“No, I don’t. And I also don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“Well, it is,” I informed him. He arched his brow in response. “Because if you did have kids, then you would know why I made the deal that I did. Had I not made a deal, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you right now. My five-year-old twins would have waited at the school for me to pick them up until someone—probably from Social Services—arrived to tell them that I would never be coming home…oh, and that their beloved dog was also dead. If you did have kids, Detective, then you would also understand that a parent would do anything, and I mean anything, to keep their children from having to experience something like that.”
He seemed to think about this for a few seconds. “So, can you tell me about your…um, negotiation?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said after a deep exhale. “After Joe forced his—”
“Wait, Joe?” he questioned, arching his eyebrow once again.
“That’s what he said his name was. Sorry, I didn’t check the guy’s ID so I couldn’t tell you if he was telling the truth or not.”
Detective Westlake gave me another incredulous look. I continued, undaunted. “But I figured if it was his name, then he wasn’t planning on letting me live long enough to pass that information along.” He nodded his head as if this were an accurate statement.
“Anyway, first thing he did was shoot Hero…I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me. Terrible name for a dog, and not much of a ‘hero’ when it came down to it. But at that point, I knew two things: his gun was loaded and he wasn’t afraid to use it. He wasn’t wearing a mask, so the fact that I could identify him and he readily told me his name, I knew my chances of surviving this…um, encounter…were next to none.”
“You were probably right,” he said, nodding again. Good, a detective who was honest and not full of bullshit.
“I know.” Another arched eyebrow. Damn, he was good at that. And worse, he looked good doing it. Moving on, Celeste.
“Because I knew this, I made a decision. I wasn’t going to let my kids grow up without a mother because of Joe-the-motherfucking-delivery-guy-who-probably-wasn’t-even-a-delivery-guy. They need me and I…”
I couldn’t go on, not with the Texas-sized lump in my throat. Looking away from the detective, I tried to gain control over the tears I could feel burning the back of my eyes, begging to be released. I didn’t want to cry because it made me feel weak and powerless, which was exactly how I felt at that moment.
I focused on the one wall that wasn’t covered in pictures of Parker and Paisley; seeing their perfect little faces would undoubtedly unleash the threatening torrent. My blurry eyes concentrated instead on a framed Ernest Hemingway quote, and I felt the corners of my mouth turn up slightly, though it was difficult to say whether it was because of the irony of those words or the strength I derived from them.
The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.
When I knew I had stuffed any semblance of fear or pain as deep inside as it could go, I glanced back at the detective, who was now looking over at the quote himself with a curious expression on his face. Before he could ask any questions, I cleared my throat to draw his attention. He looked back at me quickly, his face a blank mask that I’m sure mirrored my own.
“After he made it clear what was going to happen,” I continued, “I told him that if he would let me live, I wouldn’t fight him.”
“And he agreed?” he asked.
“Yes, and he shook on it.”
“He shook on it?” he repeated dubiously.
“Yes, and before you say anything, I know he could have been lying or could have changed his mind. But it’s not like I had a lot of options at that point, right?”
After staring at me for what seemed like hours but was probably only a few seconds, he answered slowly. “Right. So you went with him to your bedroom?” he prompted.
“Yes,” I responded, without elaborating further.
“Ms. Logan,” he prodded gently. “I promise that I don’t want to ask this any more than you want to answer it, but I need to know what happened next.”
Feeling more put out with him than I should, considering I knew he was only doing his job, I answered, “Well, if you must have a play-by-play, let’s go upstairs—”
His eyes widened immediately. “Are you okay to go back in there?”
“Sure, why not? And probably the sooner, the better. ‘Getting back on the horse’ and all that…” I trailed off, then turned and started up the stairs. I could hear the detective following behind, happy that he was following me instead of creepy Joe, and that this time, there wasn’t a gun barrel pointed at my back. Oh, and that I wasn’t about to be raped. Ah, the little things in life.
As soon as we entered, an involuntary shiver shot through my body. I began speaking quickly in hopes that he didn’t notice. “The first thing I did was go directly to this side table,” I said, indicating the one beside the king-sized bed where I sleep. Slept was more like it. No way was I ever getting in that bed again, despite what I just told the detective.
“I pulled out a condom and—” I noticed that his jaw had dropped and wondered if his shock was due to the fact that I kept protection in my house. If only it had been another form of protection…now that would have been helpful.
“You got a condom?” he asked disbelievingly.
“Yes.”