“Lance?” My voice barely exists. “Lance, get up.”
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move.
I blink through the not-so-distant memory.A normal person would’ve called 911 right about then, and I almost did—I swear—but then I heard it; the sirens, the questions, the wayfellwould’ve turned intopushedthe second I said we were fighting. The way an accident would’ve turned into intent the moment someone decided I looked guilty enough. I could already see the look on the cop’s face when he noticed the wine, the papers on the counter, my fingerprints everywhere…
Which is how we ended up here—with his body in my trunk.
But now I have no clue what to do, and despite knowing I shouldn’t involve anyone else in my mess, I do the only thing I can think to do.
I call my dad.
He answers on the second ring as if he’d already been holding the phone. “Alma.”
“I—” My throat closes nervously, unsure of what to say. “Pa, I need help.”
There’s a careful pause, and then he asks, “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Is anyone else there?”
“Yes.Him.He…fell down the stairs.”
Another pause rents the air, longer this time. My dad never cared for Lance, said there was something off about him, that he wassospechoso.“Is he breathing?”
I stare at Lance’s body for a moment, then squeeze my eyes shut. “No.”
The silence that follows is much heavier now, not shock exactly, but the sound of someone realizing just how bad this is.
“¿Donde estas?”he asks quietly.
“At the house.”
“And he’s…?” He trails off, like he already knows he won’t like the answer.
“In my trunk,” I whisper. “I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do.”
My dad exhales, sharply this time, the first crack in his formidable armor of control. “Alma,” he scrapes out incredulously. “Why? Why would you move him?”
“I just… I don’t know. I didn’t think. It’s like my body was on autopilot and the next thing I knew he was in the trunk.”
“You tampered with a crime scene, you understand that, right?” he says, not asks. It’s not in an accusatory fashion, just stating the facts.
My throat tightens again, stomach roiling violently.I’m gonna throw up.“Yes.”
Another heavy breath filters in through the line, slower and steadier now like he’s forcing himself back into his body. “Listen to me,” he commands, voice firm. “There’s no going back now, but we can’t afford for you to make it worse. Don’t call anyone else, don’t go back inside, and whatever you do, don’t move him anymore.”
He can’t see me, but I nod silently, urging him to continue.
“I’m going to send you a location,” he continues. “You’re going to drive there like nothing ever happened. Follow the speed limits, use your blinkers, then park where I tell you and wait.”
“For how long?” I ask.
There’s a brief pause, not uncertainty but calculation. “Until I tell you otherwise.”
CHAPTER
TWO
