“What did you say?” she asks.
“I said the file is corrupted. I can’t open it.”
“What file?”
“The footage from last night. From the camera in the kitchen.”
There’s a silent beat that stretches out too long. “That’s strange.”
Strange, and unlike her normally airtight system. “It’s the only camera whose footage was corrupted,” I point out after clicking through each feed. “How would that happen?”
“How bizarre. I can pull it up now from home and take a look.”
“No.” It comes out too sharp. I clench my fist and force a slow breath before speaking again. “No. Don’t do that. There’s probably something wrong on my end. I don’t want to put you through reliving it.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Now here I am, lying to one of my oldest friends. One of the only things I’ve ever asked for from any of them is honesty. We don’t have a chance in hell of being successful if we can’t trust each other, which means telling the truth, even if the truth is ugly or awkward or painful. I’m going back on my own rules, lying to someone I’ve always been able to trust.
But that’s the problem. Once I had a chance to think about it, going over Selina’s story time and time again after my rage cooled, something didn’t add up. It still doesn’t. Why would Aurora do something that out of character? It could have been desperation, but that still wouldn’t explain how she was able to injure a woman who’s fought for her life against people much bigger, stronger, and more ruthless.
I’m not sure I believe her, and I hate my indecision. I hate the idea of someone I’ve always believed in and trusted implicitly being anything less than worthy of that trust.
“Take care of yourself,” I tell her. I need to get off this call. It’s better she not know my suspicions. Not until I have proof one way or the other.
“Are you all right?” she asks in a softer voice, full of intimacy, that for some reason makes me bristle. “You sound shaken. I can hear it.”
“I have a lot on my mind.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
I’m sure she will, because in the end, the wound was rather superficial. Much like her response to the corrupt files. This is someone who always has answers. She’s the best at what she does. And now, she very conveniently doesn’t know how the footage from her assault was destroyed.
I don’t like this. Indecision launches me out of my chair once the call is over and gets me moving down the hall, toward the door to the cell. I didn’t ask for Aurora’s version of events last night because I didn’t want to hear her voice and knew I would only get lies and excuses. I was in no place to hear her, anyway. Too enraged. Too betrayed.
I open the door and at first stand and watch her from the doorway, like I did from my office. She doesn’t move, though the slow rise and fall of her back tells me she’s breathing.
“What happened yesterday?” I might as well have asked the wall for a little insight. She doesn’t move a muscle. Doesn’t say a word or even whisper.
“I’m speaking to you. I want to know how it happened.”
Still nothing. Her silence makes me grind my molars. My fists clench tight, which is better than taking her and dragging her from the cot, dropping her on her ass, and screaming in her face. Anything, so long as she’ll stop ignoring me and give me what I need.
“If you ever want to get out of this room,” I warn, “you will give me your side of the story, Aurora. But I’m warning you.There’s a limit to my patience, and a time when I will stop asking.”
“Big deal.”
Not what I expected. “Come again?”
“Big. Deal.” She’s still facing the wall and now pulls her knees up closer to her chest. “All of a sudden, you want to listen? You didn’t yesterday, when it counted. Why would it matter now? What, are you suddenly going to believe me?”
“You could give me a chance.”
She lets out a sharp snort. “Right. Because that’s what this is about. Giving you a chance.”
“You’re telling me you would rather stay in this cell, alone, then?”
I think I got through. She falls silent again, like she’s thinking about it. Weighing her options. Anything has to be better than this. Bleak, gray walls, an overhead fluorescent light that stays on around the clock. I didn’t exactly design it with comfort in mind.
