Killing Ruby Rose Read Online Free PDF Page A

newspapers don’t see it that way,” I said. “They think the reason no charges have been filed against me is because my mom’s the D. A.” I looked out the window, wondering how many so-called journalists would love to be privy to this conversation. “It’s been nearly two months, and they won’t leave me alone.”
    “Don’t pay attention to them,” she said. “I keep telling you, don’t give them the satisfaction.”
    “But aren’t they right to question what happened? None of this makes any sense.” I rubbed my temples, trying to put together a puzzle for which I didn’t have all the pieces. “Somebody lured me there. Somebody sent me a text.”
    She straightened her back and ran her fingers through her dark hair. She always did that when she felt like she was losing control of the conversation. “Have they been able to trace the number that texted you yet? Or find out who LeMarq was on the phone with when you arrived?”
    “They haven’t said anything if they have.”
    “I’m sure they will. It’s only a matter of time before they complete their investigation and clear you officially,” she assured me. As if she was in a position to do so. “We all believe you did the right thing.”
    “Yeah, well, I don’t think Detective Martinez believes me.” I bit at that damn cuticle as though everything else would be OK if I could just fix my poorly executed manicure.
    “Why would you think that?” she asked.
    “You should have seen how he grilled me when he asked me to come into the precinct for more questioning. About why I had a gun with a laser sight in the first place, why my dad would give me a concealed weapons license, why I took the kill shot, why I would be so gullible as to respond to a text from an unknown number, why I didn’t wait for the police, why I’ve been in therapy for most of my life…”
    “Wait. He asked you about therapy?” Her eyebrows drew together, highlighting a few wrinkles her organic oils and yoga meditations hadn’t managed to erase.
    “Yeah, I’m not even sure how he knew. I guess that’s why he’s Mr. Big-Shot Detective.”
    “What did you say his name was?” She reached for her pen and pad of paper.
    “Detective Martinez. With a capital M for Meathead. Why?” I asked.
    “Did you know this detective before the incident?” She answered my question with a question. Why do therapists always do that?
    “Yeah, he used to be my dad’s partner, like twenty years ago. Before Dad switched over to SWAT,” I said, trying to use the lack of personal space to my advantage for once and read the notes on her lap. Detecting the angle, she pulled the notepad up to her chest, removing the distraction. “That’s why it sucks that he’s the lead investigator. He hated my dad. And I think he hates me.”
    “Who told you he hated your dad?”
    “My mom. She said something about bad blood between them, and I should never talk to him without her present.”
    Dr. T looked puzzled. “Though I’m sure you’d do well to follow her legal advice, I’m not so sure he would have any reason to hate you.”
    “How about that I killed somebody,” I said. “I’m a Vigilante Teen Assassin. At least that’s what TMZ called me. They can’t get over the accuracy of my shot. They think that because LeMarq humiliated my mom in court, I might be the one who set him up.”
    “I told you not to pay attention to that filth—”
    “They’re very thorough, you know.” I cut her off. “They found out my ‘abnormally high’ IQ results, my ‘strange obsession’ with combat training under my father’s tutelage, my prolonged leave of absence from school after he died, and even my ‘isolating behavior’ at school since. They even quoted this girl in my class named Taylor, saying, ‘She never really did fit in.’ ”
    I shook my head, knowing Taylor’s brutally public words were true. Even when I was little, I knew I wasn’t like everyone else. Sure, I had the clothes