Dig two graves, p.25
Dig Two Graves, page 25
As she was speaking, Javier rounded the corner into the kitchen. He was fully dressed, thank freaking God, with a bath towel draped over his head, which made it look more like he’d just come out of a locker room than from an illicit night of passion in Neve’s bed. He stared at Neve and her mom, his eyes flicking rapidly back and forth between them, face growing paler by the second.
“M-Mrs. Lanier,” he stammered, pulling the towel off of his head and stashing it behind his back, as if it was somehow disrespectful to even be using it in the first place. “I didn’t know you were here. I was just . . . I mean, I took a shower.” His eyes landed on Neve, his panic deepening. “Your daughter’s bed is very comfortable.”
Her mom raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
“Your other daughter!” The words exploded out of him. “Neve’s sister. Who isn’t here. I slept in her bed last night. Um, alone.”
Right, like that was going to make this situation better.
Her mom probably should have freaked out. There was no reality in which the optics on this weren’t horrible. But instead of flying into a protective rage and demanding that Javier leave the house before she called the police, Neve’s mom merely smiled and extended her hand.
“You can call me Siobhan,” she said warmly.
“Javier.” He took her hand tentatively, like it was some kind of trap. “I’m a friend of Neve’s.”
“I should hope so. Otherwise this would be even more awkward.” Her mom laughed. “Can I make you guys some coffee? That’s about all I have in the house.”
Neve could have hugged her again. She was one hundred percent sure she was going to have to explain this later, but at least there wasn’t going to be a scene in front of Javier. So even though she had been about to go make coffee herself, she turned and hustled Javier out of the kitchen. “No, thanks, Mom. We need to go see a friend about a thing.”
“Yes.” Javier waved over his shoulder as Neve pushed him down the hall. “A friend. About a thing.”
Her mom’s voice trailed after them down the hallway. “Nice to meet you, Javier. Hope to see you around more often.”
Neve cringed. Really? That practically confirmed whatever suspicions her mom had formulated about what they’d been doing in Neve’s room that night. Ugh, explaining this later was going to be a pain in the ass.
But when she glanced back at her mom, instead of hitting her with raised eyebrows and a look of shock, her mother merely smiled softly before turning back to her protein milk.
FORTY-ONE
“I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE DIDN’T FREAK THE FUCK OUT,” JAVIER said as soon as Neve closed the door to her room. “Or, like, call the cops.”
“The last thing we need in this family is more cops around.”
“Good point.”
Neve sat down on the edge of her bed. There were so many emotions slithering through her, she wasn’t sure how to process them, and having a hot guy in her room wasn’t even at the top of the list. Aunt Connie’s neighbor was going to get the charges against her dad dismissed. Or at least try to. That DNA evidence her mom mentioned as a throwaway was the part that worried Neve the most. She knew exactly what it was and exactly where it came from. Her dad might have an alibi for Charlotte’s murder, but Yasmin’s was still on the table. Still, if Aunt Connie’s neighbor could get him released tomorrow, he’d be home. She smiled at the thought. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
“It’s nice when you smile.” Javier still stood by the door, respectful of the fact that they were alone together in her room.
“Are you going to tell me I’m pretty when I smile?” Neve said, unable to contain the snark. “And should do so more often?” She really hoped Javier wasn’t resorting to that sexist bullshit.
“You’re pretty even when you don’t,” he countered without hesitation. “I meant that you looked happy just now. And I feel like you haven’t been happy in a while.”
Neve felt that familiar fluttering in her stomach. “I haven’t.”
He lingered by the door, fingering the handle absently. “That thing Yasmin did to you . . . I’m sorry it happened.”
“I’m not.” Neve couldn’t believe what she was saying. The moment that had literally ruined her life, setting in motion a chain of events that led to the deaths of two people—didn’t she wish every day that it had never happened?
“Really?”
“Yes.” Weirdly. “I’m sorry I sent that text about Marisol. But I’m not sorry that I found out what kind of person Yasmin was. It helped me learn what real friendship means.”
He paused before he replied, clearing his throat as he stepped closer. “I, uh, hope you consider me a friend.”
“A new friend,” she said cautiously.
He half smiled, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. “Not that new. I’ve met you before.”
Neve narrowed her eyes. “Yeah?”
“It took me a while to place you because there were a lot of people that night.” He grinned sheepishly, resuming his slow trek across the carpet toward her. “But you don’t exactly blend in. The night I met Yasmin at Marisol’s party, you were there.”
So he had noticed her.
Neve rolled her eyes, suddenly self-conscious. “I think half the party remembers when I picked a fight with the hostess.”
“True.” He was standing right in front of her and she had to tilt her head back to look him in those hazel eyes. “But before that. I saw you in your black dress, with your curled hair. I know you don’t think anyone ever notices you, but I did.”
“I don’t want anyone to notice me,” she said, angry at the note of breathlessness she detected in her own voice. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
Neve arched an eyebrow. “Are you really going to stand there and psychoanalyze me?”
Javier shook his head. “I can honestly say that’s the last thing on my mind.” Then he placed one knee on the mattress beside her, lowering himself so his face was just above hers, grazed her cheek with his fingertips, and kissed her.
Neve closed her eyes as Javier pressed his lips to hers. She kissed him back, welcoming the contact, and breathed faster as she felt his arm slip around her waist. He gently lifted her, easing her farther back onto her bed, then lay on his side next to her.
He never even broke the kiss.
She wasn’t stupid enough to think that this was Javier’s first kiss—or first anything, for that matter—and the fluidity of his movements suggested that he was relatively skilled not only at maneuvering around the female body, but in doing so without coming across as threatening or forceful. The kisses were soft, and his body, though close, wasn’t grinding against her or pinning her down from above. Though Neve had never made out with a boy, this was exactly how she’d imagined it.
Well, sort of. There was something missing. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. That flutter in her stomach that Javier had ignited several times with his dreamy hazel eyes and kind, boyish charm had vanished, and instead of being replaced by the carnal burn Neve had expected, it felt empty.
She pushed herself up, rolling on top of Javier in an attempt to spark that something. He moaned into her mouth, threading his fingers through her hair as his mouth opened greedily for hers. Then Neve pulled away.
“What’s wrong?” Javier panted, eyes half-closed. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Neve slid off him, crossing her legs before her on the comforter. “Actually, no.”
Javier instantly sat up, lips parted, brows furrowed with concern. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. You’ve got so many heavy things going on, and I totally took advantage of the situation.”
Neve held up her hand. “No, no. You’re fine. I’m . . .” Not into it? Not into it right now? Not into you? She wasn’t sure which.
He was quiet for a moment, sitting beside her, catching his breath. She let the silence linger, not really sure what she wanted to say and so was content to let him take the reins.
“Everything is super confusing right now.” He stood up, hazel eyes sad but smiling. “But I want you to know that I’m still going to be here when this is all over. And I’ll still feel the same way about you.”
“Which is?” Maybe hearing him specify what they were would help her figure out her own feelings.
“Which is . . .” He smiled impishly. “Which is I don’t really want you to murder me. So let’s keep our heads straight, okay?”
Playful. That was an easy role to slip into with Javier. “Then you probably shouldn’t have shoved your tongue down my throat.”
Javier laughed. “Fair.” He pulled his phone from his back pocket, checking the time. “I should also probably be heading home to get things set up.”
Back to business. Good. They’d figure out the rest later. “Do you think you’ll be able to set up the cameras without Diane noticing?”
“I think so.”
I hope so. “Good.”
Their plan depended on it.
It had taken them most of the night to figure out some way to get Diane to confess, based on Javier’s innocent remark: The only way we’d get her to admit to anything is if she thought I was already dead. In the same vein as Harry Lime’s faked death in The Third Man, Neve hypothesized that if Diane truly believed that Javier was dead, she’d let her guard down. Gloat in the triumph of not only getting what she wanted but getting someone else to do the dirty work. If Neve was a good enough actress, she should be able to manipulate a confession out of Diane.
But the first part was making sure that Javier’s “death” looked convincing.
That part had been his idea, one that he’d seemed particularly excited about when he hashed it out at two in the morning. He proposed that Neve would show up at the Flores-Russell McMansion to find Javier alone in the kitchen-slash–family room. Unbeknownst to Diane, who would be home and presumably watching, Javier would have rigged the room with cameras to catch the entire scene, including Diane’s confession. At some point, Neve would exchange the gun Diane had given her, the one with live ammo, for its identical twin, which Javier would have loaded with blank cartridges.
At Neve’s request, he had opened Diane’s gun and showed Neve the real bullets, explaining that the blanks were merely a cartridge without the projectile. Which made the danger of this plan feel that much more dire.
After switching guns, Javier would put the moves on Neve, but she’d pull away and go for her gun, then “kill” Javier, who would do his best to make the death look real. All Neve had to do was keep Diane away from the body until she got a confession on camera.
Easy, right?
Well, at least it was a plan. And she owed most of it to Javier.
“I couldn’t do this without you,” she said, standing up. Whatever complex romantic-adjacent feelings she had toward Javier, the warmth of gratitude she felt was real. Other than Inara, no one else had been able to give her hope that she could end this nightmare with Diane.
“Please”—he smirked as he typed something quickly into his phone—“you’re helping me. I’m the one she wants dead, remember?”
“I’m pretty sure she wants both of us dead at this point.”
He glanced up at her quickly. “You’re okay to go through with this?”
“Absolutely.” Diane had to be stopped. Even if Neve’s dad was released from prison tomorrow, it wouldn’t stop Diane from killing someone else. Too many people had suffered already, and if the police wouldn’t listen to her, this was the only way.
“Okay.” Javier reached out and touched her arm. “Be careful.”
“Be careful yourself.” Neve snorted, deflecting her discomfort with humor. “You’re the one who has to load the blanks in the gun. I don’t want to accidentally shoot you.”
“I’ll be careful.” He held her gaze for a moment, and Neve wondered if he was contemplating kissing her again. Finally, he bent forward and pressed his lips quickly to her cheek, then turned, whipped open her bedroom door, and was gone.
FORTY-TWO
AFTER JAVIER LEFT, NEVE VENTURED BACK TO THE KITCHEN, her stomach rumbling, and was grateful to see that her mom wasn’t there. She’d probably headed to the police station, if Neve knew her mom even a little, and would stay there as long as they’d let her.
Her mom hadn’t been lying that there were no groceries in the house, but Neve was able to scrounge up some spreadable cheese and saltine crackers, as well as some coffee and a container of mushy leftover broccoli. Not great, but it was enough. She flipped through channels as she ate in front of the TV, the kind of indulgence that wasn’t usually allowed in the Lanier house, but she couldn’t really focus on anything. Finally, she took a shower and got dressed, transforming herself into a real femme fatale.
Like an actress putting on a costume, Neve chose a black dress with cap sleeves and a plungier neckline than she normally wore, black fishnets, and her favorite stacked-heel Mary Janes. She spent a little extra time on her hair, curling and pinning it into place until she had the perfect sideswept Veronica Lake do, and topped off her look with red matte lips.
She looked the part at least. Now she just had to play it.
At three o’clock it was finally time to start the trek to La Jolla. She tried to act normal as she left the house and waited for her Uber, like she was going down to Starbucks to meet a friend and just happened to have the handgun Diane had given her tucked into her messenger bag. You know, totally normal. Even if there had been anyone around to see her, no one could possibly have known that she was carrying an illegally concealed firearm, yet she felt that it was conspicuous somehow. Like her bag had a flashing neon sign on it that said PACKING in bright pink script.
If the gun wasn’t enough to make her paranoid, Neve couldn’t shake the sensation that she was being watched, as if every single neighbor on the block were standing at the living room window, peeking through a crack in their blinds, thinking, Is that girl driving off to murder someone?
Of course, Neve knew where this paranoia came from: There probably was someone watching her, but it wasn’t the Zhangs wondering when she was going to use their yard as an escape route again. As Neve ducked into the backseat of the ride share, she was one hundred percent sure that Diane was somewhere out there, watching.
Showtime.
Because that’s what this entire afternoon was going to be: A scene. A performance. Diane thought that Neve was a horrible actress? Good. She was about to use that assumption to bring her down. All Javier had to do was plant the gun loaded with blanks and die convincingly. Neve would do the rest. And if things went sideways? She had Javier with her, lying “dead” within reach of the real gun. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
Ugh, Javier. Neve groaned as the Uber driver changed lanes to let a speeding SUV race by. What was she going to do about him? She didn’t allow herself to think for a moment that he was in love with her. They’d known each other for, like, a week and had only spent a few hours in each other’s company, and it took more than a few glimpses and a single conversation to fall in love. But he did seem interested.
Ugh again. In the past few days, she’d absolutely had flutterings in her stomach caused by romantic or at the very least sexual feelings for Javier Flores, but somehow when they were actually making out, those feelings kind of fizzled. Neve couldn’t understand why, but there it was. She wasn’t into Javier, and eventually she’d have to tell him.
But not today. If something went wrong, she didn’t want his last thoughts to be of rejection.
Not like there was a good kind of last thoughts. Rainbows? Cupcakes? Or was the best way to face death simply not to see it at all? Blindsided. Ambushed. Pros: no anxiety, no fear, and possibly no pain. Cons: You don’t get to say good-bye to anyone. Or maybe that should have been in the pro category? Neve wasn’t sure.
I wonder what Charlotte’s last thoughts were.
Neve cringed as the car pulled off the freeway and began a twisted drive through the tangle of La Jolla streets. Poor Charlotte. Her eyes had been open when she died. Did that mean her last thoughts were of Diane as she watched the life slowly drain out of her victim? Had Charlotte tried to save herself? Claw her way across the floor toward the front door? Or had she reached for her phone to call for help? Maybe she’d been texting Neve when she was killed, which meant Charlotte’s last thoughts would have been of Neve.
Except . . .
Something wasn’t right. Neve’s mom told her that Charlotte had been dead at least four hours, giving her dad an alibi, but those texts . . . It had only taken Neve twenty minutes to get to the abandoned office. That timeline didn’t match up at all.
Things could always get worse.
Is this what Diane had meant? Would the texts from Charlotte’s phone contradict the coroner’s estimated time of death enough that her dad’s alibi would be a moot point?
Shit.
The Uber eased to a stop across the street from the opulent McMansion where Javier and Diane lived. As Neve hauled herself out of the backseat, her knees wobbled and the hand that grabbed the messenger bag visibly shook.
Why was she so nervous? She wasn’t doing this alone. Javier was going to be right there with her the entire time. Two against one.
What if he’s not here? What if he bailed on you and Diane is home alone?
Stop it. That made zero sense. She and Javier both needed Diane exposed for what she truly was—a killer and a psychopath. Neve was going to be fine.
“Hey!” Javier said as he opened the front door. Neve let out a slow, steady breath at the sight of him. She’d been betrayed by too many people over the last few months, but he wasn’t one of them. His smile, happy but a little nervous, perfectly reflected her own state of mind, which instantly calmed her.
“Hey yourself.”
He stepped aside, ushering her through. “Come on in.”
Stepping over the threshold of Javier’s home felt a little bit like Dorothy’s first steps out of her house once it landed in Oz. Not that Neve was necessarily going from black-and-white to Technicolor, but she definitely felt as if she was stepping into a whole new world, literally and figuratively.
