Gathering Dark by Candice Fox (best life changing books txt) 📕

“She’s not here,” the woman on the line said. “You can leave a message.”

“I’m Jessica Sanchez. West LA. I was hoping to talk to Kristi about a case she was involved in some years ago. In 2009. Adrian Orlov.”

“She doesn’t talk to any journalists,” the voice said. “Bye.”

“Wait. I’m not a reporter. It’s Jessica Sanchez—Detective Jessica Sanchez. West LA Homicide.”

“Oh.”

“Do you remember me?”

“I … Look, Kristi already knows that the woman got out. The shooter. She doesn’t care.”

“I’m not calling about Blair Harbour’s release,” Jessica said. “I want to ask you some questions about the case itself.”

More silence. Jessica tapped the balcony rail, chewed her lip, bracing for the disconnect tone. She heard a dog barking in the background of the call, close.

“Kristi’s not—”

“I know it’s you, Kristi.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk about it,” Kristi snapped. “And I don’t have to.”

“I just have a couple of things to clear up, and I hoped we could meet,” Jessica said. “It’s nothing official.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Jessica was surprised by the sudden desperation in Kristi’s voice, which had gone up in pitch. “I mean—what—clear up what things? The case is closed. Adrian is dead. That Harbour bitch did her time and she’s out now. It’s over. What the fuck could you possibly want to know?”

“Can I just meet you for a drink?”

“You said it was nothing official. Does that … What does that even mean?”

“I don’t want to cause you any distress,” Jessica said carefully. “I just want to talk.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk, okay?” Jessica heard a glass clunk onto a firm surface on the other end of the line. Kristi swallowed hard. “I don’t know why the hell you would think I’d want to talk about my dead boyfriend who got shot right in front of my eyes.”

“It’s just that—”

“Don’t call this number again,” Kristi said. “I’m changing this number. This number is dead now. Don’t call me. Ever.”

The line clicked off. Jessica looked at the screen, the red circle with the X emblazoned on it, and felt the last dregs of hope draining out of her.

BLAIR

Sneak wasn’t home when I arrived. There was a note on the counter that just read, Sorry, Neighbor. I scrunched it up and put it in the bin, changed Hugh Jackman’s water bowl, and was just clicking the lid of the ice cream container into place when there came a knock at the door.

Alejandro was standing there in the night with a large box in his arms. A shudder of strange emotions rushed through me, terror and desire and joy and dread, a wave that left me feeling light-headed.

“Right now?” I laughed. “I didn’t think he meant—”

“He always means right now,” Alejandro said. I shut the door behind him and followed him to the counter. I expected him to dump the box and leave, but he took a butterfly knife from his back pocket, flipped it open, and started slicing down the side of the box. I stood back and watched. A man cutting open a box. Muscles working in his forearms. His eyes downcast, dark lashes. Box falling open, defeated. Half my thoughts were desperate screams at how pathetic my sex-starved brain was being about this man’s presence. The other half were blazing, primal fantasies. There hadn’t been a male person who wasn’t a parole officer in my apartment since the real estate agent who had shown me the place. I broke away out of sheer necessity, opened the window by the sink, and sucked in some cool night air.

“You like it?” Alejandro asked when the hamster cage was unveiled. It was a sizeable plastic tank with multicolored attachments, curling tubes that went from level to level, spiraling up a tower to a kind of pod with a dome where the creature could look out from on high. There were indeed two mouse wheels. Alejandro peeled clear protective tape from a number of hatches where the different floors could be accessed for food and water and cleaning.

“It’s very elaborate,” I said. “A grand estate for a rodent bachelor.”

“It’s like Santiago’s house. Big. Over the top. I sent photos from the Walmart. He didn’t like the first few I tried. Too small.” We both laughed. I took Hugh Jackman from his box and put him inside his ridiculous hamster mansion, and we watched him taking tentative steps around the first floor, snuffling curiously at the mouse wheel.

“You also get this,” Alejandro said, taking a roll of money from his pocket and unclipping it from a diamond-studded fixing.

“Oh, no.” I put a hand up. “I don’t need it.”

“I’ve got to give it to you,” he said. “I have no choice.”

I watched him peel four hundred dollars from the roll. He put it on the counter. “That’s about right, isn’t it? Four?”

“That’s fine,” I said. There was a long, awkward silence.

“So, you’re hot right now,” Alejandro said. “You know that?”

I felt fire rush up my throat. “Oh, well, thank you. I—”

“No, I mean like you’re running hot.” He grinned. “You got a guy on your tail.”

“What guy?”

“There was a guy out there”—he nodded toward the door—“when I arrived. He’s gone now. He was watching you at the Pump’n’Jump, too. Al Tasik. He’s a detective. You know him?”

My stomach dropped. “Yeah. You too?”

“He’s well known to us,” Alejandro said. “Not a nice guy. He picks on young cholos. Little homies who ain’t blooded yet. He planted a bag of weed on this kid from Santiago’s neighborhood and the boy got his skull fractured in a holding cell while he was waiting to clear the bullshit charge. Now one of his eyes don’t work right.”

“Did Tasik see you?”

“Nobody sees me.”

“Right. So if your guys hate Tasik so much, why don’t you just, uh…” I struggled.

“The lawn chairs?” Alejandro laughed.

“Yeah.”

“He’s a cop,” he said. “And not a boot, either. He’s got rank. It would be a big deal. Lots of negotiation required. Takes time. You get what I’m