Reclaim: A Recovered Innocence Novel (4 page)

“It was an accident. And who leaves the keys to the car
in the
trunk
?”

She glares at me. “The person with the keyless remote in her purse. That’s who.”

“I’m sure there’s a phone we can use to call roadside assistance.”

“That would be fine except they usually want the card number when you call. Mine’s in my purse in the trunk. Where’s yours?”

I close my eyes and lower my head. “In my wallet. In the trunk.”

“Yup.”

I mentioned that I’m kind of a fuckup, didn’t I?

I felt really bad about the stupid fight I had with Nolan on the way out to the prison right up until he locked the keys in the trunk of the car. I’m kind of sensitive to covert racism. The overt stuff I can handle. It’s the double-meaning comments, the subtle injustice of being treated slightly differently that drives me nuts. It happens so down low that most people don’t even know it’s happening.

Like the time when my grocery store had a vodka tasting. The sign clearly indicated that they would card everyone who tasted. I was standing close by trying to choose a wine for a dinner party. A blond woman came up for a taste. The woman giving out the samples was very chatty with her. Then a black woman who was clearly older than the blond approached the table. The sample lady carded the black woman. She never carded the white woman. See what I mean? Subtle. Subversive. But there all the same.

That’s the kind of discrimination I can’t abide. It’s what keeps minorities like me—like Carla—on the other side of the line. Most people will probably think I’m being overly sensitive, looking for something that’s just not there. But it’s there. It’s
always
there.

I know Nolan didn’t mean his comment the way I took it. He’s not a bad guy. A little goofy. Maybe a little absentminded. I can tell he wants to be helpful. He’s driven in a way he doesn’t have to be. After all, there’s no money in this case for him. He’s not getting paid a cent to be here with me today or for any of the work he’ll do. I need to remember that and stop being so hard on him. He doesn’t deserve it. It doesn’t hurt that he’s earnest and cute. Not really my type physically, but there’s something about him that seems to light a fire in me. Maybe that’s why I’ve been such a bitch to him. Distance. That’s what I’m trying to get here. Distance and perspective.

I sigh inwardly and vow to not be so rigid and quick to draw the wrong conclusions with him. It’s not really his fault about the key in the trunk either. I embarrassed him. What was that thing he said about it? Oh, yeah.

“You were a Boy Scout?” I ask, trying not to check out his ass as he bends over to see if there’s any way he can open the trunk.

“Mmm. Eagle Scout.”

“So you know how to do stuff like start a fire and pitch a tent.”

He glances up at me and I realize the double meaning in my words. My whole face goes hot.

“I didn’t mean…I mean you can do survival stuff,” I stammer.

“Yeah.” He straightens, leaning a hand on the trunk. “If we’re ever stranded in the woods I gotcha. What I don’t have is a way to open the car.”

“If we can borrow a phone I can see if my sister can drive up with the spare key.”

“You don’t have that service where they can unlock your car by satellite, do you?”

“No. I didn’t want to pay extra for that.”

He nods. “I’m sorry I got us stranded here.”

“I’m sorry I teased you about the condom.”

“I carry it more out of habit than necessity. Especially lately.”

It’s the second time he’s mentioned being unattached since I met him. I’m not sure what to make of it except I’m happier about the reminder than I should be. He’s interested and not being very subtle about it.

“I know what you mean,” I say quietly.

“Yeah?”

I nod. My gaze catches on his lips, which are unexpectedly fuller than most guys’. There’s a pull between us, an invisible thread that seems to connect us. I can feel it getting tighter and shorter as he leans in. Or is that me? I put a hand on his chest to steady myself. Beneath my hand his body is hot, far hotter than the weather would explain. But I’m not thinking about anything except how close he is now. He smells like a man in an earthy, essential way.

I look up into his eyes. He’s watching, waiting, drawing me in without moving an inch. His focus shifts to my mouth and fixes there. And then he leans down, moving so slowly it seems to take forever for our lips to meet. They brush together once, twice. A pause. He shifts closer and comes at me again, this time with more purpose. His mouth is hot on mine. I tease the seam of his lips and taste coffee. His body is flush against me, but his hands stay where they are. Mine snake around his neck and pull him in.

It’s like he suddenly woke up and realized we were kissing because without warning his arms are around me. One hand plunges into my hair. His other arm bands around my waist, hauling me up fully against him. I groan into his mouth at the feel of him. He tilts his head, taking the kiss deeper. Oh, man it’s good. There’s nothing but him and me and the way our bodies press together in all the right places. The kiss winds down slowly from an all-out assault to barely there brushes. We part and stare at each other in shock.

Where did
that
come from?

It was like the rumbling of a freight train in the distance and then all of a sudden it was barreling toward me and I was too slow to get out of the way. Then it hit and all I could do was hurtle along with it. There was no stopping it. I had to give over to it and see where it would take me. Like an out-of-body experience.

“Wow,” he whispers.

“Uhnn.” Is all I can manage. I can’t put two coherent thoughts together, let alone organize them enough to articulate.

“That was…
wow.
”

A car pulls in next to us and it’s like an alarm goes off inside me. I startle.
What am I doing?
Carla’s inside that prison waiting for us and we’re out here making out like we don’t have anything else to do but scratch an itch.

“We shouldn’t have…I mean it was…but we shouldn’t have.” I make a back-and-forth motion between us. “You know.”

“Yeah. I know. You’re right. We shouldn’t.” He studiously stares at a point beyond my shoulder. “Maybe we should go inside. Try to find a phone we can use. Talk to Carla.” He stares at my mouth like he wants to fall into my face and pick up where we left off. “Definitely
not
kiss again.”

“Absolutely.” I put a hand up like I’m gong to hold him back, then remember that this was how this whole thing started in the first place. I fist my hand and drop it to my side. “We should
absolutely
not do that again.”

“That would be bad.”

“Very, very bad.”

“Okay.” He sucks in a breath and takes a step back. “Okay.” He gestures for me to go ahead of him. “After you.”

“Right.” I force myself to turn on my heel and walk toward the prison entrance.

He’s checking out my ass. I can almost feel his gaze like a touch, a light pressure followed by a rush of heat up my spine…and elsewhere. A couple of steps later he falls in next to me. His hands are shoved deep into his front pockets like he has to corral them so they don’t wander where he doesn’t want them to go. I’m trying to sort out what exactly happened back there and what it means going forward. I don’t have time to start something new. I don’t
want
to start something new.

We enter the building. I go to the window to see if it’s possible to use their phone while Nolan veers off in another direction. A flash of irritation goes through me, but I breathe through it and politely ask the guard behind the window if we could borrow his phone. He asks for my ID, which is in the trunk.

He shrugs. “Sorry. Nothing I can do.”

Great. I thank him and turn around to see where Nolan’s wandered off to in time to see him approaching with a guy in some kind of uniform.

“This is Ted,” he says. “That’s his tow truck in the parking lot. He says he can get your car doors open no problem, right, Ted?”

“For twenty bucks.”

“Our wa—” I start.

“No problem,” Nolan cuts in.

“Follow me out to my truck,” Ted says.

I give Nolan a what-was-that? look as we head back out to the parking lot.

He leans down next to my ear, making all of the fine hairs on my neck rise. “Better not to mention we don’t actually have the money right now.”

“Oh. Right,” I say a little too breathlessly.

In no time Ted pops the door locks. I immediately open the trunk and retrieve my purse. Nolan pulls a twenty out of his wallet and hands it to Ted at the same time I do.

“No,” Nolan says, pushing my hand away. “It’s my fault. I’ll pay.”

Ted takes the money from Nolan and goes back inside the prison. The first thing I do is take the key fob out of my purse and slip it into my pocket along with my ID. We head back into the prison in silence. I can tell that Nolan still feels bad about the trunk incident. We check in with the guard behind the window and take a seat to wait.

“All’s well that ends well,” I offer, trying to smooth things over and get them back to where they were pre-kiss.

“That
was
a lucky break,” he agrees, but there’s still something troubling him.

“I’m not mad. I mean, I was, but I’m not anymore.”

He gives half a nod and turns away to watch the TV playing quietly near the corner of the ceiling. I fold my arms and look in the other direction at the other TV hanging on the opposite side of the room. We stay that way until they call our names to go in and see Carla. The screening process, while not quick, is efficient and we’re soon entering the visitors room. We take an empty table and wait for Carla. Nolan’s been quiet the whole time. I shouldn’t care what he thinks. We’re just co-workers after all, but his sudden change of mood throws me off.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“No.” He doesn’t look at me, giving all of his attention to the door Carla will walk through.

“Why are you quiet all of a sudden then?”

“I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

His gaze stays on the door. “About how I want to kiss you again.”

A small atomic bomb goes off in my chest and I have to swallow before I can answer. “I thought we agreed that would be a bad idea.”

“It’s a horrible idea.”

“Then stop thinking about it.”

“I can’t.” He turns to me. “Can you?”

“This isn’t the time to talk about this.”

“I’ll take that as a
no.
”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“Actually,” he says with a hint of a smirk. “That changes a whole lot of things.”

“I don’t—” Carla comes through the door, cutting me off, which is good. I didn’t like the direction the conversation was headed. “There she is.” She has no idea what I look like because we’ve never met so I wave to get her attention.

She eases into the chair across from us. “Lila Garcia?”

“Yes.” I speak to her in Spanish like I did on the telephone so she’ll feel more comfortable. “It’s nice to finally meet you. This is Nolan Perry. He’s helping me with your case.”

“
Mucho gusto,
Carla,” he says with a really bad accent. I give him points for the effort.

“Nice to meet you too,” Carla responds in Spanish. “What do you do?”

Nolan looks to me. It seems as though we’ve reached his limit for the language.

“He’s a private investigator,” I answer for him. “He’s going to help us locate your neighbor Inez Torres. Any idea on where we might be able to find her?”

“Inez had family in Jalisco just outside of Guadalajara. She talked about moving back there. She has a sister who lives there. But I don’t really know. It’s been a long time. She could’ve passed.”

“I couldn’t find any record of her death so I’m assuming she’s still alive. Any other ideas where she might go? Somewhere in the States maybe?”

“She only talked about going back to Mexico. She was older, close to my mother’s age. You know how they reminisce about home.” Her gaze strays to Nolan then back to me. “He’s really a private investigator?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Seems kind of young…and cute. Not like the PIs on TV.”

I laugh and Nolan smiles like he’s in on the joke, making me wonder if he can understand what we’re saying. Better to change the subject. “We’re also trying to find your attorney, John Martin. His wife filed a missing persons report shortly after your trial. He just disappeared.”

“Disappeared? I don’t understand.”

“Was there anything unusual about him? Anything he might have said or you might have overheard that might help us find him?”

“It’s not like we talked a lot and we didn’t talk at all after the trial. He told me what to do and I did it. I didn’t get to ask a whole lot of questions.” She leans in and lowers her voice. “I’ve been studying about the law. He didn’t do a good job on my case. He let them prosecute me when there was no crime. He didn’t call any witnesses on my behalf. It was as though he wanted to lose my case.”

“Did he give you anything or show you anything that might help?”

“No. Nothing. That asshole was worse than no lawyer at all.”

Nolan interrupts. “Did you ask her the questions we talked about in the car?”

“Not yet,” I tell him. Then to Carla, “We have to ask you some tough questions. Please be as honest as you can. There’s no judgment. We need all the information you can give us to help you.”

She glances over at Nolan, who is patiently listening even if he doesn’t understand everything we’re saying. “What do you want to know?”

“Why was Diego left alone so long in that bedroom? Why didn’t you check on him sooner?”

Wrapping her arms around herself, she sits back in her seat. Her gaze slinks away to somewhere on the floor to her left. I can feel Nolan’s stare on the side of my face. I can’t look at him. All of my attention is fixed on Carla. I have an idea of what her answer might be from talking to some of her acquaintances. I wouldn’t ask, but this
will
come up if we can get her case before a judge. She’ll have to answer this question and more just as difficult as this one.

“I was behind on the rent,” she starts, her words halting and forced. “I needed more time to come up with the money. If I let my landlord do whatever he wanted he’d give me more time, sometimes take it off my rent.”

“You mean sex?”

She nods.

“How long was Diego alone that day?”

“An hour. Maybe a little more. I wanted to go check on him, but…”

“I understand.” I need to get her off this subject that’s causing her so much pain. I know her shame. The guilt…it must be unbearable. If only she’d checked in on him…I shut down that thought and redirect the conversation. “Tell me about Diego. What was he like?”