The Girl Next Door (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 4)

by A J Rivers

  None of the other buildings scattered around the old fairgrounds present any trouble, and I clear through them quickly. Sam looks at me with raised eyebrows that communicate his interest as I walk toward him from the last.

  "Anything?" he asks.

  "Some old school fair props that collectors would probably have a fit over, but that's it. We'll want to choose which of the buildings we want to use for the fundraiser so we can concentrate our efforts on those, and find effective ways to secure the other ones," I tell him.

  "Sounds good," he nods. He pulls me toward him to kiss my forehead.

  It's a sudden show of affection, but I know him well enough to know it's more than just wanting to get in a quick peck. The dirt and grit of the buildings can't make me that appealing. Sam is thinking of the same images, working through the same memories as I am. The lingering pain in his legs and still-fading scars on his shoulder and hip won't let him forget.

  We stay at the fairgrounds for another couple of hours before a heavy rain cloud collapses down on the area, bringing with it a damp chill that soaks us to our bones. I rub my hands together in front of the heater in Sam's car as he waits for the rest of the crew to drive away before us.

  "I think that was a pretty successful day," he comments. "With the obvious exceptions."

  I nod. "If it wasn't Pamela, I would have thought to ask if Lionheart worked with my new neighbor."

  Sam looks over at me as he starts driving away from the grounds.

  "What new neighbor?" he asks.

  "You know the house across the street? The one beside Paul and Janet?"

  "With the extra lot beside it?"

  "Yep," I tell him.

  "Someone moved in there?" he asks. "I didn't hear about that."

  "Well, you're getting the news now. Hot off the presses, too. She just moved in a couple of days ago. Her name is Ruby," I say.

  "What's she like?"

  I shrug as I sit back from the heater, my hands sufficiently thawed.

  "Seems nice. I haven't spent a lot of time with her. She was just getting settled in, but she was going along the street meeting everybody, then she came by yesterday to borrow some sugar."

  "Seriously?" he asks with a laugh.

  "Yes. And that's not a euphemism. She actually walked out of my house with a measuring cup full of sugar," I tell him.

  "At least that explains why you were searching your baking ingredients for your phone this morning," he points out.

  "Yeah. That's still bugging me. I don't understand what could have happened to it," I tell him. "I talked to you, then later I realized the battery was low, so I plugged it into the charger. But this morning, I couldn't find it."

  "I'm sure you just moved it at some point without thinking about it. You'll find it somewhere you didn't even think about," he reassures me.

  "I hope so. What if Eric or Bellamy call me?"

  He laughs. "They'll call me."

  I nod. "It's not the same."

  Chapter Twelve

  Five years ago

  Travis Burke paced around the outside of the cabin, staring deep into the trees for any sign of eyes staring back at him. Somehow, he knew he’d be able to feel them. They were so familiar to him now. They’d been on him for so long, watching him. He would know if they were there, hiding among the stark trees, not wanting to be seen, but wanting to see everything. He didn’t feel them on him. His skin didn’t prick, and the hair on the back of his neck didn’t stand up. Those eyes weren’t there, so he kept walking.

  He made his way around the cabin, then found the entrance to a path leading into the woods. It was overgrown, vines and tangled weeds from either side creeping across the foot-beaten trail like it was trying to cover it up, trying to atone for the sin of it being there. Travis crushed them down with his thick-soled boots. They clung to him, trying to keep him there. It was as if they knew what was going through his mind. They didn’t want him to go down the path to venture deeper into the trees. But he kicked them aside. The eyes were there, staring back at him. He had to go further.

  His feet knew the path so well he could have walked along it in the pitch blackness and they still would have found the same steps. Much of the path was made by those steps over the years. Sections of the dirt cutting through the trees were deeper than others, sinking further into the ground because of his weight pressing into them again and again over the years. He followed those same spots carefully, paying attention to the rest of the dirt at his feet. He’d recognize changes on the ground, notice other footprints or places where the invading plants were trampled or cut to make space.

  When he didn’t see anything and could no longer perceive the shape of the cabin in the distance, he stopped. He took the phone from his pocket and dialed, hanging up after two rings. Checking the time, he stuffed it back in his pocket and continued further into the woods. Several minutes later, he heard an alert on the phone and took it out again to open the text. It didn’t matter what it said. It wasn’t to him.

  Several minutes later, he repeated the call, but this time set the phone on a nearby stump and left the path. His boots flattened the undergrowth, but he was careful not to break any of the low-hanging branches. He ventured down an incline, following memory. It brought him to a mound of rocks that concealed a small cave carved out of the side of the hill. No one would know about it unless they spent a considerable amount of time exploring the land. Few ever had the opportunity to do that, leaving the cave unknown even to those who might wander onto the land without realizing it.

  Travis ducked behind the rocks and into the cave. He took off his backpack, removed the contents, and hid them in the furthest back corner before climbing out again and returning to the phone. It went back into his pocket, and he left the woods, returning to his car and driving home.

  The next day, a truck pulled slowly up to a lot at the edge of another piece of land. A section of grass had been cleared, and a rectangular hole cut into the hardened ground. Several feet away from the edge, two large storage containers waited along with tools. Travis got out of the truck and lowered the tailgate so he could reach inside and drag out large, heavy bags of cement mix. Opening one of the storage containers, he got out a bucket and containers of water. It took several minutes to mix the cement and pour it into the hole. He smoothed the surface and went to the other storage container. He didn’t need to open it.

  It took more effort to pull the container than it did to get out the cement, but he got it to the edge of the hole and pushed it over, using all the strength he had to counteract the rapid fall so it eased down into the wet cement. When it was down, he walked around to the other side of the hole and lay down on his stomach, so he could reach into it and grab onto the handle on the other end of the container. He inched backward, dragging the container further into the center of the hole. It brought some of the cement with it, and when it was in place, he used the same tool to maneuver the cement again. Satisfied, he went back to the truck to drag out more bags of cement. He went through the process of mixing the cement again, then tipped it into the hole. Two more rounds covered the container.

  She was fully encased now, thick layers surrounding her on all sides. No one would see her again. No one would know where to look. They thought they had it figured out. Every time they looked at him, their eyes dug into him. Those looks were meant to chip away at him, sand away the layers and find what they thought they were searching for. They didn’t know he anticipated those looks, that he covered himself in thick, false layers that shielded him and deflected those stares. They would think she had run. To them, he was never even close.

  Part of him wanted to sit in his truck and watch the cement dry. He wondered how much pressure it would put on the storage container. If the plastic would crack as the stone dried. He wanted to watch as his plan unfolded in front of him. Even the smallest details were a thrill. The way the cement surface changed color as it dried. The way the blades of grass tamped down by the storage contai
ner gradually rose back up to conceal that anything was ever there. But he knew he couldn’t linger. Staying too long in one place might throw everything off track. He needed to go back to the woods, back to the cabin, but still needed to make it home in time for the officer to show up at his door and find him drinking bourbon and poring over newspapers.

  Travis had his reasons for going with this plan. There were other ways he could have handled the situation, sure. There were other things he could have done or other decisions he could have made. There were other decisions she could have made. But this was the path he chose. It might not seem to make much sense at that moment, but it would. When it all unfolded, it would.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Now

  I should really get into a better habit of glancing out the window at my front porch before opening the door. Or at least take Sam up on installing one of those video doorbell things he wants me to have. But I'm so confused at the moment that when I hear the perky knock on the door, I just walk up to it and open it without a second thought.

  "Emma?"

  My eyes snap up and see Ruby standing on the other side of the storm door. She looks for all the world like a clipping right out of a 1950's ladies’ magazine in her floral dress and pale pink cardigan. She's even holding a covered cake plate.

  "Hi," she says cheerfully, but her smile fades quickly. "Are you alright?"

  "Oh," I say, coming back into reality and shaking my head as I push the door open. "Yes. Come in. Sorry."

  She comes into the house and looks at the phone in my hand.

  "Get an upsetting phone call?" she asks.

  "No. I actually just found this. It's been missing since yesterday morning," I tell her.

  "Well, that's good. Where'd you find it?"

  "In the laundry room. It was wedged in the space between the washer and dryer."

  She smiles again. "I've heard of the dryer eating socks, but not phones."

  "It must have fallen out of my pocket when I was switching the loads," I muse.

  Only, I still don't remember taking it off the charger.

  "At least it didn't fall into the washer while the water was on. I've done that before, and it was terrible. All the rice in the world can't save a phone from the wash cycle."

  I laugh. "That's a bad day for technology. What's really strange is the charge."

  "The charge?" she asks.

  "I realized I couldn't find it early yesterday morning. I just found it. But it still has almost a full charge. Wouldn't you think it would have run down the battery? Even if it was just sitting there?" Ruby stares back at me with a strained smile like she has reached her quotient for my cell phone conversation. I shove it in my pocket. "I'm sorry. You didn't come over to hear the saga of my phone. How are you doing? I love your outfit."

  "Thank you," she says, looking down at her dress and pulling her skirt out to the side to display the pattern. "My ex never liked when I wore dresses. He said it brought too much attention to me."

  "So now you wear them whenever you have the chance?" I ask with a smile.

  "Exactly. Oh." She holds out the cake plate. "This is actually why I came over."

  I take the plate and lift the lid. The smell of rich dark chocolate tempts me to not even bother with a fork and just lick the frosting. I restrain myself. I still have company.

  "I told you I was just borrowing the sugar. See? Brought it back," Ruby says.

  I laugh and start toward the kitchen. "It looks incredible. Want to have a slice with me?"

  "Actually, I have to head out. I know that seems to be my M.O. Duck and run. But I'm still working on settling in, and there always seems to be something else I forgot or didn't think about needing. My brother is on his way to get me for another trip to the hardware store. Apparently, I have a lot more books than a normal house is meant to hold. He's going to build some shelves into my living room walls," she tells me.

  "That will be nice. Thank you for the cake. Come by when you have some more time," I say.

  "I will."

  Ruby waves and walks out of the house. As soon as she's gone, I head into the kitchen and cut myself a chunk of the decadent cake. Bringing it with me into the living room, I curl up on the couch and scroll through my prodigal phone. There are a few missed calls from Sam and a text from Janet asking about our upcoming game night. The charge on the battery is baffling. Despite being asked several times throughout my career, the FBI does not provide me with a phone equipped with futuristic technology not available to the regular public. The battery drains just like any other phone. Yet here I am, staring at ninety-eight percent charge after it’s been off the charger for at least a day and a half.

  I down the cake while I'm still going through my phone, and I force myself into workout clothes to stop myself from slicing off another piece. Spandex is only forgiving up to a point. I would hate to have to explain to my jogging pants that the reason we can't spend more time together is chocolate cake.

  I channel my training and run for the next hour and a half. The endorphins kick in quickly, and when I get back, I'm feeling energized. Sam responded to my kidnapping a few weeks back by filling a spare bedroom with exercise equipment and weights. I'm sure part of the motivation was to keep me from actually going out jogging by myself, but I'm not going to hide. I will, however, take advantage of the equipment and build my strength.

  After another hour of working out, I'm sufficiently sweaty and reward myself with a long shower hot enough to sting on my skin. My phone is ringing when I finally force myself out, and I wrap myself in a towel before running through the house to get to it.

  "Hello?"

  The word bursts out of me, but there's no response.

  "Hello?"

  Still silence.

  I glance at the screen and see a number I don't recognize. I'm heading back into the bathroom when it rings again. This time I catch it on the third ring, but again there's only silence.

  The strange calls are still sticking with me hours later, when my sleeplessness has me up making a cup of peppermint tea. I hope it will combine with my exertion from earlier and help me get at least a few more hours of sleep tonight. Enjoying the feeling of the warm mug wrapped in my hands, I roam into the living room. It's the usual path I wander at night when I can't sleep, which is why the strange difference in the light catches my attention.

  The large front window in my living room looks out over the peaceful street, giving me a clear view of Janet and Paul's house to the left and Ruby's house to the right, with the large empty lot attached to Ruby's yard creating a buffer in the center. Every other night there is only darkness beyond the curtains on the window. Tiny porch lights and the glow from distant streetlights make up all the illumination that filters into the room. But tonight, there's more light than usual. It draws me up to the window, and I push aside the curtains to look out.

  Bright yellow light comes from the front window on Ruby's house. It looks like she might struggle with insomnia, too. With what she's told me about her ex, that would make sense. She might wear pretty floral dresses and joke about her addiction to books during the day, but when the night comes, her ex closes in again. Just as I take a sip of tea, the front door to the house across the street opens. Light splashes out onto the lawn, and the silhouette of a person appears against the glow. I can't see them clearly, but the size doesn't seem right for Ruby. Too tall. The light goes out, and they step out of the house. When they turn, I realize they're carrying something large in their arms.

  I shift my position to see them walk to the driveway and adjust the object in their arms so they can open the door. The object goes into the backseat and the figure climbs behind the wheel. The engine roaring awake sounds too loud in the silence of the night, and the car disappears down the street.

  By the next morning, I've remembered Ruby talking about her brother. He was going to build shelves for her, which means he was probably at her house and would have supplies and equipment with him. I feel
silly for letting myself be suspicious about something so mundane. Not wanting to always be the neighbor opening the door, I decide to go check on her progress settling in. I slide the rest of the chocolate cake onto a platter, wash the cake plate, and head across the street to return it. I knock on the door and step back to wait. After several seconds with no response, I knock again. My third and final try is ringing the doorbell, but after another few minutes, she still hasn't come to the door.

  The front of her house has a similar window to mine, and I notice there aren't any curtains yet. Curiosity draws me over to it, and I peek inside. This would be a terrible moment for her to come down the stairs or up from the basement and notice me. Fortunately, she doesn't. The house looks pretty much like I would expect. Boxes and other stuff take up much of the front room and spills into the room beyond. The sweater Ruby wore yesterday hangs on the post at the end of the banister.

  I bring the plate back across the street to my house and set it on the kitchen counter. Maybe I'll bake her some cinnamon rolls to return on the plate. I'll double the recipe and have the extras for game night. Multitasking at its best.

  Chapter Fourteen

  My phone rings the next day, just as I'm coming back from spending the morning at the fairgrounds. Sam only had a few hours this morning to work on the grounds before going back to his usual work, but we made good progress. I answer as I kick off my shoes and head into my bedroom for a change of clothes.

  "Hey, Eric."

  It's been several days since I've heard from one of my two best friends, and I assume he's just calling to check on me. He and Bellamy haven't coped well with me relocating to Sherwood. When I first came back, we all thought it would only be for a few weeks at the most. Now it's been months, and I'm still here with no set plans on returning.