Ready to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“It was kind of quiet there tonight. The guy who helped me was Eric Ingles. I think he went to school with Jeremy.”

“Dropped out sophomore year.” She picked at a piece of artichoke on the pizza.

“You know this how?”

“He was a friend of Chris’s older brother, I think.”

Chris was her ex-boyfriend.

“What do you know about him now?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“He just seemed nervous that I was a cop.”

Bianca snorted her disdain. “Y’think?”

The microwave timer dinged and Pescoli retrieved the second plate of pizza just as she heard a truck’s engine rumbling ever closer. “So it looks like the prodigal son has returned.”

Less than a minute later, the beams of headlights splashed through the windows and Jeremy’s truck came into view. It slid to a stop near the front of the house and he flew out of it, then pounded snow from his boots as he reached the front door, and Cisco, giving up on any scraps dropping his way, ran to the living room to do his happy dance.

“Hey, Bud,” Jeremy said, scooping up the terrier and getting his face washed. “Pizza?” he asked, his face flushed, his eyes bright. “Great!” He let the dog hop from his arms, tossed his cap onto a side table, and began unzipping his jacket. “I’m starved!” He took the plate from his mother’s outstretched hands and stopped at the refrigerator for a soda.

“That’s the reaction I was hoping for,” she said to her daughter.

“The rest of this”—he made a circular motion with a finger not wrapped around the neck of his Coke to include the remaining pizza—“it’s mine. Right? All of it.”

“You’re such a Neanderthal,” Bianca muttered with a long-suffering sigh.

“Oh, shut up,” he said, half joking, his good mood making him almost euphoric. Dear God, she hoped he wasn’t high on something. He’d been known to smoke a joint or two, but so had she in her youth. Leaning across the table, his nose inches from his sister’s, he said, “I was only asking.”

“Huh. Sounded more like marking your territory. You know, kinda like pissing in the corners of the kitchen.”

“Okay, no squabbling,” Pescoli intervened. “This is a holiday.”

“Yesterday was a holiday,” Jeremy said.

“Mom’s got one of her lame ideas going. If you haven’t got it yet, you’re celebrating some anti-Christmas Day.”

“It’s not anti-Christmas. It’s in addition to the holiday.” When Jeremy looked at her she waved away the questions in his eyes. “I’ll explain later, and to answer your question, most of the meat pizza is yours. I want a slice or two.”

“Afterward we’ll open presents,” Bianca said.

“Good.” Jeremy twisted off the cap of his Coke and washed down his bite. “Because I want to celebrate.”

Pescoli looked up sharply. Her insides froze. He’d just been with Heidi. It was still the holidays . . . she thought about the ring Santana had given her and waves of denial swept through her. “Celebrate?” she whispered.

“I hate to ask,” Bianca said, shoving the barely touched slices to one side.

“Then don’t. You’re looking at the newest deputy for the Pinewood Sheriff’s Department,” he declared with pride.

“What?” Pescoli whispered, thinking this was some kind of joke. Surely he was kidding, right? Pulling her leg? But she barely heard the hum of the microwave over the pounding of her heart.

“It’s just one of those temporary things, until I finish school, but I went in and talked to Heidi’s dad and he made me a deputy. Can you believe it?” Jeremy positively beamed, his grin stretching ear to ear. “See? I told you I wanted to be a cop.”

“A deputy? But—”

“Okay, kind of a deputy.” He cut off Pescoli’s desperate-sounding words before he could get an all-out “no” from her. “He called it something else.”