“Frankie?”
“I’m here.” The words sound far away. “Did he get caught racing?”
She’s silent for a second at the other end of the line. “Marco told me that you know about his … situation. He wasn’t racing. The cops busted him in a stolen car.”
He stole another car.
What did I expect? Marco never told me he’d stop.
But I hoped he would.
Why? Because he loves me? Or because I told him I loved him tonight? Love doesn’t pay the bills.
Cruz starts talking again. “Marco couldn’t say much. But it sounded like someone set him up. The cops were waiting. State troopers. They busted him right after he got in the car.”
“Who could’ve set him up?” I ask.
“Maybe someone overheard a conversation. I’m on my way to the police station now.”
The cops won’t let her see Marco. Only a lawyer or a legal guardian will get past Dad and Tyson—and I know they’re involved. They call the shots in RATTF, which means my father arrested the guy I love, or he knew about it.
“Come get me.” I grab my backpack and head for the front door.
“Text me your address. But you shouldn’t go down there, Frankie. There’s nothing you can do.”
If only that were true.
* * *
Ava parks next to a fleet of Crown Vics and SUVs at the state police barracks. Cruz bites her nails as she eyes the uniformed state troopers walking in and out. I’m not ready to tell Cruz that my dad is one of them, especially not with her sister sitting next to her. If she comes inside, it won’t take her long to figure it out.
“Maybe I should go in alone.” It takes every ounce of strength to keep my tone casual. The thought of Marco in handcuffs or inside a cell tears me up.
Cruz gives me a strange look. “Why?”
Here goes. Either she’ll buy it or she won’t. “Marco is a minor. The only people who can see him are his lawyers or legal guardians. It’s in every cop movie.”
She rubs her eyes. “You’re right.”
“Then why would you go in?” Ava asks. Smart girl.
“We’re closer to the Heights than the Downs. Maybe they’ll give a nice rich girl from the Heights some information.”
Cruz shrugs. “It’s worth a try.” It kills me how easily she accepts the idea that they might treat me differently. I get out of the car and walk toward the barracks—that’s what the state police call their precincts.
Dad can walk into any one of them and use the facilities, but the undercover task forces don’t have regular offices in police buildings. They rent commercial office space above law firms and interior-design studios.
This is one of the older barracks, tan brick with a brown shingled roof. It looks like it belongs in a documentary from the nineties. The Maryland state flag flying out front is the only thing that isn’t outdated.
Dad won’t be happy if I walk in there, but I’m doing it for Marco.
I push through the door and walk straight to the counter. An officer wearing a brown-and-tan uniform eyes me suspiciously. “Can I help you, young lady?”
“Yes, sir. I think my dad is here. Jimmy Devereux? He’s with the Regional Auto Theft Task Force.” I say each word with confidence, as if I drop by to visit my dad all the time.
The trooper peers over the counter. “You’re Jimmy’s daughter? Frances, right?”
“Frankie.”
“I was close. Jimmy talks about you whenever he comes in.” He smiles. I’m a cop’s daughter, which makes me one of their own. He points at the door to my left. “Come on back, and I’ll see if I can track him down.”
He reaches for the phone receiver in front of him.
“I wanted to surprise him,” I say quickly.
“All right.”
He buzzes the door open for me. On the other side, desks are arranged in rows.
The officer who buzzed me in talks to a few cops in street clothes wearing shoulder holsters over their T-shirts.
“Your dad is sitting in on an interrogation,” he says when he comes back. “When he takes a break, we’ll call him out.”
“Thanks.”
“You can wait over there.” He points at a bank of white plastic chairs that look like the red ones in the lobby where I sat on the night of my DUI.
The room smells like old sneakers and hamburgers.
A cop barrels his way through, followed by another officer and a pissed-off guy in handcuffs. The guy jerks against the cop’s hold, and I shrink back.
“Get your hands off me, or I’ll sue your asses for police brutality.” The guy’s nose bleeds onto his lips, and he spits on the floor. “I know my rights. You can’t bust into somebody’s house.”
Watching the guy walk away in cuffs makes me think of Marco. Is he handcuffed right now? I spot my father across the room. He rushes toward me, his expression shifting from concerned to suspicious.
“How did you know I was here?” He already knows the answer, and his expression darkens. “You came because of him.” I’m betraying my dad—that’s the message.
I push myself out of the sticky plastic seat, knees shaking. “Dad—”
“Not here.” He clenches his jaw and takes my elbow, leading me toward the offices in the back. I smile at the cops who say hi as we pass. I’m not trying to humiliate my father. I’m trying to save the boy I love.
Dad opens one of the doors and pushes me inside. Tyson stands by an open window holding a cigarette and a portable travel fan. “Hey, Frankie.”
“I told you to stop smoking in here.” Dad points at the cigarette.
Tyson holds up his blue fan. “I’ve got the fan on, Jimmy. Relax.”
“We need some privacy. Father-daughter talk.” Dad’s tone is icy.
Tyson stubs out the cigarette on the bottom of his work boot and shuts the door as he leaves.
I’ve never seen Dad so angry. He turns on me the second Tyson closes the door. “I told you not to see Marco Leone again, didn’t I? Or did you think that was a request?”
“I’m sorry, Dad. But you can’t charge him. Please.” My voice shakes.
“Do you think I brought him here for a tour? We busted him sitting behind the wheel of a stolen car.” Dad stands and presses his palms against the table in front of him. “Let me repeat that part in case you missed it the first time. He was sitting in a stolen car with the key in the ignition.”
“You don’t know the whole story. Marco’s dad stole cars for someone else before he was arrested. After his father went to jail, the guy he worked for came after Marco. The guy told Marco that he had to pay off his father’s debt.” I’m talking too fast, but if I slow down, Dad might cut me off before I finish. “He knew Marco and his sister were living alone, and he threatened to report them to Child Services if Marco didn’t pay him.”
“Marco should’ve gone to the police.”
I’m not getting through to my dad. “He couldn’t, not without losing his sister. Marco didn’t want to steal cars. His dad’s boss forced—”
“Forced him to do it?” Dad shouts over me. “Is that what you want me to believe? When Tyson and I followed him, Marco drove straight from the Heights to that car. No one was forcing him. I could’ve waited until he drove it to the dockyard and arrested him for felony theft.”
My head spins, caught on something Dad said.
When Tyson and I followed him, he drove straight from the Heights …
I jump out of the chair. It tips over and falls backward, crashing against the floor.
“You used me!” I shout.
Dad leans toward me, his hands still planted on the desk. “No. You lied to me, and I found out.”
“I’m in love with him, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” My voice cracks, and I can’t hold back the tears. “I’ll be eighteen in four months.”
“He’ll be in jail by then.”
“They have visiting hours.” I swipe at my face, brushing away the t
ears. “So do whatever you want, Dad. You can’t stop me from loving him. It’s the one thing you can’t control.”
His expression is unreadable. “Are you really in love with this boy, Frankie? Do you even know what that means?”
“Of course I do.”
“What are you willing to do to protect him?” Dad asks.
“Anything.” I look my father in the eye.
He nods slowly and paces the length of the room. “I’ll make you a deal. Give me your word that you’ll end things with Marco, and I’ll let him walk.”
“What?” I must have misunderstood. Dad would never bend the rules—let alone the law. Not even for me.
“You heard me.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “You’d never let someone break the law and walk.”
“I would if it helps me catch his boss. If you’re right and Marco is stealing these cars for someone else, that person is the one we want.”
“Marco probably won’t tell you.” Not after the way he reacted when I suggested it.
“Maybe he won’t have to. Let me worry about how to do my job.” Dad crosses his arms. “No games this time. If you start seeing Marco Leone again, we’ll charge him for his felony stunt tonight and let a court decide if he’s guilty and I will make it my personal mission to dig up every bit of dirt under that boy’s fingernails. And if he steals another car or commits a crime of any kind, the deal is off.”
“Why are you doing this?” I stare at my father, the man who is supposed to protect me. The man hurting me more than anyone ever has.
“I’m saving you from ruining the rest of your life.”
“I don’t need anyone to save me!” I yell so loud that my throat feels raw.
Dad doesn’t flinch. “So what’s it going to be, Frankie? Do you love this boy enough to give him up?”
CHAPTER 33
THE SPEED OF SORROW
I don’t remember leaving the barracks. Everything feels like a blur after Dad’s deal—that’s what he’s calling the choice he gave me. Destroying your daughter’s life doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.
Outside, I stumble down the steps and miss the last one, cracking my knee on the sidewalk. The odors of gasoline, stale cigarette smoke, and vending-machine coffee mingle in the air. Cruz gets out of the car the moment she sees me.
What do I tell her?
“Frankie?” She frowns.
Around me, sirens wail and red and blue lights flash as police cars fly out of the parking lot. It reminds me of the night Noah died.
“What happened in there? You look like someone beat the crap out of you.”
Someone did.
We’re only a few parking spaces away from Cruz’s car. Ava watches us from the driver’s-side window.
“Wait.” I stop walking. “I need to tell you something, but not in front of your sister. Can we drop her off?”
“Yeah, but we can’t hang out at my house. My dad doesn’t let us have anyone over.”
“We’ll drop Ava off and go somewhere else.”
“I still can’t drive.” Cruz lifts her sling away from her chest.
“I can.”
“Your license is suspended.”
“Ask me if I care.” My voice cracks, and I close my eyes.
“Now you’re freaking me out.” She grabs my arm and drags me to the car.
As Ava drives, I stare out the window from the backseat. Cruz turns around to check on me, but she doesn’t ask any questions. The ride isn’t long enough, and I still haven’t figured out how to tell her that my dad is the cop who arrested Marco.
But I am going to tell her.
Cruz trusted me with the truth about her abusive father—a secret that could land Cruz and her sisters in foster care if the wrong person found out.
We drop Ava off, and I slide into the driver’s seat. I hit the gas, the GT-R flies backward out of the parking space. A quick jerk on the wheel, and the car fishtails and ends up facing in the direction I want to go.
Away from here.
Cruz puts her hand on the dashboard for support. “Are you crazy? Or do you want to end up in jail, too?”
The gearshift slides from fourth to fifth gear, and we pass the recycling plant where Cruz coached me before the race.
“Where are you going?” she asks. When I don’t respond, she smacks her hand against the dash. “Frankie? Answer me or pull over.”
“To V Street.” I wasn’t sure until now.
“For what? Did you hear something at the police station?”
“I need to drive.” Fast and hard—if I want to outrun the feelings that will break my heart when they catch up with me.
“Pull over.” Cruz isn’t screwing around, but I can’t stop.
My hands tighten on the wheel. “If I keep moving, nothing will change. Everything will be okay.”
“Why isn’t everything okay?” Cruz sounds calmer, as if she sees the hurricane churning around me.
Headlights flicker in the distance.
“Because my dad is a cop.”
Cruz falls back against the seat, her eyes wide. “You’re bullshitting me, right?”
The gas pedal vibrates under my foot. The rest of my body is numb. “He works undercover on an auto theft task force. He’s the one who busted Marco.” My voice cracks. “And he used me to do it. Marco met me at my mom’s house, and my dad followed him after he left.”
Up ahead, a row of cars form a path to the strip of asphalt the street racers use as a track. I downshift, and the car slows to a normal speed.
“Does Marco know?” Cruz asks. Her voice sounds cold.
“Yes.”
She nods and stares straight ahead. “Did you set Marco up?”
Music pulses outside, but with the windows rolled up, we remain insulated—in a cocoon that’s unraveling around us.
“I would never do anything like that to Marco. I’m in love with him.”
Cruz sighs. “I had to ask.” She turns in her seat, and I feel her eyes drilling into me. “Your dad’s job was a big secret to keep from me. I thought we were friends.”
“We are,” I say.
“Friends are supposed to trust each other.”
“I do trust you, or I wouldn’t have told you. If anyone finds out he’s a cop—”
“I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Cruz ignores the people waving at her as we drive past the parked cars. “Sofia has nowhere to go if Marco ends up in jail.”
“Where is Sofia now? Is she alone?”
Cruz shakes her head. “Don’t worry. She’s at Miss Lorraine’s. She stays there on nights Marco races or … you know. Miss Lorraine thinks he’s working at the body shop after hours. What if he gets locked up, Frankie?”
“He won’t.” I pull over, my eyes trained on Video Game Girl as her arms drop and two cars launch down the street. “My dad isn’t charging Marco. He’s letting him go.” Darkness swallows the two cars, and I want to disappear, too.
“Why would he do that?” she asks.
“We made a deal. I stop seeing Marco and my dad lets him walk, as long as he doesn’t get into any more trouble.” I roll down the window.
The smell of burnt rubber and exhaust reminds me of the night I raced Cruz’s car. With my feet on the pedals and my hand on the gearshift, the outside world didn’t exist. I want that feeling again—the rush of driving over a hundred miles an hour. The distraction of vibrating floorboards and an engine revving in subtle ways that only I can hear.
“Marco will never go for it,” Cruz says finally.
“He will if I don’t tell him.” The next thought makes my throat burn, and I can’t hold back the tears. “I’m going to end it.”
Cruz sucks in a breath. “Without telling him why?”
The street racers return to the starting line.
“It’s the only way to protect him … and Sofia.” Saying the words steals whatever false hope I have left. I’ll never kiss Marco again or f
eel his arms around me.
“I want to race your car.” I curl my fingers around the wheel. Losing myself—blocking out the pain—it’s the only way I’ll survive giving him up.
“You’re bawling, and you want to race?”
I wipe my eyes on the bottom of my shirt. “Yes.”
“This is a bad idea. You’re losing your shit right now, and you aren’t thinking straight. The race against Pryor wasn’t the way things normally go. He gave you a car length, and he was driving an unmodified car.” She points at the racing strip. “You won’t get those odds twice.”
“I don’t care.”
Cruz shakes her head. “You can’t just race for fun. You’ve gotta put up money or a car—and if you think I’m letting you bet a car that doesn’t even belong to me—”
“I’ve got money.” I pull a wad of bills out of my bag.
“Do you always carry around that much cash?”
“I brought it in case we needed it for bail.”
Cruz holds out her hand. “How much?”
I give her the money, and the bills unfold into a crumpled mess in her palm. “Two hundred.”
“You’ve obviously never bailed anyone out of jail before, because this wouldn’t cover it.”
“He won’t need it now,” I say softly.
“This is still a lot of money. Are you sure you want to throw it away on a race?”
“Unless you’ll take it. You could use it for part of the rent next month.”
Cruz laughs. “Thanks. But I’ll be out of this sling in a week. I like to pay my own way.”
“Then I want to race.” I’ll do anything to take this pain away, even for a minute. But there’s another reason. I need to say good-bye.
Good-bye to the girl who fell in love with a street racer—a girl who raced one crazy night and won. I’m still that girl, but part of her belongs to Marco.
“Wait here. I’ll see what I can do.” Cruz heads into the crowd, blending in with the other girls from the Downs. I’ll never be one of them, but I don’t feel like I’m from the Heights anymore, either. I’m caught in the middle.
I’m not sure how long Cruz is gone. Eventually, I see her silhouette and long ponytail swaying behind her. She opens the door and slides into the passenger seat. “I scored you a race, but it wasn’t easy. Most people want to race for more than two hundred bucks.” She gestures at the starting line. “Let’s go.”