Page 67 of Dirty

He grinned. “For what?”

“Making me feel like I could.”

NINETEEN

Cholo

Each time Alexandra and I were together, it seemed we reached a milestone or learned something about new each other. Being apart caused me to yearn to be together for no other reason than to experience something new with her.

Although I didn’t want to accelerate the process, and enjoyed every minute of not knowing what was next, I found myself wanting to spend more time with her after each day had passed.

Each time we met, I saw subtle changes in her ability to open up to me. I noticed progress in me, too. The sexual desires of my past had vanished, and although I wanted to one day have sex with Alexandra, it wasn’t my focus at all.

In fact, my focus was the journey itself. The steps I needed to take to earn her trust were steps I needed, and wanted, to take. In the process, I was sure that I would become more confident in myself and my ability to be exactly what Alexandra needed.

It was rare for a man to get an opportunity to turn back the clock and start his life over, but I believed I was given just that chance with Alexandra. I felt like it was my first sexual experience. As far as my heart was concerned, it was.

And, this time, I was going to do things right.

I pulled my hat on, slipped my kutte over my shoulders, and reached for the door. The sheetrock crew was scheduled to meet me at the La Jolla home, and I didn’t want to be late.

I opened the door, looked up, and froze. Standing at the edge of my porch stood an unpleasant surprise.

“Good morning. It’s Downey, right? Adam Downey?”

“I’m going to be late for work,” I said. “If you don’t mind--”

“I didn’t introduce myself,” he said. “Detective Watson, with the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department.”

“Okay, detective Watson, I’m going to be late for work.”

“You’ll be a lot later if I have to handcuff you and take you in for questioning,” he said. “Have you got a minute to answer a few questions?”

I looked at my watch. “I’ll give you ten minutes,” I said. “Then, I’m leaving. You’ll either have to arrest me or step aside and let me go.”

He motioned toward the door. “Shall we go inside?”

I stepped onto the porch and pulled the door closed behind me. “No, you can come in the garage.”

I checked to make sure the door was locked, and then walked toward the garage. My home was the same as most homes in neighborhood, in that it had a detached garage that was beside – and slightly behind – the house.

I unlocked the garage, pulled up the door, and stepped inside. After admiring my bike for a minute, he looked at me. “Nice bike.”

I grabbed a dust rag and wiped the dust off the tank and saddlebags. “You come here to tell me that?”

His grin disappeared and his face went stern. “No. I came here to talk to you about a murder investigation.”

“Same shit you were talking about in the shop the other day?”

He shrugged. “I’ll ask the questions, and you answer them. Not the other way around.”

I looked at my watch. “Get to asking. You’ve got eight minutes.”

“The day I was talking to Navarro, a woman left your clubhouse in a little bit of a hurry,” he said. “And, I’m one of those weird OCD types that makes note of everything. So, I couldn’t help but notice as she sped past me that she was driving a silver Chevy Cruze.”

I shrugged. “Crime now to drive an American made car?”

He chuckled. “Not yet, no. But killing someone is.”