Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
"I understand you told responding officers that you noticed an SUV circling the block approximately ten minutes before Jana and Titan James were killed. Is that correct?" Whitten studies me intently, paying close attention to every move I make.
"Yeah." A ripple of pain radiates out from my chest. "A black Honda SUV. It was creeping down the block. I noticed it in front of my house."
"You ever see the vehicle before that night?"
I shake my head.
"Anything stand out on the vehicle? A license plate? Damage? Anything at all?"
"No, nothing except for the fact that it was too new to belong in this neighborhood."
"You get a look at the driver?"
I shake my head again. "The windows were tinted, and it was dark."
Whitten frowns, his dark brows winging together. "Were you aware that Mr. James was in a dispute with the Southside Diablos?" he asks, making it sound like Titan was at war with them or some shit.
"They were targeting him," I mutter, even though I'm the one who gave them that information to begin with. Every fucking thing they know about this case, I've told them.
"Right. For vandalizing one of their businesses. You were aware of this?" he asks.
"He told me they caught him breaking out windows," I say, those ripples spreading. I already know where he's going with this line of questioning. I've been asking myself the same question for the last week. Why didn't I put two and two together sooner? Why didn't I stop for five goddamn seconds to think about what that fucking SUV was doing creeping down the block? Why didn't I do anything that would have saved him and Jana?
I don't have an answer for him. I don't have an answer for anyone.
"But you didn't think the SUV might have been related?" he asks, shoving the sharp blade of guilt a little bit deeper. He crosses his arms over his chest and hits me with a look of disbelief. "You're a smart kid, Kincaid. You're pulling a 4.0 at UCLA. From what I hear, you'll probably graduate with honors."
"I fucked up," I mumble, not even trying to defend myself. What's the point when he's right? I should have put the pieces together. This is my fucking fault, for more reasons than he knows. "It was January's birthday. She was cold. I was trying to get her inside. I needed to show her something…I didn't think. I should have, but I didn't." I meet his gaze, holding it. Let him see the guilt written on my face. Let him know I'm the reason my best friend and his mom are dead and my fiancée is broken. "I fucked up."
He's quiet for a minute and then shakes his head like that wasn't what he was suggesting, even though we both know it was. "I'm not saying it's your fault, kid. I was just asking a question. We all fuck up sometimes, miss important shit. I'm just trying to gather all the pieces to make sure we don't miss anything else that could be important."
"What do you want me to say?" I ask, unable to hide the bitterness in my voice. "They caught him fucking up their shit and told him that he owed them restitution, or they were going to kill him. He thought he had more time, but he was wrong. I should have put it together when I saw the SUV, but I didn't. As soon as I heard the fucking gunshots, I knew…but it was too late by then." I scrub my hands down my face, trying to erase the sound of gunshots and the image of Titan and Jana lying on the ground. "I was too goddamn late."
Whitten stands quietly for a minute and then changes tactics. "I understand Titan's sister, January, is your girl. Is she doing okay?"
"What do you think?" My brows come together as I snap my gaze up to meet his, and I know he can see my irritation with his stupid fucking question written all over my face. I don't care, though. How does he think anyone would be doing after losing their family like January just lost hers?
"I can get you in touch with a grief counselor," he offers like that's going to fix her. It won't. She just lost her entire family. And instead of beating down doors to find the motherfuckers responsible, he's knocking on my door, asking me the same questions I've already answered.
I'm tired of it. I don't need the LAPD to remind me at every available opportunity that this is a nightmare of my own making. I'm living it…every excruciating fucking second. I need them to do their jobs and find out who the fuck killed Titan and Jana. But they won't. And we both know that, too.
"A grief counselor? Are you fucking kidding me? How about you find the motherfuckers responsible for destroying her life?" I bark, climbing to my feet. "Because that's what she needs, Detective. For someone to tell her that the people who killed her mom and the brother she idolized are locked up where they belong. But you can't tell me that, can you?"