CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I've never been in a fight.

That thought hits me out of nowhere as I drive to Autumn Downs the next morning. Somehow, despite stealing cars for a living, breaking into people's homes, stealing, and buying drugs by myself in Huntington Park and Cudahy from fourteen to sixteen, I've never been in a fistfight. I guess I have some luck after all.

But today, I'm going to talk to Julian Kensington and get him to admit what the hell he did. And I might have to fight him. I have no idea how that's going to go. On one hand, I'm bigger than he is. I'm six-foot-one and one hundred eighty pounds, and I'm in good shape even though I never played sports or worked out or anything. I'm also twenty-five years younger than him, so that's got to count in my favor.

On the other hand, I don't know anything about him. For all I know, he could secretly be a black belt or train with ex-Navy SEALs. Or he could have a bodyguard somewhere in the house that I haven't seen yet. For all I know, I'm about to get my ass kicked or even beaten to death. Even if that doesn't happen, the best-case scenario for me is I end up in jail for assault. Detective Ramirez gets a search warrant for my house and slaps a possession charge on me. She digs up my juvenile history and finds the judge who warned me about slipping up and next thing you know, I'm doing ten years in Wasco.

I don't care. Someone needs to stand up for Lila.

I pick up the van at seven. Ahmed isn't there, and the person behind the counter couldn't give two shits that I'm an hour and a half early. If all goes well, I'll still be able to get work done today.

I laugh at myself for that. I"m about to confront a murderer and possibly get myself killed or put away, and I"m worried about losing my job. I think it"s time to admit I don"t give a shit about that anymore.

I reach the Kensington house, and suddenly it becomes very easy to admit I don't give a shit anymore. I get out of the van and stalk to the house, the diary in my hand. My blood boils, and while I don't consider myself a violent person by any means, I find myself hoping that Julian tries something.

I knock on the door, and the sound is so loud that it causes me to flinch. God, I'm angry.

The door opens and Julian looks at me, a frown on his face. "Hello? Can I help you?"

He's relaxed. God, he's so fucking relaxed. He's standing there without a care in the world, like nothing's wrong, and he didn't kill his own daughter a few days ago.

"You can help Lila," I say.

He frowns. "Excuse me?"

"There's no excuse for you, you piece of shit."

His frown deepens. "You need to leave my property, young man."

I hold up the diary and say, "Really? Are you sure about that? I think we should talk first, Julian."

He pales slightly, and I feel a rush of triumph seeing that. He knows. He knows I have proof of his crimes in my hand.

"Is that Lila's diary? Where did you get that? Did you break into my house?"

"Damned right I did. Pulled this out of your dead daughter's bedroom while you and the coke fiend were out partying it up."

He blinks and takes a step backward. "How dare you trespass on my property."

"How dare you kill your daughter."

He flinches and pales further. "You are overstepping your boundaries, young man. Leave my house now, or I'll call the police."

"Call them. Tell them about Pacific Oil. Tell them about the money you transferred to accounts in Barbados and St. Kitts. Tell them about how you got rid of Derek when he stopped playing ball."

He starts to tremble and takes another step backwards. "You are out of line."

"Fuck you! Admit it! You killed her, you fucking coward!"

"Nate!"

This time it's my turn to flinch. That was Vivian. What's she doing here?

"Nathan!" she hisses, grabbing my arm and pulling me off the porch.

"You'd better stay the fuck away from us!" Julian calls. "And give my daughter's diary back!"

"Fuck you! I'm taking this—"

Before I can finish that sentence, Vivian snatches the diary out of my hands. She stalks to Julian and hands the diary to him. "I'll take care of this, Julian."

I'm too stunned to react. I stare at Vivian in shock and see anger in her eyes as she stares at me. Anger? At me?

She grabs my arm again. "Come on."

I pull my arm from her grasp. "No! You just gave him back the only evidence—"

She grabs my arm again, this time digging her nails into my skin. "Come on."

She pulls me away, and I follow. I don't know what else to do. Of all the things I thought might happen, Vivian showing up and pulling me away from the house is not one of them.

She leads me to the van and holds out the hand that isn't cutting grooves into my forearm. "Keys."

"No," I say, hating how petulant I sound.

She takes a deep breath and repeats in a voice that's barely calm. "Give me the fucking keys."

I stare at her, tears welling in my eyes. She waits a second, then reaches into my pocket and yanks out the keys. Then she drags me around to the passenger side, opens the door and says, "Get in."

I get in. I hate myself for doing it, but I get in. What the hell just happened?

She gets in the driver's seat and peals around. We stay silent on the drive down the street to her house. When she parks, we sit there for a moment before she says, "Can I trust you to walk into my house without acting like a spoiled brat, or do I need to drag you again?"

I don't answer her. I just push open the door and storm to her front porch. I hear the van door slam and hear Vivian's heels clicking on the walkway. She brushes past me and opens the door, then pulls me inside.

As soon as the door closes behind me, she whirls around. "What the hell were you thinking?"

My anger flares up, but as soon as she says that, it's like my brain clicks into gear. I imagine what it must have looked like to Vivian or anyone else walking up and seeing that. An angry teenager shouting at a man who just lost his daughter while waving stolen property in his face and calling him a killer.

Heat climbs my cheeks, and Vivian sighs and plants her hands on her face, massaging her temples. "For God's sake, Nate."

Her anger is dissolving now that we're safe out of public view, and that somehow makes me feel worse. I don't feel like the man she's sleeping with anymore. I feel like her little boy, and she just pulled him into the house to have a lecture and a timeout.

I realize just how utterly stupid that thought is, and it only makes me feel worse.

"Have a seat," she says.

"What?"

"Sit down."

"Where?"

"I don't give a shit. Just sit down so I know you're not going to storm off and act like an asshole."

I head to the table and sit down. The fact that I'm meekly following her instructions grates on me.

Just a sulking little boy.

She starts making coffee, and I say, "I don't want any coffee."

"Well, I do," she snaps.

She makes the coffee, sighing heavily and shaking her head. She's wearing a khaki skirt and a casual button-down, and her hair's pulled back in a ponytail. It's the first time I've seen her wearing normal clothes, and she looks hot as hell.

God, I hate that I still notice how hot she is right now.

She stands impatiently in front of the coffee pot and waits for it to finish. When it's done, she pours two mugs. They're garden-variety department store mugs rather than the handcrafted designs Mrs. Winslow has. Weird the things my mind chooses to focus on right now.

"I said I don't want coffee," I tell her.

"I don't give a shit."

She sets the coffee in front of me and says, "I swear to God, you'd better finish that." I lower my eyes, and she says, "No. Screw that. You're man enough to go challenge Julian Kensington to a duel in the streets, so you can look me in the eye when I talk to you."

I lift my eyes to hers and see compassion. Anger, sure, but also compassion. I think it would be easier to just see anger.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

I take a deep breath. "I was angry. I just… I wanted…"

"Nate, the police ruled her death an accident."

"It wasn't a fucking accident!" I shout.

"Don't you dare shout at me," she says, somehow not raising her own voice. "We can talk without going crazy."

"No! Fuck that!" Tears come to my eyes again, and God, I'm so mad right now. "No one cares! No one cares that she's dead! They know what happened! I know they know! That diary proved it, and you gave it back to him? And what were you doing there, anyway?"

"I was following you. I saw your van pass my house, and I…" she looks away and reddens slightly. "I thought I'd surprise you. I was going to follow you to your first house and…" she lifts her hand and lets it drop. "Make out with you a bit and then invite you over later. I thought it would be nice to tease you and get you excited for later. Then I saw where you were really headed, and… I guess I didn't get there fast enough."

That should make me feel good. That should make me calm down. At the very least, it should make me stop acting like a petulant child.

But I'm too upset to think. All I can feel is angry and humiliated and powerless. So instead of acting like someone with an ounce of intelligence, I say, "You know what? I'm not just a damned sex toy."

She doesn't flinch or gasp like I expect her to. She just sighs and says, "Calm down, Nate."

"No! I'm not going to calm down! Why don't you care? Why does no one—"

"I care, Nate!" she shouts, raising her voice loudly enough that I flinch. "I care that a girl was murdered ten houses down the same goddamned street where I live. I care. But that doesn't mean I go to their front porch, wave the diary that I stole in their faces and shout that they need to ‘fess up or else. Speaking of that, or else what? What were you going to do?"

"I was going to go to the police," I mumble.

"The police that ruled the death an accident?"

"Someone needs to—"

"Enough, Nate. It happened. She died. She was probably murdered. Whoever killed her got away with it. It happened. It sucks, but there's nothing you can do about it, and shit like what you pulled today will do absolutely nothing to help."

Annie's face flashes across my mind. Her broken, twisted body, torn apart by some dickweed who just had to drive home drunk off his ass.

"I can't just leave it like that," I whisper hoarsely. "It's not fair."

I stand suddenly and stalk out of the kitchen. I grab the keys to the van off of the table in the foyer, then leave the house, ignoring Vivian as she calls my name.