Chapter 9: Lena Falls

He opened the laptop on the table and turned it toward me.

The drive held a spreadsheet, four hundred rows long, in my father's cramped and careful hand.

"It's Meridian's touring account," Alec said. "Two seasons of it."

I read down the columns.

Hotels, trucks, riggers, insurance, and a line every month marked Safety Inspection, Marlowe.

The same number, every time.

"Forty thousand dollars," I whispered. "For an inspection."

"Every month. The money goes to a company that doesn't have an office."

"Who owns it?"

"Victor, through two other names." Alec touched the screen with his bandaged hand. "Your father found it. He copied it the week before he fell."

At the bottom of the sheet, there was a note in the margin.

I read it three times.

Gallery rail bolts were not replaced. Signed off by nobody. Told V. I'd go to the union Monday.

He fell on Sunday night.

I put my hand flat over my mouth and breathed through my fingers.

Alec did not say he was sorry.

He did not touch me.

He just stood next to me and let me read.

"It isn't proof," he said at last. "A lawyer would call it an angry stagehand's notes."

"I know what it is."

"But it's a place to start."

"I know."

"Portia."

I turned.

His face was very close, bruised along the cheekbone, his hair damp from the rain.

I could see a small pulse under his jaw.

"I don't want to go home," I said.

He went still.

"Roxy thinks I'm at a rehearsal."

"I keep waiting to feel afraid of you." My voice shook.

"I only feel afraid of going back."

"Everyone I know is lying to me or wants something, and you are the only person who has told me what he wants."

"I haven't told you everything."

"Then tell me what you want right now."

He stared at me.

"You," he said, so low I barely heard it. "God help me. You."

I crossed the kitchen in three steps.

I took his face in my hands.

This time I kissed him slowly, one breath at a time.

He made a sound in his throat.

His good hand came up into my hair, and his mouth opened under mine.

"You're hurt," I murmured against his lips.

"I'm not that hurt."

"You'll tear the stitches."

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