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“She found out about the police report and got mad. Said I never listened,” I say, shaking my head, knowing she’s right to some degree. “It didn’t help that my asshole of a father had just called her south side trash.”
“Seriously?” he asks, brows shooting up to his hairline.
“Yeah.”
“What a dick. No offense,” he says.
“No, it’s true, he’s a dick,” I agree.
Reaching up, he scrubs his hand over his face. "I guess I’m not much better."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"Well, I ran into her on the beach the other day, after the breakup. When she mentioned it, I guess I figured… well, I don't know what I figured, but I kissed her."
I stop, staring at him like maybe I misheard him.
"You kissed her?"
"Yeah, but it didn't go anywhere. She made it pretty clear that it wouldn't," he says, and I see the hurt in his eyes.
Knowing Keaton, she didn't want to hurt him. But after everything we'd gone through, she probably lashed out.
Does it piss me off that he kissed her? Fuck yes. But I also know that if I were in his shoes, I may have tried that same thing. Plus, punching him in the face right now isn’t going to solve any of our problems, despite how it would make me feel.
No, he and I are going to have to come together on this one, and I think we both know it.
Bodhi
After discussing Keaton’s accident and explaining why she was in Monterra in the first place, Sander and I head out to do a little investigating of our own.
It took a little convincing on my part, but eventually Sander gave in. Apparently, he didn't think there was much I could do, but I reassured him that there was.
Everyone knew that Santiago Castillo owned the salt quarry, and I was willing to put money on the fact that he had the Monterra Police Department in his pocket. There wasn't much these people were going to do to help us. They would more than likely sweep the accident under the rug and leave it at that. But Sander and I knew that wasn’t the case.
So, we informed Regina that we would be heading out and to call either one of us if she needed anything, or if Keaton’s condition changed at all.
“Just let me do the talking,” Sanders says as we approach the security guard outbuilding at the main entrance to the salt quarry.
I remain silent, not willing to agree to his condition. He's still dressed in his street clothes, but he fastens a badge to the waistline of his jeans.
The security guard steps to the open doorway, a polite smile fixed on his round face. “I'm sorry, but the quarry is closed today.”
“That's all right, we just have a few questions,” Sanders says, flashing his badge.
“I see,” the man says, and steps to the side, allowing us to step inside the guardhouse. “What is it I can help you officers with today?”
I don't correct him, assuming it would probably be in our best interest, and let Sander take the lead.
“A young woman was in an accident inside the quarry yesterday. You found her, correct?” Sander asks, keeping our connections to Keaton to ourselves.
He regards us cautiously, automatically looking guilty. Of what? I don’t know yet. But I’m more than ready to find out.
“I gave my statement to an officer yesterday,” his questioning gaze shifts back and forth between me and Sander. His hesitancy puts me on edge.
“Of course, but we aren't with—”
The guard's eyes go wide, and he steps forward, palms out, effectively silencing Sander. Reaching one hand up toward his face, he taps an index finger to his ear before bringing it around to his lips in a hushing gesture.
