***
Adrian sets up the recording equipment in a library. The furnishings are gray leather, accented with fluffy gray rugs, and walls lined with books that range from fiction to history, medical and legal journals, and then some.
“You never know when a random fact will save your life,” he explains, sitting down on the leather couch, with me beside him.
Thanks to the Walker team, I have at least some of my clothes and all of my work supplies. I pull out a list of questions I’ve long worked on for the day I interviewed Adrian Mack. And so, I begin. I start with the basics, with his name, work history, family life. Then I move to his career and we eventually dive into his time with Waters. From there, hours in, and two breaks later, we start talking about the crimes I want him to detail.
And in most cases, he can, and does, holding nothing back about what he saw and when he saw it. He was right. He saw murder. He saw rape. He saw horrible beatings. Not to mention theft and drug crimes. Each time he describes the torment of watching, of trying to find a way to help that would not get him killed.
When I’m about to end the recording, he says, “Ask me about Deleon.”
Another two hours, later I turn off the recording device, cold and numb. Adrian and I stare at each other, and I can see the torment in his eyes. These things he saw and lived will haunt him for a lifetime. I know this. And I understand—God, I understand so many things.
I stand up and step in front of him. He doesn’t touch me but when our eyes meet, his self-hate is like hell blazing in his stare, all but overtaking the good man he can’t see anymore. I press my hands to his face.
“Good thing I love you more than you hate yourself.”
The heat of his self-hate dims, banked for a moment as his expression softens and his hands settle on my hips. “Pri, baby. I don’t—”
“But I do,” I say. “To whatever you were going to say. And I know now why you want to kill Waters. But just promise, promise me we’ll try to find another way. And don’t tell me there isn’t another way. Not tonight.”
He draws a deep breath and pushes to his feet, and now he’s cupping my face. “Not tonight,” he promises, and then he kisses me, scoops me up, and carries me to his bedroom.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
PRI
Well after midnight, I’m snuggled into Adrian’s bed with him after eating way too many M & M’s which I’m quickly learning is the man’s weakness, while he is mine. He swears I’m his, but as my lashes lower and his hot, hard body holds me close, I believe that’s the problem. I’m his weakness, and Waters knows it. In a groggy moment, I wonder how we can use that against Waters, but I drift into slumber.
I wake to the patter of rain on the window, with bad weather that clearly has not passed, and Adrian missing. A glance at the clock indicates it’s after nine, and I should have long been out of bed. Throwing away the blankets, I reach for my phone to find a note from Adrian:
Hot coffee and hotter Latin man downstairs waiting on you.
I laugh and set the note aside to check my phone and find three messages. The first is from my mother. I hit the play button: Please, just do as your father asks. He has his reasons. One of which is to keep us safe. I need you to trust me on this, honey. Do this for me.
A stab of disappointment rips through me at her obvious involvement in whatever Father is doing, be it by way of pretending obliviousness or otherwise. Ignorance is still guilt, but my mind travels back to the dinner we’d shared. She’d rushed into the restaurant in disarray. She is never in disarray. It was clear from the moment she sat down she was not herself. I slip back into the memory.
“Let’s order food. I need to eat something. I feel shaky. And let’s get some of that yummy bread.”
“Okay,” I say. “Yes. I know what you like. I can order.” I wave at the waitress, place our order, and we have bread pronto.
She quickly butters a slice and I do the same. “How are you?” she asks.
“I’m okay. You are not. What is happening?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I do know. I thought your father was cheating on me.”
“Oh. No. Tell me no.”
“I did,” she says. “I’ve spent a few weeks fretting over it. It’s a big part of why I didn’t leave the country. He urged me to go.”
“You said—”
“I know what I said, but what was I going to say, Pri? I think your dad found a younger woman and I’m a washed-up old lady to him? It hurt, you know?”