I rose from my desk chair, slipping my phone in my pocket. Bronwyn looked up at me from her computer. "Where are you going?" she asked.
"Just the restroom," I lied. "No need to follow me there—you can continue your babysitting shift as soon as I get back. Five minutes, tops."
Bronwyn studied me for a moment, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Finally she nodded and went back to working on her laptop.
I slipped out into the hallway and past Kat's closed office door, heading for the exit. Once outside, I made my way into Castle Rock's back courtyard. The area behind the venue was fenced in by a gray stone gate that matched the building's exterior. We'd recently begun using the large field for outdoor shows and summer festivals. It was my favorite spot in all of Castle Rock.
Climbing onto the raised platform that served as our outdoor stage, I retrieved my phone and dialed Emmett's cell again. I was hoping to catch him on his lunch break. I let my legs swing back and forth over the edge of the stage as I waited for him to answer. My heartbeat accelerated with each ring. One, two, three…voice mail. Had he ignored my call? That's it, I thought. I scrolled down my contact list and found the number of Emmett's partner, Special Agent Gavin Addison.
"Well, hey, Amelia," Gavin drawled in his thick Southern accent after the second ring. "Long time no see."
"No kidding." My mood brightened at the sound of his voice. Gavin had been a part of the undercover assignment that first brought Emmett into my life. Though he'd barely spoken a word during that first week that I knew him (Gav is apparently a terrible actor, and the Bureau ordered him to stay silent rather than risk blowing his cover), I'd grown fond of the guy.
"How're you doin', girl?" he asked, his voice warm.
"I'm fine, Gav," I lied. "Everything's great. I was just hoping you might be out on assignment with Emmett and could tell him to call me. I keep getting his voice mail, and I really need to talk to him."
"Oh." The change in Gavin's attitude was instant. "I'm not with Emmett," he replied in a guarded tone.
"Okay." My chest tightened. "Did you get taken off the Stone case? Or are you two just following up on separate leads?" I smacked my palm to my forehead. "I'm sorry—I know I shouldn't have asked that, with your work being top secret and all."
"Amelia." Gavin cleared his throat. "I don't know how to tell you this, but we're not following separate leads—in fact, Larson shouldn't be following any leads at all."
"What do you mean?" My voice trembled. He wasn't making any sense.
"Emmett hasn't worked a case for the Bureau in over a month. He resigned."
"He what?" Shock reverberated through me, and I began to feel dizzy. Don't stress, I reminded myself, taking several deep, calming breaths. I stopped swinging my legs and lay back onto the stage, staring up at the awning as I waited for my world to stop spinning.
"You really didn't know," Gavin said, and I could hear the pity in his voice. "Shit, Amelia. I didn't mean to drop this on you. I really thought he would've talked to you about it."
"What happened?" I asked, straining to keep my tone even.
"I'm afraid that's not for me to tell," he replied. "I can assure you that we're still on Stone's trail, though, so there's no need for you to worry."
"Right." My voice was flat. How could I not worry when I'd just learned that my boyfriend had been lying to me about leaving his job for over a month? Where was he right now? What was he doing? And, more importantly, why wasn't he being honest with me?
"Just talk to Emmett," Gavin was saying. "And if you do hear from him, can you please tell him to contact me? He's been dodging my calls for weeks, and I'm worried about him."
"You and me both," I murmured. After hanging up with Gavin, I set my phone beside me on the stage and remained in my prone position, my mind running through the possible scenarios where it would make sense for Emmett to lie to me about leaving the FBI. Maybe he didn't quit and is so deep undercover that he had to make Gavin think that he resigned. Or maybe he's not really Emmett—he's a pod person. OR maybe this whole thing is one big prank and Ashton Kutcher is going to pop out and tell me I've been punk'd.
"Ame?" Mickey's voice jarred me out of my thoughts, and I sat up quickly. Too quickly. Another bout of dizziness swept over me, and I teetered on the edge of the stage, beginning to slip. It wasn't far to fall, but it would still hurt like hell. Given my current condition and my streak of bad luck, I'd probably land back in the hospital, no pun intended. "Whoa!" Mickey called. A hand shot out from behind me and gripped my shoulder so that I wouldn't fall. "It's okay. I've got you." Mickey helped to steady me and then slowly sat down himself, slipping his arm around my middle.
"Where did you come from?" I asked, a confused frown pulling my mouth down at the corners.
"Chad told Kat he'd drive her rental car up here and bring a change of clothes," he said. "The rest of us decided to come along. Jack and Zane wanna get some practice in, and I wanted to make sure you were okay after what happened last night. I saw you sneaking out here when we pulled up, so I followed you." He gave me an appraising look, and his brow furrowed. "Have you been crying?"
"What? No," I said, remembering my smeared makeup. I wiped at the mascara under my eyes and self-consciously tugged at my hair, which Kat had helped me comb over to cover up my mini buzz cut. "I've just had a rough morning," I admitted.
"Wanna talk about it?"
Not really. I couldn't confide in the ex-love of my life that my current flame was fizzling out. "Did you see our picture on ATL Night Beat?" I asked instead, feeling my cheeks warm.
"Yeah." It was Mickey's turn to look embarrassed. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea that one of those stupid photo hounds was out there. I hope it didn't get you in trouble with Emmett."
"Screw him," I blurted.
Mickey's brows lifted in surprise. "You sure you're okay?"
I pulled my legs up onto the stage and turned so that I was facing him. Mickey still hadn't shaved, and the beard and shoulder-length hair made him look like a younger, hotter Dave Grohl. I lowered my gaze to his chest and felt a pang of bittersweet nostalgia. He was wearing the same navy blue Atlanta Braves shirt that Chad wore on Monday—the shirt he'd bought on one of our first dates. "I still have mine too," I said, placing my hand over the cursive A on his chest.
"Your heart?" His lips quirked.
I gave him a rueful smile. "No. That just got chucked in a coffee grinder. I meant my shirt from our first Braves game. I sleep in it sometimes." I looked away, feeling suddenly shy. "It reminds me of you."
Mickey put his hand over mine, lightly caressing my fingers. "What happened?" His voice was soft.
I just shook my head. "You've never lied to me," I said. "We had our ups and downs, but even when you left, you were honest."
"Of course. You should always be honest with someone you love, even if what you have to say isn't what they want to hear." His jaw muscle flexed. "Telling you that I was leaving Atlanta is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do."
My fingers curled, gently gripping the fabric of Mickey's shirt. I scooted a little closer to him. "You're not an FBI agent or a mafia hit man, are you?"
Mickey looked taken aback. "Kind of an odd question," he said. The corners of his mouth turned up in that same dimpled grin that used to drive me wild in college. "But no, the last time I checked, I was neither of those things. I'm just a drummer in some band." He winked.
"Good answer." Before I could talk myself out of it, I launched my lips toward Mickey's. The kiss set off a chemical explosion, sending sparks through me like an electric current. Mickey was caught off guard and toppled backward on the stage. I moved with him, swinging my right leg around so that I was straddling his waist. I couldn't tell if the dizziness was from my head wound or the rush of adrenaline that surged through me as the kiss deepened. My heart rate rocketed, and I moved against Mickey, pressing tightly against him as he grew hard beneath his jeans. I've missed this, I thought, feeling as though I might vibrate out
of my skin.
Mickey moaned softly and reached up to run his hands through my hair. His fingers brushed against my stitches, and I cried out in pain. The spell broken, I tumbled off of him and lay on the stage, panting as the full gravity of what I'd just done pressed down on me. "I shouldn't have," I whispered, my chest still heaving.
"I'm glad you did," Mickey whispered back. He reached over and grabbed my hand, giving it a squeeze. "But I get it. You're still with Emmett, and you want to do right by him. I'll respect that."
"Thank you." I rolled over onto my side and met Mickey's gaze. "It's just…you broke my heart once," I said, my eyes growing misty.
A sad little smile stretched his lips. "You broke mine right back."
"I know. And I'm sorry. If I'd just taken some time to think things through, I might have gone off to L.A. with you and the band." My own lips quirked. "Who knows? We might still be together now."
"You were right not to just drop everything and run off with me, though. You had a life here, and it wasn't fair of me to expect you to put your own dreams on hold." Mickey brushed a lock of hair behind my ear. "I know that now."
I swallowed, forcing down the words that threatened to bubble out of my throat. Words that I couldn't tell Mickey when I was committed to someone else—even if that someone else had been lying to me for over a month and was currently MIA. A girl's got nothing if she doesn't have honor. "I should get back inside," I said instead. "Kat and Bronwyn will assume I'm comatose in a gutter somewhere if I'm not back in my office soon. I'm surprised they haven't already sent out a search party."
Mickey hauled himself to his feet and offered a hand to pull me up. "I don't know what's going on with you and Emmett right now, or what's going to happen tomorrow even," he said, leaning close and cupping my face in his hands. "But I've never stopped loving you, Amelia. I don't know that I ever will."
"Ditto." I stood on tiptoe and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek.
Mickey walked me back inside where we ran into Bronwyn pacing back and forth in front of the bathroom door. She halted mid step when she caught sight of me, her brows pinching together. "So, I guess you didn't fall into the toilet, then," she said, her tone impatient. "What were you doing outside?" Bron looked from Mickey to me, both of us red-faced and sweaty, and she held up her hand. "On second thought—don't tell me. I want plausible deniability if Secret Agent Man comes back to town. Anyway, come with me, both of you. Things just got cranked up to eleven on the weird scale."
Mickey and I exchanged a puzzled glance but followed Bronwyn without question. Back in my office, she pulled out her phone. "Milo called me back when I stepped away to help Reese, er, check the beer inventory." Her cheeks turned a shade of pink that was just a touch lighter than her hair. "Listen to the voice mail he left me." She turned on her speakerphone and played the message.
A young man's slightly nasal voice filled the room. "Yo, Bron, it's Milo. Check it—I did some digging on the two phone accounts you sent me. Looks like those questionable contacts both came from a number using Spoofer 2.0. It's an app that disguises your digits to display as any other number you want. That's why your pals thought they were hearing from someone else."
"See? I knew it!" I said, but Bronwyn held up a finger and made a loud shushing noise.
"Here's the real kicker, though," Milo's recorded voice continued. "This is some real Twilight Zone-level shit. The number that was calling and texting your friends is registered to a chick named Jessica Whitley out in Los Angeles. Home girl must've been pranking your buddies from the grave—she died a month ago."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"He's joking, right?" I asked, feeling the blood leave my face. I looked from Bronwyn to Mickey and then back to the phone in Bron's hand. "That's impossible. That number called me last night."
"Pretty creepy." Bronwyn shook her head. "But when it comes to hacking, Milo doesn't play. If he says this Jessica girl bit the bullet last month, then the chick is really six feet under."
"Maybe Ginger stole her phone," Mickey suggested. He ran a hand through his hair, his expression thoughtful. "We were in L.A. a month ago. The name doesn't ring a bell, but Ginger or Suzie might know her. Or one of the other guys."
I started for the door. "Let's ask 'em."
"They left," Bronwyn said, stopping me in my tracks. She gave me a pointed look. "I covered for you when Kat dropped by your office to see how you were feeling. I told her she'd just missed you and that you'd run to the restroom, like you told me you were."
"Thanks," I said, feeling sheepish. "Where'd they go?"
"They ran over to pick up pizza from Camila's for lunch. I told Kat to bring you back a pepperoni Super Slice and a Diet Coke."
I stepped over to Bronwyn and gave her a light pat on the head. "Best assistant ever."
"Keep that in mind the next time you're handing out raises," she said, a grin cracking through her stern expression.
"Hint taken." I glanced at Mickey. "We should research this Jessica Whitley and see what we can find out about her. Maybe we can uncover her connection to Ginger before everyone else gets back from lunch."
There was a knock at my office door, and the three of us turned our heads to see a tall, skinny young man in his late teens or early twenties. His spiky hair was bleached blond, and he was dressed in black leather pants and a white T-shirt with the words You're Jealous printed on the front in black block letters. A silver bar piercing sliced through the cartilage of his nose, and his eyebrows had each been shaved off and replaced by curved lines of silver studs. "Uh, we're here for sound check?" he said, the lilt in his voice making it sound more like a question than a statement.
I checked my watch. It was just after one in the afternoon. The band was early. "You're with Jealousy Fetish, right?"
"Duh." The kid didn't smile. "Didn't you read my T-shirt?" He shook his head disdainfully. "Where should we set up?"
"You're in the Dungeon," Bronwyn piped up, stepping forward. "Come on, I'll show you to the green room so you guys can get settled."
I shot her a grateful look as she left, and she held out her hand, rubbing her pointer and index finger against her thumb in the universal show me the money sign. "Raise," she mouthed before disappearing down the hall.
"That girl is something else," Mickey said, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You've got some pretty great friends here."
"The best." I crossed the room and sat down at my computer with my fingers poised over the keyboard, ready to enter Jessica Whitley's name in the search engine. My phone chose that moment to chirp from my pocket. A glance at the screen made my whole my body tense. It was a text from Emmett. Just landed in Atlanta. Meet me at your apartment in an hour. We need to talk.
At least now I knew why he wasn't answering my calls before—he'd been on an airplane, coming back to see me. A wide range of emotions flooded through me as I read the message and then reread it. Anger, hurt, suspicion…guilt. I flicked a brief glance back to Mickey and felt regret pool in my belly like sour milk. I'd been waiting for Emmett to return my calls, and yet suddenly I dreaded meeting him face-to-face. He'd lied to me, and I'd retaliated by running straight into Mickey's arms.
Mickey read the disconcerted look on my face and took a step toward the door. "You, er, need some privacy?"
I gave him a strained smile. "Actually, I need to head home for a bit."
The smell of pizza wafted through my doorway, announcing the group's return a few moments before Kat popped into the office. She'd traded my old T-shirt and sweats for a purple silk blouse and houndstooth-check capris. "How's my favorite head case?" she asked, holding out the cardboard pizza box and drink cup. "Hungry for a Super Slice?"
My stomach gave a hopeful grumble, but my heart wasn't having it. "No thanks."
Kat took one look at my somber expression, and her cheeriness evaporated. "Oh, God. Who died?"
Oh, just my relationship.
"Some girl named Jessica Whitley," Mickey said as Ja
ck and Suzie stopped in the doorway behind Kat. Mickey glanced at Jack. "That name mean anything to you? She lived in L.A."
Jack was munching on a slice of pineapple and ham pizza. "Nope," he said once he'd swallowed. "Doesn't ring a bell. What about you, Suz?" he asked, looking down at his bride-to-be.
"No, I don't think so," she replied. Suzie flicked a glance at me and then to Mickey, her eyebrows raised in question. "Was she a friend of Ginger's?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out." I scooped up my purse and made my way over to Kat. "Look, I know you mean well with this whole caretaker bit, but I really need to get back to my apartment. Can I please have my car keys?" I gave her an imploring look.
Kat's forehead wrinkled. "I don't know if you should be driving just yet," she said, her tone uncertain. "When was the last time you took one of your painkillers?"
"About four hours ago, though I'm due for another. I've got a headache from hell." I dropped my voice. "Kat, please. It's Emmett."
Kat's blue eyes grew large. "Oh." She chewed her lip. "Honey, I just don't want something bad to happen to you. What if you pass out while driving? I'd never forgive myself."
"I could drive you." The offer came from Suzie. Kat and I both turned our heads toward the petite woman, mouths open in surprise. Suzie blushed. "Just trying to help," she said in her small voice.
Jack kissed the top of her head. "You're so thoughtful, babe." She smiled up at him and cupped his face with her hand.
"Yeah, that would actually be a big help, Suzie," Kat said. She turned to me. "Bronwyn, Reese, and I can handle day-of-show prep until Derek and the bartenders get here. Dillon is on his way up here too—I told Jack and Chad that the guys could have a rehearsal in High Court since there's no show up there tonight."
Deception at Castle Rock (Amelia Grace Rock 'n' Roll Mysteries Book 2) Page 18