Nathan ran his thumb over his full bottom lip. “I’m not answering that question. You can think what you like. None of it matters now. What does is the fact I’m not giving up on this case. And I think you can help, if you want.”
“How do you expect me to help when you won’t tell me what’s going on?”
“Think about it, Sam. Why don’t you tell me what you think happened to Emma?”
The basic details arranged themselves into order. It did seem cut and dry. “I think whoever planned to rob your house freaked out and shot her when she drew her gun.”
Nathan frowned. “Interesting theory, and I’d be inclined to agree with you, but you don’t have any of the facts. For one, there was no sign of forced entry.”
“Maybe she left the door unlocked.”
“Emma never left the door unlocked.”
Sam nodded. He couldn’t remember ever going to the house and finding an unlocked door.
“And Emma hadn’t drawn her gun. It was missing.”
“Her gun was stolen?”
Nathan took a sip of his drink. “And so was her cell phone. By the time I got home, the whole place had been swept clean by the cops. There were no broken windows. Oh, and aside from a few cracked eggs on the floor, which seem to suggest she was surprised, nothing was out of place. Nothing else was stolen save some petty cash in the front-hall drawer. No real valuables were missing, aside from the phone.”
“Wait a minute. Those eggs were already there.”
“What?”
Sam scrunched his forehead and closed his eyes. He remembered the eggs on the floor and how Emma had walked right by them as if she didn’t even see—evidence of her troubled thoughts, but now so much more. “When I saw Emma that day, when we talked, I was in your kitchen. The eggs were there on the floor, already broken. She said she dropped them when I rang the doorbell. It startled her. Almost like she was expecting someone.”
Nathan narrowed his eyes. “And then there’s the way she was killed.”
“I thought—”
“Emma wasn’t shot. She was strangled. Her hands were tied. There was an impact wound to her skull….”
“Jesus.” It didn’t sound like the type of crime committed by a random burglar.
Nathan’s mouth went tight, his lips whitening. “I have a friend at the coroner’s office. Whoever did this was careful not to leave any traces behind. Even though she was small, Emma was a fighter. She would have gouged the hell out of the person’s eyes, at the very least. Fuck.” His eyes glazed over.
“Do you think she knew her killer?”
“I don’t know. Nothing else makes any sense. Emma would have protected herself with her weapon if a stranger broke into the house. Someone surprised her and then killed her. A strong man with large hands. And it wasn’t me.”
Sam hesitated before he spoke his next thought out loud. He had no idea how Nathan might react. “Do you think it was possible she was having an affair?” he said, as gently as possible. “I mean, I know you think she was talking about you, but what if she was talking about herself?”
Nathan stared at him with obvious shock. “I don’t know. I hadn’t even….”
“I’m sorry, and I know it hurts to consider the possibility, but if you two were having problems, it isn’t so unusual to go looking for comfort somewhere else.”
If they did something terrible, could you forgive them? Yeah. It sure as hell could have been Emma’s way of working out her own guilt, maybe even getting the courage to break it off with whoever she was seeing on the side. And then tell Nathan.
And if the guy knew what Emma had been planning to do….
At the other side of the table, it appeared the same gears were turning in Nathan’s mind. He looked like he might be sick. “I need some air.”
“Let’s take a walk.”
After Sam settled up with Rachel, he met Nathan outside. The cool fall night cut through the hazy warmth of the alcohol and invigorated Sam almost instantly. He motioned toward the right, away from some of the seedier neighborhoods and down along the waterfront. It wasn’t exactly a picturesque scene, what with the cargo ships and industrial docks. But in the darkness, the glowing lights shimmered on the water of the bay, lending it a sort of lurid beauty. The Baptist Street Bridge rose in the foreground, a gateway between the inner bay and the cold waters of Long Island Sound. They headed toward it, lost in their own thoughts.
Once they’d made it halfway across the bridge’s narrow pedestrian walkway, Nathan stopped and looked down into the black, oily water.
“Can you think of anyone, Nathan, anyone who it could have been? Maybe someone from the force? Someone she spent a lot of time with, or talked a lot about?”
Nathan’s frown deepened. “She was helping to train a new guy. McCormick.”
Sam nodded. McCormick was beefy and tall, definitely strong enough to strangle someone. The day Sam went to the station to ask about the mayor’s plan, he’d seemed hesitant to speak too freely. At the time, Sam had attributed it to his newness to the force. Looking back on it, maybe he’d just been cagey talking to a reporter who knew Emma. He didn’t give off a violent vibe, but a couple of brief interactions didn’t prove anything. Sam tried, and failed, to remember if Emma and McCormick had flirted at all, or seemed closer than normal for colleagues when he’d seen them together.
“You ever meet him?” Nathan asked.
“A couple of times. We talked about the mayor’s two-year plan.”
“Streets Clean for 2015?”
Sam snorted. “That’s the one. I’m insulted you didn’t read my article.”
“I didn’t know you’d written one.”
“Yeah, for the Gazette. It was pretty crappy, so don’t worry about it.” It hadn’t even been published until after they’d lost touch. Sam shivered and wished he’d worn something more substantial than a button-down. The wind had picked up, making it feel at least twenty degrees cooler than it had been near the bar. “So, she mentioned him to you?”
“I’ve been traveling a lot over the past year, but she did talk about him on a pretty regular basis. I always thought it was sisterly affection.”
“Listen, I know Emma loved you very much. Whatever happened, that much is true.” He patted Nathan’s arm and let his hand linger there.
Nathan smiled sadly. “It’s not about jealousy. If she’d told me she was unhappy, yeah, I would have been upset. But if this is true, and she put her trust in someone, maybe even loved them, and they—” He turned away and squeezed his eyes shut. “God, I’m a mess.”
“Maybe we should let this go for the night, all right?”
“Too bad it’s so cold.” Nathan returned his gaze to the water under the bridge. “I could use a swim.”
“Not tonight.”
“No. Not tonight.” Sam thought he detected a hint of wistfulness.
“Do you want to crash at my place? You probably shouldn’t be driving. My bed’s all yours.” Nathan had downed several double whiskeys at the bar. He was a tall guy, but Sam got the feeling he didn’t drink much under normal circumstances.
Nathan seemed to consider the proposition seriously, and Sam’s stomach did a little flip. The look he’d given Sam at the bar returned for an instant. This time he didn’t imagine it. But maybe he did. By the time Sam got his bearings to insist he hadn’t meant what Nathan thought he meant, Nathan had turned away and started walking back toward the bar.
Chapter 9
SAM GROANED as he regained consciousness. His phone was ringing close to his ear.
He cleared his throat. “Hello?”
“Sam, where the hell are you?”
“Hey, Yuri,” Sam said, his voice gravelly. “What time is it?”
“It’s after ten. You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”
Sam realized several things at once. He was naked. There was another person in his bed. And his bed was actually… not his bed. Or his room. There was a Madonna poster on the wa
ll. Shit. The curly-haired kid from the bar. He smiled sleepily at Sam and stretched, yawning. Sam turned away and started searching for his clothes.
“I’ll be right there,” he said into the phone. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well sorry isn’t good enough. Sam, I know you’re my friend, but if this happens again, you’re fired.”
“You can’t fire me, I’m your partner.”
“Not for long if you don’t get your act together.”
“Goddammit.” Sam found his socks under the bed and sniffed them before pulling them on. His head pounded, and the foul taste in his mouth reminded him of all the whiskey he’d drunk after Nathan had left him at the bridge the night before.
At least the adrenaline shocked him out of his hangover. The kid reached out and touched his shoulder.
“Shit. Was that your boss? Are you going to get in trouble?”
“Nah, it’ll be fine. My partner’s a little testy before he’s had his morning coffee.”
“I had a great time last night,” said the kid.
“Me too,” said Sam absently, shoving a foot into a shoe. “Hey, I’ll see you around.”
“Sure. You’ve got my number.”
Sam hit the gas and caught up with the rest of his crew in record time. He hopped out of the truck, avoiding Yuri’s gaze as he did.
Juan gave him a pat on the back, but his expression said he wouldn’t want to be in Sam’s shoes for anything.
Sam hated letting Yuri down. He felt small, like the time he’d gotten suspended for fighting with another boy at school—one of Petersen’s minions. The asshole had deserved it. He’d been tormenting Sam all year, calling him a fag, leaving hate-filled notes in his locker, tripping him in the hall. Sam had taken it and taken it, letting it roll off his back until the day he couldn’t bear it anymore. He’d punched the guy so hard, he’d bruised his own hand.
God, his father had been so disappointed in him. He’d come to pick Sam up that day and hadn’t spoken to him for almost a week. His mother, always the peacekeeper, had tried to intervene, but Sam’s father could be a stubborn asshole when he wanted to be. He was angry because Sam wouldn’t tell anyone why he’d done it. And Sam had feared outing himself over everything else, even his father’s silent treatment. With Yuri casting dirty looks his way, he felt suspiciously like his teenaged self again.
After they finished the last job, Sam tried to slip into his truck unnoticed, but Yuri caught him.
“I need to talk to you, Sam.”
“Look, I’m sorry about being late.” He shuffled on his feet.
“I’m not going to ask you where you were or why you were late, because I don’t care.”
Ouch.
“Okay. Well, then I guess there’s nothing else to say.”
“There’s a lot more to say. You can’t keep living like there’s no future.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. Hey.” Yuri grabbed his arm before he could turn. “I know what it’s like to lose someone too. You’re afraid to move on with your life, and it’s killing you.”
“I’m not afraid. And this isn’t about Emma.”
“You think I’m talking about Emma? I’m talking about your brother and your parents. It’s the worst thing in the world. It hurts. It’s horrible. I know. But that doesn’t give you an excuse, not anymore. It’s been years, Sam. You’re so goddamn smart. You could be doing anything you want. You wanna tell me this life is really what you want? No wonder you drink yourself stupid every night.”
Sam’s face burned. “I’m not wasting my life. I do things.”
Yuri scoffed. “Yeah. Getting laid and talking about your blog, which you write in, never.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“It makes me mad, because it could be something great. You could have a job you actually liked, and you could make enough money to take care of Tim too.”
“It’s not that easy. I’ve tried—”
Yuri cut him off. “You haven’t tried. You really haven’t tried.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sam gritted through his teeth.
Yuri didn’t seem to care about arguing in the middle of a suburban street with half the neighbors watching, including their customers. His eyes flashed with anger.
“Oh, cut the crap, Sam. You pretend you don’t care, but inside you’re scared as hell. You’re scared as hell.” He started backing away, and the dismissal stung as keenly as his words had. But Sam wasn’t going to let go so easily, not with Yuri so clearly spoiling for a fight.
“Don’t stop now. Tell me how you really feel.” Sam could barely control the quaver in his voice.
“See? You always have to turn it around. Rachel told me about you and that Walker guy at the Star last night.”
“So now you two are talking behind my back. Wonderful.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea to get involved with him?” Yuri asked, quieter now.
“I think you’re jealous. I think that’s what this is about.”
Yuri frowned. “Believe whatever you want. I don’t care. But if I were you, I’d seriously consider straightening out my own life first, before I started worrying about anyone else’s.”
WHEN NATHAN called again, Sam almost didn’t pick up. Yuri’s words still echoed in his mind, circling around and around, little bits of truth breaking off and lodging like daggers in his brain. He hadn’t touched a drop of booze in days, and it was starting to make him irritable.
“Sam,” Nathan said when he answered. “I’m sorry about the other night. I shouldn’t have left like that.”
“It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not, and I think I owe you an explanation. Can you come over?”
It was like Nathan’s voice had a direct link to Sam’s sympathetic nervous system. He started looking around the living room for his shoes. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll talk to you when you get here.”
Nathan looked better than he had the last time Sam saw him. He’d shaven, and the absence of dark circles indicated he’d gotten some sleep. When he unlatched the door and let him in, Sam immediately noticed other changes too. A stack of large cardboard boxes almost blocked the way to the kitchen. In the living room, the sofa had disappeared, along with the bookshelves that had lined the far wall. Emma’s piano had been removed too. Sam spun around, disconcerted.
“Going somewhere?” he asked.
Nathan tilted his head and stuck his hands in his pockets while he surveyed the room. “I’m taking an apartment downtown. This house is too big—too many memories.”
“I get it.” Sam swallowed. Unloading his own family home on the nearest paying customer had been one of the most painful, and necessary, things he’d ever done in his life. He’d needed the money, but more importantly, he couldn’t imagine ever living in the place again.
“This is all going to Goodwill,” Nathan said. He gestured toward a large flat screen television wedged between two boxes. It was much nicer than Sam’s.
“Are you moving or joining the priesthood?”
Nathan scoffed. “Hardly. I never watch TV, though, so it’s not really a sacrifice.”
“Still, you might want it someday. And the rest—maybe you should put it all in storage or something instead. Wait awhile before you make a decision. There could be some things in here you end up wanting to keep.” He still had several boxes of family belongings in a small storage unit, including a bunch of Tim’s stuff. Just in case.
“I don’t think so.”
Most of the plants were still in place near the windows. A few orchids that looked like they had seen better days sat sadly among the boxes. Sam picked one up, recognizing it as Emma’s favorite.
“It’s dying, like all the others.” Nathan’s voice came as a surprise from over Sam’s shoulder.
“The soil’s too wet.” Sam prodded the plant at the base of the stem. “You’ve got to let them dry
out in between watering.”
“You’d think with all the time she spent with those plants, I would have learned how to take care of them.”
“It was her interest, not yours. And I think they seem more complicated than they are. All they need is light, humidity, and a little bit of temperature modulation.” Sam hesitated, aware of Nathan’s proximity behind him. “If you want I can show you—”
“Take it when you go.”
Sam shook his head. “I couldn’t—”
Nathan smiled grimly and touched the bloomless plant. “It’s just going to die if you leave it with me.”
Sam nodded and set the orchid aside. It seemed right he should take it.
“So, where are you moving to in the city?”
“My agent’s still looking for a place. Of course, my mother wants me to move closer to her and my father.” He snorted. “I think she still thinks of me as a child, especially now.” His expression softened in spite of his tone. “I think I’m overdue for a visit home.”
“Where’s home?” Sam couldn’t help being curious—he’d imagined so many things about Nathan but knew very little about his background.
“I grew up in California, mostly.”
“Ah. You don’t want to move back west?” Sam hedged, hoping Nathan would say more.
“No.”
The finality of the word told Sam not to push further. Nathan didn’t seem inclined to give details. Maybe he didn’t get along with his folks.
“What about you?” Nathan asked. “Do you have any family nearby?”
“My parents died in a pretty bad car accident a few years back.”
Nathan’s head shot up like he’d been slapped. “Oh Sam, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, well, it happened a long time ago.” He hated the inevitable awkwardness of this part. It was best to cut it off at the pass, but before he could, Nathan spoke again.
“How old were you?”
Sam toed the Persian carpet he’d often admired and wondered if Nathan would get rid of it too. “Twenty-one.”
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