“What about you? How’s the book doing?”
“We’re on our first round of edits still.”
He gives my hand a squeeze. “I’m proud of you. Trina would be, too, if she were here.”
All I can do is nod. I don’t believe in speaking ill of the dead, not even if what I’m hearing is a lie.
There isn’t time to talk after that, with Detective Eaton calling us into her offic a few minutes later. She’s a compact woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense ponytail, and she gestures for us to sit before dropping a file folder on her desk.
“We’ve made progress on the case,” she says without preamble. “Your cousin had a life insurance policy. Two hundred thousand dollars.”
I blink. Trina never mentioned anything about life insurance. Then again, Trina never mentioned a lot of things.
“Someone cashed it out three days after her death.” Detective Eaton flips open the folder and slides a photograph across the desk. “Recognize this man?”
My stomach drops.
It’s him. Trina’s boyfriend. The one who cornered me in the kitchen at her birthday party, who pressed me against the refrigerator and told me I’d been asking for it, who lied to Trina’s face and made her choose him over me.
“Braxton,” I whisper.
“Braxton Moates.” Detective Eaton nods. “He was the sole beneficiary on the policy. And that’s not all.” She leans forward. “We’ve found evidence linking him to a human trafficking ring operating out of Las Vegas.”
Dane makes a strangled sound beside me.
I try my best to look shocked and scared, even though I already know the ring has been neutralized. My rescuer told me. Every single one of them is dead.
But Braxton wasn’t at the auction. Braxton wasn’t among the bodies.
Which means Braxton is still out there.
“He’s gone into hiding,” Detective Eaton continues. “Cleared out his apartment, emptied his bank accounts, vanished. But men like him tend to resurface. So I need both of you to be careful.” She fixes me with a hard stare. “Avoid being alone. Vary your routines. And call us immediately if you notice anything suspicious.”
****
DANE DRIVES ME BACKto campus in his beat-up Honda Civic, the same car he’s had since high school. The seats still smell like the vanilla air freshener Trina used to tease him about.
We’re both quiet for a long time.
“It still feels unreal,” he finally says. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. “I can’t believe she’s dead.”
I can only nod. So much of this is hard to take in. The murder. The life insurance. Braxton.
And the part where Trina sold me to human traffickers for fifty thousand dollars.
But that part, I have no plans of telling Dane. He and Trina dated all through junior and senior year. He loved my cousin so much I don’t think he ever really got over her, even after she dumped him for Braxton.
For someone older.
More exciting.
Look how that turned out.
After saying goodbye to Dane and promising to keep in touch, I find myself wandering aimlessly around campus while I recall the few good days I had with Trina. She’d cook me breakfast once in a while. Chat with me when she’s bored. Those were the best memories I had of her, and it was enough. I loved her like a sister even though I always knew it was never reciprocal.
A couple is walking toward me on the pathway, both of them holding glossy brochures for the university’s astronomy department. Prospective graduate students, maybe, or people considering a short course. But what really makes me look at them and pay attention is the fact that they’re speaking in French.
“Mars est ingérable,”the man is saying.
