“See, so why would this be a trick? No dark intentions, I promise.” I could swear there’s a hint of a grin dancing over his lips, but maybe I’m just paranoid. Not that surprising after the day I had.
“You still owe me an explanation.”
“Ioweyou an explanation?” he asks with a laugh. “Bet you wouldn’t be as demanding if Cabrera was in here with us.”
“Sorry,” I blurt out. “Was it my fault or is he always this—“
“Angry? Impatient? Slightly psychotic?” Max interrupts me. “Yeah.”
“So it wasn’t because I hit him?”
“I mean, you hitting him definitely didn’t help your case,” Max says and when he laughs, our shoulders touch.
“Tell him I’m sorry,” I mumble.
“You better tell him yourself,” Max says. And here I had hoped that my first run-in with his colleague was also the last one. “But just between us, I would have hit him, too. He’ll get over it, Lillian.”
“Lily,” I correct him out of habit. “Feels like I’m getting scolded by my mom when someone calls me Lillian.”
“Lily’s more fitting either way. Pretty name for a pretty girl.”
Wide-eyed, I stare at him.
“Too soon,” he mumbles to himself, running his fingers through his hair. “I know we already talked about it, but I need to make sure we’re on the same page. You’ve never heardyour husband mention the name Randy? Maybe saw it pop up on his phone?”
Thinking back to the day he yelled at me for even touching his phone, I shake my head. The caller’s name was Archer, Asher—something like that, but definitely not Randy.
I fidget around with the hem of my dirty shirt, looking up when Max moves next to me. Moments later, he holds his sweater out to me.
“In case you want something warmer. Or less blood-stained,” he says, putting it on my lap when I refuse to take it.
“Thanks.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see how his lips twitch.
“He never introduced me to his friends,” I admit. “Until today, I thought all of them work for the city council. And before you ask, no, I don’t know them either. I mean, I do know one of them, Glenn. He gave me his old car, but he’s sixty and he doesn’t seem like a criminal—but hey, apparently I am terrible at judging people, so maybe he’s in the mafia,” I ramble until Max stops me.
“I wouldn’t call Randy and your husband friends. And he’s also not the best at judging people, if it makes you feel better. Cause he took a ton of money from the worst crowd he could have picked in all of California.”
With raised eyebrows, I turn to look at Max.
“Where’s all this alleged money? Because it sure as hell isn’t in our—wait, please don’t tell me this has anything to do with the bank accounts.”
“Kind of.”
“And that’s why those men showed up at our house?”
“Again, kind of,” he says. He takes my hand in his and this time, I don’t even think of pulling mine away.
“He lost a lot of money gambling, maxed out one credit card after the other. Lost, took out a loan, lost again, took another loan, struggled to pay it back…”
My stomach clenches and I regret eating the brownie.
“The guy he took money from, Randy, his gang makes most of their money with illegal sports bets. But it’s actually more of a funnel for their other business: loans. Once they found out your husband works for the government, they wanted a bit more than just their repayments.”
His words rain down on me like punches straight to the gut.
“That’s why we got involved. Too much sensitive information about city officials was at stake, no one wanted things to get ugly if data landed in the wrong hands. And I know Logan didn’t show his best side earlier, but you should thank God for his aim.” Absent-mindedly, Max strokes over my hand. “I don’t want to imagine what they would have done to you if we weren’t there.”
He’s saying it so nonchalantly, like he’s talking about the weather and not showing me what is left of the lie I called my life.
