“No,” I said again, harder still. “Did you manage to get any fingerprints off the photo or the first postcard?”
“Yeah, yours,” Mac said, rolling her eyes at the sudden change of subject. “And Holly’s. That was it. Nothing else turned up. I assume you want me to dust this one too?” She waggled the Petite Ceinture picture at me.
“If you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind.”
She zipped the postcard into a plastic baggie. Then she sat down at the table in the kitchenette, where she took off her hat to massage her temples. I flipped open a box of assorted powdered donuts that I’d picked up from the corner store and pushed it toward her as a peace offering.
Mac eyed the sugary treats. “I don’t eat gluten.”
“Of course you don’t.” I took a cinnamon donut for myself and sat next to her. “Mac, listen. I can’t make you do any of this for me. If your job is in jeopardy—”
“I can’t prioritize my job over your sister’s life,” she said. “Some people might be wired like that, but I’m not. I’m already in this. If I take what I have to Scott now, he’ll know I deliberately disobeyed his orders to stay out of a case that I wasn’t assigned to. I’ll be suspended or fired, and if that happens, I won’t be able to help you find Holly anyway. I just wish we could’ve followed protocol for this one. It would’ve made things a whole lot easier.”
Cinnamon powder dusted the tabletop as I bit into my snack. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Mmm. So what are you going to tell Emmett?”
I swept the loose sugar from the table to the carpet below. “I’ve already followed the instructions from the first two postcards, so I guess I might as well go along with the third, right? It’s just another part of the game.”
“Yeah, except you don’t how to win,” Mac pointed out. “What’s the point of doing all of this without the guarantee of getting Holly back?”
“To keep her alive for as long as I can,” I said. “Until I can find her.”
Mac pursed her lips and leaned forward. “I don’t mean to be morbid, but what if she’s already dead? These visions of yours—how do you know the contents are true?”
“I just do,” I replied. “I can’t explain it. I talked to my aunt about it yesterday. She told me that all I had to do to talk to Holly was to concentrate. The problem is that Holly’s too weak to talk back. She’s hardly there when I reach out to her, but she is there. I know that for sure.”
“I just want you to be prepared for the worst,” Mac said. “I know it’s hard to think about, but I would hate to see these visions give you a sense of hope only to have everything go to shit in the end.”
“It won’t.”
“If you say so.” She took a bottle of water from the mini fridge, twisted off the cap, and took a long draught. “Didn’t you say you got more messages from an unknown number?”
I showed her the texts that praised me for completing my tasks. “It’s a different number every time. They’re watching to make sure I’m following through with the postcards. Why? Do you think you can track them down?”
“Maybe, but that’s not what I was talking about. I think I have an idea.”
“About what?”
“They want you to go on this date with Marks, right?” The water bottle crackled as Mac squeezed it. “I assume someone will follow you there to ensure that you go through with it. So what if I went too? It’ll be a good old-fashioned stakeout. I’ll keep an eye on you, and if anyone questionable turns up, we’ll have a decent shot at figuring out who’s blackmailing you.”
“If they see you—”
“They won’t.” She finished off the water and tossed the empty bottle across the room, where it landed squarely in the wastebasket by the bed. “You in?”
“Yeah, I’m in.”
“Good,” she said. “What’s up with you and Marks anyway? One day, you’re all over him, and the next, you’re acting like he’s a stray dog that won’t go away. You guys have a past or something?”
I stretched out, propping my feet up on the empty chair across from Mac’s. “Kind of. We were friends in high school. He always had a crush on me, which I knew about but never bothered to address. After my parents died, I decided that recklessness was more fun than common sense, or at least a better coping mechanism. Emmett was a good distraction, and it doesn’t hurt that he’s always been gorgeous. He’s just stuck, you know? He’s a perfect representation of Belle Dame. Slow and annoyingly complacent. I never wanted that.”
“You prefer fast and unsure?”
“Life is more entertaining that way.”
“Yeah, but life isn’t always about constant entertainment,” she countered. “Look at where that mindset landed you.”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
“Sorry. All I’m saying is that it takes a healthier balance to maintain a certain level of happiness.” She pushed the phone toward me. “What are we waiting for? Might as well call him up before he makes plans with some other local girl with a heart of gold who would be perfectly satisfied to raise her children on a farm in the backwoods of Belle Dame.”
“I hate you.”
I dialed Emmett’s number and pushed the speakerphone button, holding a finger to my lips to signal Mac to stay quiet when he answered.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Emmett. It’s Bridget.”
“Bee! It’s so good to hear your voice.”
Mac smirked and rolled her eyes. I tossed a donut morsel across the table at her. “Yeah, you too,” I said into the phone. “Listen, I’ve been thinking about what you said last night. Is that dinner invitation still valid?”
His voice perked up. “Totally. Are you interested?”
“I am,” I replied. “I think you’re right. I’m making myself sick worrying about Holly, and it’s not doing me any good. I need a night to relax.”
“Say no more,” Emmett said. “I’ll make the reservation. Seven o’clock sound good?”
I glanced up at Mac, who gave me the thumbs-up. “Seven o’clock sounds great.”
For the sake of Holly’s health, I pulled out all the stops. A place that took reservations wasn’t the type of restaurant that you could show up at in jeans and a T-shirt. Normally, I would’ve headed straight to Autumn’s boutique to have her pick out a better outfit for me, but since we were in a tiff—and it was safer for her if it remained that way—I caught a ride out to the mall forty-five minutes from Belle Dame. The advantage to shopping on my own was that I didn’t have to adhere to Autumn’s flowery bohemian ideas of fashion. By the time seven o’clock rolled around, I’d dressed in slim, black moto leggings, a wine-red top, and heeled booties. The outfit had cost twice as much as what I would’ve spent at Oak and Autumn, but at least I felt like myself. As the clock ticked toward seven, I worked a palm full of mousse through my strawberry scented hair and left the wavy blonde locks loose and free around my shoulders. As I finished up, a patterned knock drummed against the motel door.
Emmett smiled at me from the threshold then looked down at my outfit. “Whoa. I don’t even know what to say. You look hot—amazing. You look amazing.”
“Thanks. You look nice too.”
For once, Emmett had ditched his trucker hat, muscle shirt, and worn-out jeans for black slacks and a baby blue button down shirt. He’d even made an attempt to iron, though the tricky bits around the collar of his shirt were still a little wrinkled. He offered me his arm.
“Ready to go?”
“Just one second.”
I gathered my phone, wallet, and keys, but as I met Emmett in the hallway again, a dizzy spell came over me. He steadied me as I swayed against him.
“Did you pregame without me or something?” he joked, rubbing my arms with his calloused hands.
I shook my head, frowning. “I just have a bit of headache.”
“Are you okay? We can reschedule.”
“No,” I said. If we postponed the date, the people on the other en
d of Holly’s postcard might suspect that I’d given up on their game. “It’s fine. I’ll get some water at the restaurant. I’m sure it’ll go away. Let’s go.”
Emmett’s hand lingered on the small of my back as he led me out to the parking lot. His lifted truck waited for us there, despite the fact that the restaurant was a ten-minute walk down the road. I suspected that Emmett wanted to prove that he could do a date right. He opened the passenger door for me and offered his hand to help me up. Then he crossed to the driver’s side and hopped in. Country music blared from the speakers when he turned the key in the ignition. He quickly turned the volume down.
“Sorry about that.”
“No worries.”
I subtly glanced around the motel’s lot. Mac had agreed to follow us from the motel to the restaurant, but she was nowhere to be seen. Then again, if she was as good at laying low as she claimed, I wouldn’t see her all night.
As Emmett backed out of the parking space, the massive wheels of the truck rolled over the curb behind us. He swore, apologized again, and put the car into drive, his shoulders tense against the driver’s seat.
I watched him, perplexed by his behavior. “Dude, what’s with you?”
“Huh?”
I reached across the center console to poke the veins in his neck. “You look like you’re about to blow a gasket. Relax.”
He swatted my hand away but couldn’t hide an emerging grin. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be weird. It’s just that—this is going to sound so lame—I’ve been wanting to take you out on a real date for so damn long, and I’m really surprised you said yes, and I’m worried that it’s not going to live up to your expectations—”
“Hey,” I interrupted. I stretched underneath his arms and pressed the button on his door to roll his window down. Then I did the same on my side, turned the radio back up, and smiled over at him as the breeze blew my hair away from my face. “Can we just enjoy this? It’s a gorgeous evening, and we’re about to go eat at an amazing restaurant. It’s going to be great. I promise.”
His shoulders relaxed, and his grip on the steering wheel loosened. “Yeah. You’re totally right. Hey, do you like escargot?”
“I’m not eating snails, Emmett.”
The restaurant, a place called The Silver Pavilion, looked out of place in Belle Dame. It was a few blocks down from The Pit, a standalone building complete with a circular driveway and valet service. It was moderately busy for a Monday night. Customers mingled outside with wine glasses and appetizers, juggling pagers that were meant to alert them when their table was ready.
Emmett pulled up to the front door and studied the valet stand. “Ten bucks? Just to have someone park your car?”
“Why don’t we park on the street?”
As one of the valet attendants pulled the car in front of us away from the curb, Emmett eased off the brake to approach the stand next. “No, I said I’d take you out for a fancy dinner. We’re not going to walk in from off the street.”
“Really, it’s not a big deal.”
But Emmett jumped out of the cab, handed his keys off to an attendant, and made his way to the passenger side to help me down. His hands lingered around my waist as I dropped to the pavement. The waiting restaurant patrons examined us over the lips of their martini glasses. At a place like The Silver Pavilion, it was easy to judge. Here, the locals dressed up in their best formalwear to pretend that their lives were bigger than Belle Dame’s city limits. It gave people masks to hide behind as they scrutinized their peers, so they stared unabashedly as Emmett and I made our way to the front steps.
“When are people going to get over the fact that I’m back in town?” I muttered to him as he held the door open for me.
“Probably not until you leave again,” Emmett replied. “You know how this place is. The locals don’t have anything to talk about. You and Holly are the biggest pieces of news right now.”
Another wave of dizziness rushed over me, and I gripped Emmett’s arm tighter as we approached the host stand at the front of the restaurant. The Silver Pavilion was as impressive on the inside as it was on the outside. Fairy lights twinkled over the intimate tables, casting a subtle golden glow over the well-dressed patrons. A soft murmur of voices and the occasional clink of silverware echoed through the room. The bar was well-stocked with expensive brands of booze that were most likely unrecognizable to the sheltered locals. A patio out back opened up to the lakefront, where the pretty view of the water almost coerced you to forget that you were sitting in the middle of a town built on cornfields.
“Two for Marks at seven-thirty,” Emmett said to the hostess.
She checked her list, made a note, and smiled politely. “There you are. It’ll just be a few minutes.”
We drifted toward the bar to wait, where Emmett flagged down the server and ordered a glass of water for me. It arrived in a champagne glass and tickled my nose.
“Everything okay?” Emmett asked.
“It’s sparkling.”
“Is that bad?”
I laughed at his worried expression. His eyes widened as I smoothed his hair against his forehead. “No, it just surprised me—”
“Yo, Emmett!”
We turned toward the door at the sound of the voice, and I blanched. It belonged to Christian, and he led Autumn by the hand. Christian had more practice with formalwear than Emmett. He wore a tailored shirt and a fitted vest, the color of which matched Autumn’s pretty blue dress. I met Autumn’s eyes, caught sight of the lingering resentment on her face, and ducked my head as the couple met us at the bar. Emmett and Christian clapped hands and pulled each other into the one-armed hug that men considered more masculine than full contact.
Christian pulled away from Emmett and offered me a quick hug as well. “Hey, Bridget. Doing all right?”
“Hanging in there. You guys know each other?”
“We work out together at the gym sometimes,” Emmett explained. “Christian was a huge help with my deadlifts.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I chanced another look at Autumn, who held onto Christian’s hand but determinedly looked in the opposite direction. “Hi, Autumn. How are you?”
“Fine.”
I reined in a sigh. She was definitely still mad.
“I’m surprised to see you out,” she went on. Emmett and Christian probably didn’t notice the hard edge to her voice, but I had known Autumn too long to not catch it. “Shouldn’t you be stressing out over Holly?”
“I figured stressing out wasn’t the most productive way to go about things.”
“Oh, now you figure that.”
The edge became more pronounced. I sipped my sparkling water, holding in a sharp reply. Emmett and Christian glanced back and forth between us, picking up on the tension without entirely understanding why it was there.
Christian cleared his throat. “Man, can you believe this wait? They told us it would be at least forty-five minutes before we were seated. How long have you guys been here?”
“We just walked in,” Emmett said. “But we have reservations.”
Christian nudged Autumn. “Reservations! Why didn’t we think of that?”
“Why don’t you guys sit with us?” Emmett suggested.
My stomach plunged into an icy bucket. “You know, I’m not sure the restaurant can do that. They probably reserved a two-top for us.”
Right on cue, the hostess called our name over the muted chattering of the waiting crowd.
Emmett took my hand. “I’m sure they can add a couple seats. Come on, guys. Let’s go ask.”
I had no choice but to tag along behind him as Autumn and Christian pulled up the rear. At the host stand, Emmett flashed his brightest smile, the one that put his dimples on full display, as he persuaded the hostess to change our reservations from two to four. She was more than happy to oblige and even bumped a waiting party down the list to accommodate us.
As we followed her to our table, I whispered to Emmett. “Smooth. You know no o
ne can resist the dimples.”
He grinned. “I’ll remember that for later.”
Somehow, I ended up seated between Autumn and Emmett at the small, square table. Autumn draped her purse over the back of her chair. In the process, she managed to shift the chair closer to Christian, as far away from me as possible. I replied by leaning across the corner of the table and resting my chin on Emmett’s shoulder to look at the menu he was holding.
“You guys like sangria?” Christian asked, playing with Autumn’s fingers over the tablecloth. “We could all share a pitcher.”
“I’m sticking to water tonight,” I said.
“Same,” Emmett added.
“I’m out too.” Autumn rested a hand on top of her belly. “For obvious reasons.”
Christian snapped his fingers in mock disappointment. “No fun.”
As we perused the menu, discussing entrees and appetizers, I unwound a bit. Both boys appeared oblivious to Autumn’s cold attitude toward me, so I conjured my best small talk, and the three of us chatted amiably while the server poured water and delivered warm bread. Autumn, on the other hand, kept quiet, her arms crossed over her tummy as she watched us interact.
“Bridget, you’ve been to Italy, right?” Christian asked, peering at an item on the menu. “What the hell is guh-know-kee?”
“Gnocchi?”
“Is that how you pronounce it?”
“They’re little dumplings,” I told him, “but it’s usually served like pasta.”
Christian made a face. “Aren’t dumplings Chinese?”
We all laughed, and Emmett trailed his hand across my arm. “I love that you’re so worldly,” he murmured.
As his breath ruffled the hair around my ear, a fresh wave of dizziness overtook me. I resisted the urge to pull away, remembering the instructions on the postcard. Convince him that you’re falling for him.
I turned toward him, fighting off the woozy rush. “Oh, do you?”
He leaned closer. “I do.”
Autumn glared at us from across the table, but before I could do anything else to piss her off, my vision blinked to black for a brief second. I wobbled in my chair, rocking away from Emmett. His fingers clutched my elbow to keep me upright.
Little Girl Lost: A Riveting Kidnapping Mystery- Book 1 Page 7
