We turned around. We parked outside, because to drive back onto the property, we’d have to be buzzed back in. I was ninety-nine percent certain that I’d be walking into something, so instead of going up to the front, I snuck around the back.
