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

by A J Rivers

  "I don't understand what's going on."

  "Like I said. You're exhausted. How long has it been since you've had steady sleep? You know as well as anyone how that can impact you. With everything you've been through, the stress you're under, and no sleep…"

  "Sam, I know what I experienced. I'm not delusional," I insist.

  "I never said you are. I just want to make sure you're taking care of yourself."

  "This has something to do with Ruby," I tell him. "I don't know what, but it does."

  I saw every hour of the night after Sam left. Sleep took over for a handful of minutes at a time, but every time I opened my eyes, I saw the night ticking away a bit at a time.

  The morning air smells like snow. I remember what Sam said about the holidays coming. It feels strange in the center of my chest. It doesn't feel like Thanksgiving should be so soon. I can't even imagine Christmas.

  It's the quiet time after sunrise. Half the street is still asleep, and the other half has gone to work or school. It leaves the street empty. I haven't seen the man walking down the sidewalk in a while. He used to come just before this time, nearly every day, in a dark sweatshirt that covered his head and his hands stuffed in his pockets. He would make his way down the sidewalk in front of my house without acknowledging anyone or anything.

  Until the morning he stopped and looked right into my eyes. Eyes that looked like his reflecting back at him. The thought of that moment still makes my spine tingle, and today I'm glad to not see him.

  I'm also glad for no one to see me as I make my way across the street to Ruby's house. My ankle slows me down slightly, but I'm soon behind the house. Following through with the plan I had yesterday, I walk around the house and into the backyard. I look around, then take out my phone and snap a few pictures. There's nothing about this lawn that would require an entire landscaping crew in November. They would be hard-pressed to find enough for the entire crew to do in the middle of spring.

  Next, I go to the back porch. Nothing seems out of place until I open the screen door. There's something on the threshold, piled against the door like it spilled and was pushed into a mound when someone closed the main door. I cautiously dip my finger into it and rub it against my thumb.

  Is that… sugar?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Four years ago

  The officers were everywhere now. They didn't think Travis noticed. They thought they could just fade into the world around him, and he wouldn't realize they were following him and tracing his every move. It let him stay a step ahead of them so they would never catch up.

  He knew they were suspicious. They started investigating him quite a while ago, but still didn't have the guts to say it to his face. There were always insinuations. Little statements made to seem innocuous, but that concealed threats. They wanted to frighten him into slipping up. If they pushed him off balance or made him feel like they were right behind him, maybe he would do something to lead them in the right direction.

  It was a move of desperation. He knew they had nothing to follow and were just grasping at straws with everything they did. Each time they came to the house to speak to him, veiling their questions in checking in on him or giving him updates, they were actually trying to dig inside him. Sure, they spoke to him as if he was the husband of a woman who disappeared, who ran off and had left breadcrumbs behind her that suggested she abandoned him for another life. They comforted him. They consoled him and listened to him. But Travis had learned which of the officers would look at him with sympathy and compassion, and which held disdain and suspicion in their eyes. Which ones still thought of him as the prime suspect. They wanted him to say something that condemned himself. They wanted a hint, a detail he shouldn't know or a subconscious suggestion that would warm up a trail rapidly going cold.

  He played his part. He alternated between raging against her doing something so selfish and cruel, and sobbing over the loss of his one great love and the future they should have together.

  They never knew what to do with either emotion.

  He would never admit it to anyone, but there had been moments in the last few weeks when he thought he might have tripped himself up. Everything he did was so carefully planned out, meticulously placed in order to guide the investigators exactly where he wanted them to go, and away from what he wanted them to miss. But there was a point when they almost overlapped. A bit of surprisingly in-depth investigative work uncovered a piece of land far from anything else they knew he owned. A piece of land not in his name and never used for anything. They managed to trace it to him and sent search teams out in force. They told him it was in hopes of finding his wife. Maybe she went out there to take some time to herself. Maybe she was just trying to find herself and figure out what she wanted in her life.

  They pretended he didn't know it had been months since anyone saw her. There was no way she was out there. But they said it with cloying enthusiasm, and he went along with it. Sometimes he didn't know which was worse: the ones on the search team who spoke to him like a child and built up his hopes because it was easier to deal with than facing what would be his real emotion or the ones who genuinely seemed to believe it.

  It was the officers who did neither that made him, if just briefly, question himself. He didn't care when they searched the truck that was parked in the driveway the night they first came to hear his frantic story. They combed through it and used every technique they could to examine it. They found the splash of blood from when he cut his hand tying down a rope months before. They found hairs they couldn't say were suspicious because everyone's wife left hairs in their truck. And they could say nothing when that truck broke down for the last time, and he replaced it with the massive new white one he drove around town.

  But when they found that land, his palms tingled just slightly. Questions rattled through his brain. He had been holding up steadily, not saying anything suspicious, being careful not to do anything suspicious. But they nearly ruffled him. They asked about the land, waiting for him to lie. He didn't. Yes, he knew the land. Of course he did. He hadn't been there in many years, not since he was young. Of course, they could search it. He knew nothing about the evidence of ground disturbance at the back of the property. Campers had been trespassing on that land his whole life. Maybe they had a burn pit there?

  It was large, they told him. And deep.

  Of course they could look, he told them.

  What else could he say?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Now

  Could that actually be sugar?

  The tiny grains certainly felt like it. There wasn't a huge amount of it, just a small pile as if someone had tossed some out the backdoor without realizing some had fallen to the floor to eventually be swept up by the bottom of the door. I pick up my phone to take a few pictures again. Just as I take one, it starts ringing. I answer it and hold it to my ear with my shoulder as I use my hands to pull me up, so I don't have to put too much pressure on my aching ankle.

  “Hey, Bellamy,” I say.

  It feels like I've talked to her more in the last few days than I have in a couple of weeks, and that makes me feel guilty. I need to do better about keeping up with her and Eric.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  I look around the backyard of the house and contemplate whether to actually tell her. It's not like this is the most outlandish thing she'll have ever heard me describe. I update her on everything that's happened since the last time we spoke. She makes a sound I can only describe as a shudder when I'm finished.

  “Yeah, that's about how I feel about it, too,” I tell her.

  “But you're alright?” she asks. “Other than getting the shit scared out of you, you're alright?”

  “My ankle hurts, and I'm sure I'm going to have some lovely bruises, but all considering, I'm fine. I just don't understand what's happening. How could they not find anybody in the hotel? It's not that big and most of it's falling apart. Where could the person have hidden?�
��

  “Sam said he would send people to look in the surrounding area. The person could have gotten out the back and ran,” she offers.

  “Maybe,” I say. “But it just doesn't seem likely. I ran through that place. It was dark and twisty and confusing. I found the kitchen and the back door out of sheer terror and luck. Unless they were already very familiar with that building and knew exactly where to go, I can't see them getting all the way through it, come out the back door, and far enough away to not be seen by the time the officer went outside. It's not like it's surrounded by a bunch of woods or places they can just disappear. It's a massive field. I just don't know. And now I'm sitting here on a back porch trying to figure out if there's a pile of sugar at the door. Maybe I am losing my grip,” I sigh.

  “Don't say that,” Bellamy tells me. “You are not. You are brilliant and badass and capable. I trust you more than anyone else in this world. If you say something is going on, then something is. You've just got to figure out what.”

  “Thanks, B. I needed to hear that. But enough about me. What's going on with you? What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Well, it's eighty degrees out, and I'm standing in front of a giant Christmas tree flanked by massive toy soldiers.” I can hear the grin in her tone.

  The memories make me laugh. I know exactly where she is. I can still remember the feeling of standing right there and absorbing the atmosphere of beautiful Christmas decorations where spooky Halloween adornments had been just a few weeks before.

  “You're already in Florida? That was fast,” I comment.

  “I was serious about my vacation,” she chuckles. “I didn't just make that up to make you feel better. Things have been insane at headquarters, and I had a lot of vacation time coming. It was just convenient I could multitask while here.”

  “Well, you are nothing if not efficient,” I tell her. “Have you found anything yet?”

  “Not yet. I just got here late last night. But I have a full schedule planned ahead of me. Interspersed among sprawling at the pool and getting in my recommended daily allowance of tiny cocktail umbrellas, and doing the whole tourist thing, I'm going to a look into what Christina told me. She gave me some more information about the house, so I'm going to go see it, see if I can get my hands on some records, maybe go to the funeral home.”

  She's doing her best to make these tasks seem mundane, so it takes the disturbing edge away, but I still feel every word deep in my gut.

  “How about that company? Did you find out any more about them?” I ask, trying to push past the thoughts of the main reason she was there.

  “Spice Enya?” she asks. “I’m still looking. I just can’t make sense of it. I might have Eric do some deeper digging, too.”

  “I can't tell you how much I appreciate what you're doing,” I say. “Thank you.”

  “You don't need to thank me. I've watched you carry this for as long as I've known you. It's time you're able to put it down.”

  I'm off the phone and walking back across the street when I notice Sam's car parked in front of my house. He climbs out and looks at me questioningly.

  “Have you been here long?” I asked.

  “No. Just pulled up. What are you doing?” he asks.

  “It doesn't matter,” I tell him.

  “Of course it does,” he says. “What were you doing across the street?”

  “Sam, it's broad daylight,” I point out.

  “It's also private property,” he counters.

  “I didn't try to get inside. I just walked around in the backyard and checked a couple of things out. That's it.”

  “Alright. but don't make a habit of it. I don't wanna hear about you creeping around over there.”

  “You won't, I promise. Now, did you just come to scold me?”

  “No. I came to check on you, see how your ankle is feeling, and ask if you wanted to meet up for lunch later. I have some meetings that are going to run late tonight, so we can't do dinner,” he tells me.

  “Lunch sounds good. Our usual? I'm going to be down around that way.”

  “Pearl’s is perfect. Why are you going to be down in town today?” he asks.

  “I just have a couple of errands to run. Nothing exciting. Can we make it a little earlier than usual? Noon?”

  “I'll see you then,” he says with a smile. He leans in for a kiss, then gets back in his car. “I'll meet you there.”

  I wave as he drives away and then go back into my house to finish up a few things around the house before I leave. I do have some things to do in town, just like I told Sam. But my first stop of the day is an appointment further away. It'll take some time, and I want to make sure I'm back and have everything else done before it’s time for lunch.

  Sam is already sitting at our usual table when I walk into Pearl’s Diner just before noon. Two glasses of sweet tea sit on the table, and I know he's already put in our order. It's an easy, comfortable pattern we've fallen into over the months I've been back here. Every now and then, we glance at the menu just for appearances, but we both know chances are high we're going to end up ordering the same thing we always do. Chicken for me, eggs and bacon for him, and biscuits and gravy for both of us. It's just too good not to.

  “Did you get everything done?” he asks when I sit down across from him.

  “I did. It was a very successful day,” I nod. “How about you?”

  “Going well. I'm not really looking forward to the meetings tonight, but there have to be a few parts of my job I don't like.”

  Neither of us talk about me going across the street this morning. We talk casually for a few seconds, our fingers playing lightly with each other across the table. A few moments after I sit down, Sandy comes up and sets sizzling, delicious-smelling plates in front of us. As always, I steal a bite or two of Sam’s bacon, and he nabs a tiny bit of chicken from my plate. It should be enough for our whole meal, but it's not. Both of us will pretend we're impossibly full until she comes back by with slices of pie and cups of coffee.

  "Looks like it's a good thing we got here early," he chuckles. "Swarm's coming."

  I glance back over my shoulder to where he's looking at the front door and see several groups walking inside. Coming just half an hour earlier than usual has gotten us in right before the massive rush we usually wade through to have our favorite lunch. It's by design. There's another stop I want to make this afternoon and would like as much time there as possible without cutting my lunch with Sam short.

  Two more groups walk in, and I catch eyes with Derrick.

  "Perfect," I mutter. "Looks like everybody from Lionheart is here."

  Sam takes a bite of his biscuit and stretches his neck to check the rest of the people coming in.

  "Don't worry. Looks like Pamela is sitting this one out. You can eat in peace."

  I laugh. "Good."

  We fall back into easy conversation that takes away the prickly tension that's been between us, and my mind and body finally relax. He starts telling me a story about the morning at the station and has me laughing at the depiction of one of the officers dealing with a spider when a gasp from the other side of the restaurant silences him. We look toward the source of the sound and see a man gagging, trying to get out of his seat. Before he can, his wife clutches her napkin to her mouth.

  Behind us, another woman groans. I turn to see her wrap her arms around her stomach and fold over on herself. In a matter of seconds, people all around the restaurant are crying out in pain, bending over their napkins, and sinking down to the floor. Sam jumps to his feet.

  "Everybody stop eating," he barks. "Don't touch anything else."

  He looks over at me. "Go out to my squad car and get on the radio. Get as many ambulances as you can here."

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Him

  She was gone again. In the short time he spent away, handling tasks better left to others and yet never managed by anyone but himself, she left. He felt so much better when she was close. When h
e was able to drive down the street or walk along the alley and possibly get a glimpse of her. Not always. Not every time.

  Sometimes he knew where she was but wasn't able to get close enough because the others were around her. Not that he could blame them. They had Emma in their lives. It only made sense they would savor every second of it. He could only imagine what it would be like to have her that close. To be able to pick up a phone and call her, knowing her voice would be on the other end. To be able to go up to her house and have her welcome him in to sit with her, to share food with her, to just be.

  One day soon, he wouldn't have to imagine anymore. He would be like them, only more. There would come a time when he wouldn't have to hide away from her gaze just to look at her. When he could just reach out and embrace her when he wanted to. She wouldn't be afraid. She wouldn't wonder or worry.

  It was that longing that made it so much harder. And as much as he knew he needed to keep his distance, he wished he didn't have to. He wanted her home. He wanted her back where she was safe. He wanted to bring her where she belonged. He didn't like the days and weeks that were passing. The longer she stayed in Sherwood, the more attached she became to the life she had there. There was a time in the not too distant past when she’d shed herself completely of that past life. She barely remembered it. At least that's what he told himself. He didn't like to think of a time when she was kept in such a bubble, shielded from everything that was real and true.

  Her going back to Sherwood was dangerous. It drew her back in and tempted her with that life. She didn't understand. He had a much better one to give her. It would be more than she could ever imagine. And when the time would finally come to introduce her to it, she would know all he had done for her. Emma would understand everything. All that he had gone through. All that he had sacrificed for her. She would finally know the exact, painstaking effort he took to create that life for her, and she would be convinced it would be right for her.