“When did you move?”
My stomach dropped, and it wasn’t from the illness.
“How did you know I moved?” I asked with apprehension.
“Oh,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, glancing over at me. “You used to live on Crescent Street, right?” I nodded, anxiety swirling in my chest. “We got called out that way one night when I was shadowing.”
I let out a shaky murmur of acknowledgement, praying that he hadn’t been one of the cops to come to the crime scene of my brother’s murder slash alleged suicide.Fuck, I want him to be a good guy. I want him to be so far removed from anything to do with Los Siete. But, what the hell kind of call did he answer at my house other than the cover-up for my brother’s death?
We sat in silence for most of the car ride until he suddenly spoke, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts of whether or not this was some test from Carlos.
“I know that you and Nox are close, and I just want you to know that you are welcome at our house anytime, Shiloh. If you ever need to stay, please don’t hesitate to ask. And I’m here if there’s anything that you ever want to talk about,” he said with a small smile.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. This is a fucking test. A loyalty test from Carlos. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.I could feel the sweat start to prickle the back of my neck, and I avoided looking over at Dan.
“I might be a cop, but that doesn’t mean that you’re going to get in trouble if you tell me something. So,” he paused, looking closely at the parking lot until he found the empty visitor’s space by the door. “If you think there’s something I can help you with, maybe something your dad isn’t able to do, please tell me.”
My heart fucking stopped in my chest. I dug my nails into my palms, the threat of vomiting into the grocery bag on my lap imminent.
The silence dragged and I swallowed the urge to gag, taking in a deep breath.
“Have you been to the doctor about your anxiety and panic attacks?”
Fuck, not now.I swallowed, my stomach turning.
“I’m fine. The other night was just a one-off. I’m handling it.”
I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned to exit the car as quickly as possible, when Dan gently put his hand over mine that was holding onto my backpack.I passed the damn test, now let me fucking leave!
“Shiloh, wait. I know it’s an awkward question, but I have to ask…are you on something?”
My head reared back with shock. “What?”
“Drugs, alcohol, are you using substances?”
“No. No. I swear. I really am sick. The stomach flu or something.”
I met his eyes, my vision finally clear enough to see that he was searching my face, like he was waiting for a different answer just like Enoch always did.
“Can I go now?”
“Do you want me to come up?”
I shook my head.
“Okay, kiddo. Feel better. And if you need anything don’t hesitate to reach out to Nox or Jae. I know those two will be worried about you.”
Something about Dan’s tone left me feeling guilty. Like he wanted me to say yes and was disappointed I hadn’t. Was it pity or something else that he was feeling for me? Why did it feel like he knew everything and was just waiting for me to confirm it?
If that were the case, did that mean he wasn’t working for Los Siete? Was he genuinely concerned?
I didn’t know what was worse—Dan knowing the truth and wanting to talk about it as some sort of test from Carlos, or Dan not knowing the truth and suspecting, risking us all to be damned by Carlos for being traitors.
Thirty-Two
November 19, Friday
Enoch
