Steuben leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees and rubbed his eyes. He glanced back and forth between her and her mother. “We suspect intimidation.”
“Intimidation? Of the coroner’s office?” Ember’s mom’s hands shook, sending her coffee cup rattling across its saucer. She set it down and began to pace. “Good Lord. What are these people capable of?”
Ember’s stomach twisted into a knot. Intimidation. Of course. Just as they’d tried to intimidate her.
“Either the coroner’s office or the lab itself. Either way, they wouldn’t go to these lengths if this thing didn’t run deep. The kid was a minor. They’d let him take the rap. Most likely he’d get involuntary and be out in six to eight. No, they’re not worried about that. They’re protecting the business.”
Ember nodded but said nothing. She didn’t care about “the business,” though sometimes she thought that was all Deputy Steuben did care about. He and the feds wanted to bring down some huge drug operation and maybe even a few high-level Mafia guys. Whatever. Ember just wanted to bring down “the kid,” to prove to everyone what a scumbag he was and to keep him from hurting anyone else.
“So what now?” she asked. “Is it over? Do I go home?”
“No. This makes things tougher, but we still have a case.” He paused and gave Ember a pointed stare. “If anything, it means your testimony is more important than ever.”
Her mom crouched down beside her and placed her hands on her arm. “You don’t have to do this, sweetheart. You can back out anytime. Like I’ve said all along, I’ll stand behind you either way. So will Tricia.”
Tricia. She’d gone to bed an hour ago, exhausted from her busy day of school, rehearsal, and homework. She was a big part of the reason Ember was doing this. Ember wanted—needed—to teach the Jimmy d’Angelos of the world that they couldn’t treat girls like ragdolls and get away with it.
Ember looked Deputy Steuben in the eye. “I’m still in. Whatever you need.”
He smiled and stood. “Good girl. We expect to know the trial date soon. It’ll be sometime in early December. As soon as we know an exact date, I’ll call you.”
Early December. Two months away. She knew she should be worried about a thousand other things, but she had just one thought: Would she get to see Zach while she was there?
***
The stadium was so quiet and unassuming when it was empty. Ember sat partway up the bleachers at midfield to watch football practice. She had the best seat in the house, but so far she was bored out of her mind. “Practice” seemed to consist of a bunch of endless stretching. Were they ever going to run drills or maybe line up to scrimmage?
Charles had assigned her to a photo shoot of Coach Sebastian. He was the team’s defensive coach. He was also the one she’d seen under the bleachers at homecoming. Ember would rather shoot just about anything else—an empty field, a montage of “the many faces of Marissa,” or maybe selfies of her own root canal—but apparently the Bruins defense was breaking all kinds of records this year and Charles planned to run a big story featuring their rising-star coach.
Ember glanced through her notes. She’d planned to take some action shots during today’s practice, some of the coach posing with the defensive players lined up behind him, and some of him in the athletic office, next to the trophy case. It seemed like a great mix, though she was starting to worry whether the “action shots” would consist of him sitting on the bench examining his clipboard.
Finally, almost twenty-five minutes into practice, the players began milling around and forming groups. The defense lined up on the side of the field closest to Ember to tackle a pair of stand-up dummies. As Ember grabbed her camera and moved closer, she peered across the field at the special teams players. There was Charles, kicking an imaginary ball over and over and over. Four steps … kick … and hold for the follow through. His movements were so precise, so smooth, it reminded her of Zach’s pitching windup and release. She took a deep breath. Two months. She could do this.
“Can I help you?” Coach Sebastian appeared at her side.
Ember pasted on what she hoped was a reassuring smile, one that said: I come in peace. I have no interest whatsoever in your sub-bleacher activities. “I’m with the Bruins Bulletin and I’m here to take pictures. Of you.”
The coach grinned. “Is this for the article Charles mentioned?”
Ember nodded and pointed to her notes. “I thought I’d start with a few candids of you working with the team.”
“Sounds good.” If he recognized her, he didn’t let on. It had been pretty dark under there. Maybe he hadn’t gotten a good look at her.
Ember took dozens of shots of the practice. Coach Sebastian wasn’t afraid to mix it up with his players, and they clearly idolized him. It was hard to believe this guy could be involved in anything illegal. He had such an easy laugh and seemed so … likeable. Maybe she was wrong about him. Then again, people didn’t hand over large wads of cash in dark, secluded places for Girl Scout cookies. Just like beer didn’t turn blue all by itself.
After practice and the staged team photos, Ember followed Coach Sebastian inside for the trophy room shots. “Charles says our defense is really good this year,” she said.
Coach nodded. “This is my fourth year, and this is by far the best crop of kids I’ve had. Our front line is unstoppable.” He went on to share the details of each position and how it was performing, most of which meant nothing to Ember. As they entered the trophy room, he paused, a frown spreading across his face. “Wait a minute. I know who you are.”
Ember tensed. He’d finally recognized her. “Listen, Coach. About that. Let’s not go there. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. As far as I’m concerned, nothing happened. Okay?”
The coach shrugged. “Sure. If that’s what you want. But watch yourself from now on, you hear?”
A shiver ran up her spine. Was he threatening her? “What do you mean, watch myself?”
His eyes narrowed. “Listen, I’m a competitive guy, so I get it. I understand you wanted to capture the perfect shot, but it’s not worth getting killed. You get that close to the edge of the end zone, you’re practically asking to be run over.”
Ember smiled, relief spreading through her. “Oh, that!”
“Yes, that. What did you think I was talking about?”
“Nothing. I mean, I knew you were talking about that. And you’re right. It was foolish of me. Like I said, wrong place at the wrong time. I’ve learned my lesson.” She pointed to the trophy case. “Now, how about we finish up this shoot so we can both go home?”
The rest of the shoot went smoothly. Ember felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off her. Coach Sebastian didn’t recognize her from their meeting under the bleachers. Maybe she really could put the whole incident behind her.
Ember took a shortcut through the athletic office on her way out of the building. As she passed the football coaches’ cubicles, a movement caught her eye. Someone was back there. A shiver prickled at the back of her neck as she paused and listened. She shook her head. She was being silly. It was no doubt one of the other coaches working late, or maybe a janitor. She picked up her pace, but as she turned the corner, someone stepped out in front of her.
It was the drug-dealing kid, wearing the same creepy stare he’d worn in the photos.
“Hello, Emily.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It took Ember a moment to realize what he’d said. Emily. Her pulse quickened. Who was this guy? How did he know her? “Excuse me? It’s Ember,” she said, her voice an unconvincing squeak.
The kid sneered. “No, it’s not. I know exactly who you are. And I think I know why you’re here.”
Ember’s legs began to shake. Could this guy be connected to Jimmy’s crowd? She considered his long, scraggly hair and his skeletal frame. He wore thin-rimmed glasses and a T-shirt promoting some video game she’d never heard of. Not exactly the typical Mafia hit man, but then how did he know so much?
“Don’t worry,” the kid said. “I’m good at keeping secrets. That is, so long as you keep your mouth shut. What you saw last week stays between you, me, and Coach.”
Ember fingered her camera strap, struggling to keep her expression calm as her mind raced. Another threat. Exactly what she’d come here to escape. She’d have to tell Deputy Steuben about this. No. No, she couldn’t. She should, but that would ruin everything. They’d have to pick up and move again, and find a new home, and settle in at a new school, and … and Charles wouldn’t be at the new school. Which was totally immaterial. Crap.
“Who the hell are you?” she asked. “And what makes you think you know so much about me?”
“I go by Tommy. Which, by the way, is my actual name. Strange as that may seem.”
Ember’s eyes narrowed. “Well, Tommy, I may go by a different name, but at least I don’t make a habit of skulking around beneath the bleachers at halftime.”
“Like I said, you keep my secret, I’ll keep yours.”
Ember said nothing. That was fine with her. She had no intention of ratting him out anyway.
He held out his hand. “Deal?”
Ember didn’t trust him or his slimy handshake, but what choice did she have? She only hoped he was so scared of getting caught that he’d keep his mouth shut. She shook his hand. “Deal. But you so much as look at me funny in the hallways, and I’ll go straight to the authorities.” She stepped around him and stalked away. “And if you know so much,” she shouted back over her shoulder, “you know I have easy access to certain authorities.”
***
Claire held up a gray-and-white striped sweater. “What about this?”
Ember shook her head. “No stripes or patterns. Too distracting.”
She was spending the night at Claire’s, and they’d decided to do a photo shoot for her acting portfolio. Ember could hardly remember the last time she’d slept at a friend’s house. Actually, she did remember, though she wished she could forget. It was that night at Molly’s.
“This one?” Claire slipped on a light blue tunic and turned toward the mirror.
“Perfect. Brings out the blue in your eyes.”
“So, here’s my idea.” Claire jumped on the bed beside her. “I, of course, need a large portrait—that’s what everyone does. But I was thinking, what if I had a strip across the top with a bunch of smaller shots too?”
“Thumbnails.”
“Exactly. With lots of different poses and expressions, to show my range.”
Ember nodded. She knew nothing about acting portfolios, but it seemed like it could work. “Sure. That’ll be fun.”
The shoot took almost two hours. It probably could have been over in half the time if it weren’t for Claire’s hilarious fake poses. Ember’s cheeks and sides hurt from laughing by the time they’d finished. “You realize I have some great blackmail material here?” she said as they scrolled through the shots. “Here’s my favorite: Claire Lockman, crazed circus clown.”
Claire howled. “Circus clown? That was my Lady Macbeth impression.” She tapped the screen. “We should get that up on Facebook.”
“Are you serious?” The shot was hideous. If anyone ever took a photo like that of her, Ember would make them delete it immediately. But Claire never seemed to care what people thought. She did whatever she wanted, said whatever she wanted, and hung out with whomever she wanted.
“Of course I’m serious. We can ask for captions. Why don’t you load it up to your page and share it?”
Uh oh. Ember blanched. She did have an Ember O’Malley page, but it was practically empty. She’d maxed out all of her privacy settings and hadn’t accepted a single friend request. If anyone here saw it, they’d no doubt have questions. Like, why didn’t she have any friends from her old school? Why wasn’t she tagged in any photos? And why did she seem to have no past at all?
“I’ll do it later,” Ember said, her mind searching frantically for a way to change the topic. “You know what? I have something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” She scrolled back through her camera all the way to the homecoming shots and found the photo of Claire and Ryan dancing. She pointed to the kid in the background. “Do you know this guy?”
Claire nodded. “That’s Tommy Walker. He works tech crew.”
“What do you know about him?”
Claire shrugged. “He’s a sophomore. Super smart, but kind of weird. Knows what he’s doing when it comes to lighting and sound, though.” She looked at Ember. “Why? How do you know him?”
Ember hesitated. She should keep her mouth shut. She didn’t need to be a witness to another crime, and she certainly didn’t need to be nark-ing out the one person in Boyd County who knew her real identity and could expose her at any time. Still, a part of her wanted to confide in Claire. She was so sick of lying, of pretending, of keeping secrets.
“Ember, are you okay?” Claire reached out and touched her arm.
Ember grabbed her hand and held it. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell anyone?”
Claire nodded, her eyes wide. “Of course.”
“During the homecoming game, I saw something I shouldn’t have. Under the bleachers.”
Claire drew back. “You mean … Tommy Walker?”
“Yeah.”
Claire jumped up and plugged her ears. “Ew, gross. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to hear it. Ew, ew, ew.” She grabbed Ember’s shoulders. “I realize you can never un-see that, but you have to try to forget. Understand?”
Ember laughed and nodded. Claire had the wrong idea—a very, very wrong idea—but something about her reaction, her sweetness, her innocence, snapped Ember back to reality. No way could she confide in this girl. That huge ball of lies, pretending, and secrets she was living formed the entire basis of their friendship. If that ball started to unravel, if Claire knew who she really was and what she was really like, it would all be over.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Five weeks earlier
A shout woke her. It took Emily a moment to get her bearings. The tequila, the warmth of the fire, the soft strumming of the guitar must have lulled her to sleep. She stood and stretched as she walked toward a growing crowd down by the water. What was going on? How long had she been out? She searched for Zach, but it was so dark.
A loud wail rose from the crowd, sending a chill up her spine. A girl rushed by shouting into her cell phone. “Send an ambulance! We’re on the shore, down by the pier.”
An ambulance? That couldn’t be good. Maybe someone had broken a leg playing volleyball, or maybe there’d been a fight. What if the cops showed up and started doing sobriety tests, and … Zach. Where was Zach? Emily took off in a run. Please, please, please let Zach be okay. Pushing her way through the crowd, she found him and Jimmy bent over someone. Oh, thank God. He’s safe.
She took a deep breath and crept around them. What she saw would remain forever etched in her memory. It was Rosa, her hair and clothes sopping wet, her eyes lifeless, her lips a grayish blue.
“Breathe, damn it, breathe!” Zach pumped her chest while Jimmy performed mouth-to-mouth.
Emily let out a low moan. This couldn’t be happening. She was talking to her just a few minutes ago. Well, the girl had been talking. Emily hadn’t said much. She’d wanted to be left alone. She’d closed her eyes and turned away.
And now … this. Maybe if she’d been friendlier, if she’d reached out to her, paid attention, stayed awake. Then again, Rosa had brought up Emily’s least favorite subject: Jimmy. And not just Jimmy, but kissing Jimmy. Ugh.
Emily stared as the girl’s chest moved up and down with each breath Jimmy forced into her. But that was all it was. Forced air. Anyone could tell she would never draw another breath on her own.
Jimmy pulled away and cursed. The panicked look in his eyes triggered an alarm in Emily’s head—an alarm much like the one that had sounded the morning after Molly’s party. Something was off. Something had been off then, and something was
off now, she could feel it.
What if?
Emily pushed her way back through the growing crowd and tore up the shore toward the bonfire. She vaguely remembered stepping over Rosa’s half-full cup of beer when she woke. As she approached the fire, she saw the red cup, nestled neatly in the sand. She grabbed it and smelled it, then poured a little into her hand. It was a murky blue. A chill came over her despite the flames, and she crouched down, spitting up a putrid mixture of tequila and bile and fury.
“Give me that!” Brad Wahl appeared out of the darkness and snatched the cup out of her hand. “Mind your own business, Slutkowski.” And with that, he threw the beer into the fire, where the evidence of “something being off” shot up into a brief, bright blaze of glory.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ember closed the door to the Bulletin office and raced to a desk in the back of the room. Her phone had beeped halfway through her last class, and she was dying to check it. It had to be Zach. He hadn’t messaged her in almost a week. For the past half hour, she’d imagined a hundred possible DMs, ranging from “I will love you until my last breath,” to “It’s over and I never want to speak to you again.” She closed her eyes and murmured a small prayer before looking at her screen.
Zach: This is bad. U need to make it stop.
What the … Make what stop? Of all the messages she’d imagined, this was not one of them. Was Zach being harassed? Would the mob try to get to her through him? Her hands shook as she messaged back.
Ember: What’s going
“Hey. What are you up to?”
Ember shot out of her chair, dropping her phone. It clattered across the floor and skidded straight into Charles’s well-worn cowboy boots.
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