Not Looking for Love: Episode 7 (A New Adult Contemporary Romance Novel) (13 page)

I hope Gail will do as I asked. If they haven't gotten to her yet, maybe they wouldn't. But it's not a risk I'm willing to take.
 

The cop leads me back to the cell after I hang up, hands me a bright orange bodysuit before he locks me inside.

I don't take it. "Am I under arrest now?"

I never, for as long as I live, want to wear one of these prison outfits again. Even if they do arrest me, I might refuse to put it on.

"No," the cop says. "But your clothes are filthy."

"I'm fine," I mutter, and go to sit on a bench by the far wall.

He shrugs and tosses the suit on a bench nearer to the door, then locks up.

I'm not fine though. Mike could be dead. Because of me. Maybe I was starting to forgive him a little these last few days, but I was far from there yet. And now he could be dead. Because he took a bullet meant for me. I'd never imagine him capable of something like that. Not for me. Maybe for Andrew or Derek, or Dad, but Mike hated me worse than I hated him.
 

I have no idea how much time passes. After awhile, all I see is the dingy office, Vlado's gun filling it. Mike laying in a growing puddle of blood. Vlado's leg smoldering in the parking lot. And as hard as I try, I can't stop seeing it, can't relax even though I'm sitting perfectly still. Because I can't move either. There's no point, I'm locked up. When is this shit going to end?

The sound of the door opening startles me, and I look up to see the detective from before glaring at me.

"We need to talk."
 

"Not without a lawyer," I reply, and since I don't see one with the detective, I figure they just got tired of waiting.

The detective strolls into the cell.
 

"We can't arrest you yet, but we can hold you for 48 hours," he explains. "Tell me what you know now, or stay here for two days. Your choice."

I know it's a ploy to get me to talk without my lawyer. If I tell him what I know, he will arrest me. And right now, I have no idea what to say without implicating either Mike or myself.

"We know your brother was working for the man who died in the explosion," he says, consulting his notes. "This Vladimir Milosevic. But what were you doing there?"
 

This guy's seen my record, I'm sure of it, he thinks I was working for Vlado too, but he doesn't know it. And I'm not about to just hand myself over. Nothing I own is in my name right now. Not the apartment, not the car, not even the phone. Even the safety deposit box with my money in Connecticut is still in Gail's name. And I have the key hidden at my mom's place.

"How is my brother?" I ask. It's all I really want to know. Especially if I'll be spending the next two days locked up in here.

"He's still unconscious," the detective says. "We have been unable to talk to him."

"I don't know anything about my brother's dealings with that man," I say, stopping myself just in time before saying 'Vlado' instead of 'that man'. I'm in no fit state to lie right now, I should just keep quiet.
 

"What were you doing at that warehouse?"

"Mike took me along. I never got to find out why before the guy shot him," I manage. He knows I'm lying, but he can't prove it. And when it comes to police, that matters more than the truth, I've come to realize.

"So this Vladimir shot your brother?" the detective says. "Why?"

What I really want to know is why this interview isn’t taking place in some office with a recorder. Probably because I asked for a lawyer and now this guy is questioning me without one.

"He was saying something about Mike betraying him," I say. "He didn't say a lot, pretty much just shot him. Mike never saw it coming."

“Why didn’t he shoot you too?” he asks.

“I overpowered him and made him drop the gun,” I say.

He shakes his head and looks down at his notes again. "And the explosion, did you set that?"

"No."

"Did your brother?"

"I don't think so."

"We know all about your history. And your brother's. You asking for a lawyer makes me think you know something," the detective says. "

"I don't know anything. I just know how these things work," I counter. "You need a suspect."

“You certainly had a motive to kill your brother over what he did to your girlfriend."

"Ex-girlfriend," I say, though the words come out a little high-pitched. But there's no way in hell they know I'm seeing Gail again.

"Where did you disappear to for the last four months?" he asks, changing tactic.
 

I shrug. "I needed some alone time to get over my girlfriend." I'm just saying the first thing that pops into my mind now. Besides, the best lies are the ones that are mostly true.

The detective fixes me with a hard gaze, and I stare right back. The less I fidget or appear nervous the sooner he'll give up on me. And if nothing else, I could always look intimidating and sure of myself, no matter what. And I got a lot better at that in prison.
 

He pulls a ziplock bag from his pocket. It has my phone inside it, the clear plastic sticking to it with blood. "Is this your phone?"

"No, don't think so," I say, but I know my mask is slipping.
 

"It was used to call 911," he elaborates, but by then I'm breathing evenly again. They have no way to know it's really mine. I put no personal numbers on it, hell, I didn't even bother saving any contacts into it except for Mike and Greg.
 

"I picked up the first phone I could see," I answer. With any luck they'll think it was Vlado's.

He shakes his head and pockets the phone.

"You can go now," he says and walks back to the door. "But don't leave town. We'll need to talk to you again."

I want to yell with joy, but I manage to just nod.
 

It takes forever for another cop to come and escort me out, and even longer before I'm finally outside. The wind's gusting, and there's a slight drizzle. I have no idea what hospital Mike's at. I should've asked the detective.

After what feels like days, I finally find a working payphone. Gail picks up on the first ring, even though it's the middle of the night.
 

"What's happening, Scott?" her voice is all strangled, like she'd been crying.

"Where are you?"

"At the hotel, the same one as before," she says. "What's going on?"

So I tell her, because why keep it a secret.

"Mike's been shot?" she gasps, and try as I might, I can't detect a single note of relief over it in her voice. I love her so much more for it, if that was even possible.
 

"Yeah," I say. "I'll go see him now."

"And then you're free to do what you want?" she asks, "The man you—"

"Yes," I interrupt. "But I can't tell you more on the phone. I'll see you soon. I have to go to the hospital now.”

“I could come too,” she offers, and I know she means it, even though her voice is very small.

"Thanks, but I think I better go alone."

“OK,” she mutters and lets me say bye.

My hands are all sweaty when I hang up, and my heart's in my throat. Because I have to call Dad next, and I can't even imagine that conversation. I wish I could just go pick up Gail first, so she'd be with me when I go face Dad at the hospital. But this is family business if ever there was such a thing.

"Andrew?” I ask as he picks up after the third ring. How could he possibly have gotten back from Thailand so quickly?

"Scott, where are you?" he asks.

"I'm…I'm…how's Mike?" I manage, since I have no idea how to explain where I am.
 

"He's in surgery."

I see a cab in the distance and hail it. "Where?"

He tells me the name of the hospital.
 

"I'll be there soon. Will he be alright?"

"They hope so, but he's in critical condition. “What happened Scott? The cops said you were with him."

"I'll explain when I get there," I say and hang up since the cab is already at the curb.

 
My heart's racing so bad by the time the cab drops me off, I feel like there's an earthquake. Andrew's waiting for me just to the side of the ICU entrance.
 

"What the fuck, Scott?" he asks as I walk up. And I think he's talking about Mike, and am just about to tell him everything when he points to my clothes. "You can't go in like that! Didn't you have time to change in the last twelve hours?"

Has it really been that long? I look down at my shirt and pants, which are covered by Mike's blood. I'm wearing black, but it's more of a reddish brown now.

"They held me," I mutter. "It's not like I just went home to chill for a bit."

"Wait here. I'll just get my car keys, and I'll take you home to change," he says, a little less harshly. "The operation will take a few more hours at least."

I'm getting cold now, standing outside the ICU waiting for Andrew. What if Mike doesn't make it? He's the second brother that got hurt because of me. I'm the one who should be in the operating room right now.
 

Andrew returns before my thoughts can get any darker though.

I tell him to drive me to the hotel, hoping Gail did manage to take some of my stuff. All my panic and tension soften at the thought that I’ll get to hold her in a few minutes. It’ll only be for a little bit, but facing my family and telling them exactly what happened will be so much easier afterwards. Because if they hated me before, they'll despise me now.
 

"When did you get home?" I ask Andrew once we’re driving.

"Two weeks ago," Andrew says, pausing the way he always does when he's angry. And I know that's what he is. "When Dad had a heart attack, and neither you or Mike could be reached."

I remember a slew of calls from Dad a couple of weeks ago. I answered none, and didn't return them.
 

"Is he…" but I can't say it. Not that, anything but that.

"He's recovering," Andrew says, and I actually sigh in relief. "But with this shit now…I'm just glad we're at the hospital. What the fuck happened?"

We're almost at the hotel. Just a few more blocks and I'll see Gail.

"It was supposed to be me," I mutter, since Andrew's waiting for an answer, and it's the truth.

His sharp intake of breath makes him cough. "What are you saying? I thought you'd gone back to school, that you were done with all this shit. How was it supposed to be you? Why was it either of you?"

We're at the hotel now. And I can't tell him what Mike did, can't say that more than once. Not now that he might not live. And I'll have to tell them all once I get to the hospital anyway.

I ignore his question and get out of the car, muttering, "I'll be right back," then slam the door.

I dozed off in the chair by the window, so when the phone rings I'm staring at my mobile, not understanding why it's not lighting up since it is clearly ringing. It takes me a few moments to realize it's actually the room phone that's ringing.

"Yes, let him up," I manage once the receptionist informs me that Scott is here to see me.

I rush to the door after I hang up, open it wide, bouncing from one foot to the other as I wait. I freeze when the elevator chimes and Scott steps out, then run to meet him halfway. He grabs me, but holds me at arms length, doesn't let me hug him. One glimpse at his shirt tells me the reason. It's covered in dried blood, some of it flaking off the side of his neck.