by S. E. Harmon
“He’s sorry. For everything.”
“So am I.” He nodded, his eyes wet and shiny and twitchy. “Tell him… tell him….”
“He knows,” I said softly. “See you, Grace.”
Chapter 30
BEING JOBLESS was a strange feeling. I’d had employment in one form or another since I was fourteen. So I decided to spend the rest of my evening doing something smart. Something productive.
I waved at the bartender, a good-looking young guy with black hair and blue eyes. And a barbell in his eyebrow. Like some fine-ass detective who shall remain nameless. “Can I have another vodka cranberry?”
Okay, no judging me. It wasn’t like I could go to work. Walking out on Graycie had pretty much set a flamethrower to my career. My apartment was cold and lonely and empty, and I got tired of rattling around in it. All things that led to my current condition.
I was jobless in a bar in the middle of the afternoon, getting my drink on. My mother would be so proud. Actually my mother probably wouldn’t give a damn. I just wasn’t feeling too hot about myself.
I felt strange without my credentials. At least I still had my weapon. I’d upgraded the standard issue and purchased one with a more comfortable grip, so I didn’t have to turn it in. I wasn’t one of those trigger-happy types or macho men that needed a gun, but it had been part of my daily dress so long, I felt naked without it.
Although there wasn’t going to be much call for it in my new line of work. All of my clients were already dead. I chuckled at that macabre thought and sipped my drink.
It was hard to imagine what else I could do, who else I could be. My new life without the FBI in it. Without long, unexpected trips across the country and late nights trying to get into the minds of the darkest predators. Without a go-bag at the end of my bed. A life of more stability. Coming home every night to… to what? Danny hadn’t seemed all that eager about my return. It made my future look a little lonely and cold.
So what next? Was I supposed to set up a medium shop full of lava lamps and crystal balls? Read tarot cards in my downtime? And if a ghost happened to give me critical info, pass it on to my former law-enforcement colleagues, who would then proceed to laugh me into the next county?
I wondered if Grace had closed my personnel file yet. Fuck, he probably put it in the shredder the moment I closed his office door. Luckily I knew where to find some scotch tape.
No. I pictured the faces of Ethan’s parents. I’d given them something. Something they probably thought, deep down inside, in a place they didn’t acknowledge, that they’d never have. Closure. Peace of mind. It was worth something.
Two vodka cranberries and a plate of nachos, and all I’d decided was to get a dog. It was a start, I guess. I sighed and propped my chin in my hand. I thought about my sterile apartment and the six plants I’d killed. I probably needed a robust dog. The canine equivalent of a cactus.
I was already looking for apartments back in Brickell Bay. Since I had no gainful employment, I had no ties to DC, and I wanted to be closer to my family. Wanted to have my sister’s awful breakfast and help my mother in the god-awful wellness store. I wanted to pretend I didn’t know my father was growing weed in Skylar’s greenhouse and help my nieces with their homework.
I wanted to be with that stubborn jackass—otherwise known as Danny. Wanted to eat stupid cereal in the morning with the bowls back in the right cupboard, where they belonged, and talk over the paper. Fall into bed together at night, wrapped up in one another until he eventually sprawled—like he always did—took over too much of the bed, and snored like an orchestra with chainsaws instead of violins.
As if I’d conjured him up, my phone began to ring. I glanced at the caller ID and smiled as I answered. “Miss me so soon?”
“Don’t you wish.” Danny’s voice gentled. “How’d it go?”
“About what you’d expect.”
“In that case I assume you’re calling me from the witness protection program.”
“Grace was pissed,” I admitted. “And I’m kind of jobless right now.”
“He fired you?”
“I kind of quit.”
I couldn’t be bothered to fill the silence that followed my oblique statement. Instead I absently watched the bartender making a flaming concoction for some drunk who clearly didn’t appreciate the artistry.
“So what’s your plan, exactly?” Danny finally asked.
“I’ll probably be looking for something in Brickell Bay.”
“That so?”
His cautious questions finally got on my nerves. “No. I thought I’d join the circus for a little while. Tour the country with a freak show. Maybe I’ll have an act opened by the bearded lady and the two-headed chicken.”
“Rain—”
“No, you’re right, McKenna. The two-headed chicken is way more established than me. I’ll open for him instead.”
There was an exasperated sigh on the other end. “Are you done?”
“I’m about to be.”
“Don’t hang up on me.”
“Then stop irritating me. I’ve had a hard day.”
“I’m just trying to figure out where we go from here.”
Where did we go from there? I wasn’t sure I had an exact blueprint. But I had the general answer. “Forward,” I said firmly.
He chuckled. “That’s a fucking plan I can get behind.” His yawn almost distorted his next words. “I hate to cut this short, but I need to get to bed.”
“Long day?”
“Yeah, and tomorrow’s looking even longer. Tate’s pulled everyone on a task force to find the Robertsons. They were reported missing earlier today by the grandmother.” It was clear Danny chose his words carefully. “We’re organizing a grid search, so it’s all hands on deck.”
Don’t tell him about Hellar Creek again. My tone was equally light. “I can imagine.”
“You might as well say it.”
“Say what?”
“You know where they are.”
“I already told you where they are. And how they got there.”
Danny sighed. “You’re determined to be the end of me, aren’t you?”
“Hashtag life goals.” The next time he yawned, I caught the bug and yawned reflexively. “You should get some rest. I’m probably going to head home.”
“Alone?” After he uttered the words, he swore. “Sorry. None of my business. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that?”
I didn’t buy his easygoing tone for one minute, and I wasn’t going to let him doubt me for a minute either. “Alone,” I said concisely.
“Ah.” I couldn’t quite place that ah. There was a lot of mistrust in that ah. “I’ll just talk to you tomorrow. Okay?”
“Sounds good.” There was a perfect pause there for an I love you, but I resisted. Swallowed the urge. There would be plenty time for that. “Nite.”
“Nite.”
I hung up and took another sip of my drink. I’d probably had enough, but you just don’t toss a vodka cranberry. At least I didn’t. Especially since I was unemployed. I debated for a few minutes on downing the rest or buying a flask.
“You want another?”
A little startled, I glanced up into the smiling blue eyes of the bartender. “No thanks. Three is my limit.” I reached in my back pocket for my wallet, and the bartender waved a hand.
“On the house.”
I squinted and tried to focus on why my drinks had suddenly become free and why the bartender’s smile was quite so friendly. Then my eyes widened. Wow. Oh wow. I’d been out of the game so long I didn’t even know when I was being hit on. “No. No thanks.”
The bartender’s gaze remained friendly, but a little rueful. “Your loss.”
“I’m sure it is.” I slapped down a bill large enough to cover twice my tab and headed out the door. I had a feeling that earning Danny’s trust didn’t involve some other guy in my pants. Not that I wanted anyone else.
No. I would go back to work on my
relationship. My mouth twisted wryly. Back to Mr. “It’s not like I’m kicking you out or anything.” It went right up there with a marriage proposal of “we might as well.” Be still mah beatin’ heart.
A girl could get used to that sort of declaration.
As I got in my car, my phone rang. I checked the screen, only to find an unknown caller ID. I wasn’t in the mood, but I answered anyway, on the off chance it might be important. I answered with a hint of irritation in my tone. I know they were just doing their job, but if it was a salesperson, he or she would rue the fucking day. “Hello?”
“Agent Christiansen?”
“Speaking.” Although I suppose I’d have to drop the Agent part. “Who is this?”
“This is Margaret Macmillan.”
I stopped fiddling with the a/c controls. Although I liked to think I was quick on my feet, hearing her voice startled me. What to say? “Good to hear from you? Killed anyone else lately?” We hadn’t exactly parted on good terms.
“What can I help you with?” I finally asked crisply.
“I wanted to know if you were available for a discussion.”
“About what?”
“I’d really like to do this in person. Not on the phone.”
I frowned. “I’m not in the area at the moment. Maybe you should speak to a detective in the department. I can give you his number if you hold on a minute.” I put her on speaker and thumbed through my contacts. I didn’t know the Brickell Bay PD number by heart, and I wasn’t giving her Danny’s cell. Which got me to wondering….
“How’d you get this number?”
“I have friends in the department.”
Which meant she already had the number. I stopped searching. “I’m sorry, what did you say you needed again?”
“I just wanted to talk. Needed to talk.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Not in any official capacity,” she insisted. “I just… I’m worried about Jenna.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“I’m afraid she might’ve had more to do with Amy’s disappearance than she let on. I just… I really need to talk to someone.”
I bit my lip. I had absolutely no illusion she was telling me the truth. She wanted to see what I knew about the case. Wanted to see if the department was listening to any of my crazy ramblings. It was my policy to always let a suspect talk. If she wanted to tell me something, I was ready to listen. Only… I wasn’t active on the investigation any longer. In the eyes of BBPD, a suspect had been arrested and the case was coming to a close.
The right thing to do would probably be to insist she get in contact with BBPD. Or Danny. Or even Tate. Practically anyone other than an infamous ghost whisperer. Anything she told me would be tainted. Unusable. Hell, I don’t think I could have authenticated a Cool Ranch Dorito in court at that point. Common sense said I should not accept her invitation to meet and talk. That I would only be making things worse.
Common sense had never been my forte.
I sighed. “When do you want to meet?”
Chapter 31
WHEN WORKING in the law enforcement sector, there was a thing called protocol. Protocol could stop you from making questionable decisions. Could stop you from second-guessing yourself. Protected you from any outcome. No matter what happened, you could always say, well, “I followed protocol.” Most times.
Sitting at Margaret Macmillan’s table, waiting for her to finish making tea, I was fully aware that at some point that morning, I’d said, “Fuck protocol. I do what I want.” Proper protocol did not involve visiting a suspect against your partner’s orders. Especially when that suspect had a direct line to the police. Protocol also didn’t involve drinking her tea or asking her uncomfortable questions.
That didn’t stop me from doing any of those things. I took a taxi to my sister’s place from the airport and dropped off my luggage. Then I hightailed it over to Margaret’s before I could think twice about it. Or wonder where Lieutenant Tate was going to put my body when she found out.
All in the name of information. Although… I don’t think I’d ever seen Margaret that quiet. Too quiet. She seemed to stare at me with an intent expression on her face when she thought I wasn’t looking. It was unsettling, to say the least. I looked up from my tea, and her gaze skittered away. I sighed.
“So what did you want to talk to me about?”
“I heard you found the body,” she said.
“Amy? The team did, yes.”
“I heard you found the body,” she insisted. “They found it based on your information.
What did it matter who found the fucking body? “Some of it was, yes,” I answered impatiently.
“I heard she was found in an extremely remote location. How’d you know where to look?”
More staring. Blue eyes suspicious as a well-trained dog watching a piece of your dropped dinner. “We’re not at liberty to reveal our sources in an open investigation,” I finally said, remembering my ingrained bureau-speak.
“And the others?”
“What others?”
“The Robertsons. They found them in Hellar Creek today.”
“I hadn’t heard,” I said faintly.
Danny had actually listened to my advice? I almost couldn’t comprehend that new development. “I think I should probably check in with my partner so he doesn’t worry. He’s expecting me back.”
Her eyes were trained on my face for a long moment. And then she suddenly relaxed. As though she’d made a decision. “They actually speak to you, don’t they?”
“Excuse me?”
“The article. It’s true. They actually speak to you.”
I narrowed my eyes. So that was her angle. She didn’t want to know what the department knew, she wanted to know if I was truly a ghost whisperer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I finally said. “Just a junk article from a trashy reporter.”
“What does she say?” She clearly didn’t buy my story.
“Nothing,” I said with a reassuring smile. “And I really should get going.”
“Did she tell you what happened?”
I rose stiffly, glad when she only stared at me. I felt almost foolish as she nodded and rose to lead me to the door. What’d I expect? That she’d break out some kung fu and subdue me? Someone at least fifty pounds heavier and five inches taller? A trained agent?
Despite those facts I was relieved when I was outside. It was probably the first time in memory I was grateful to feel the heat of the sun beating down on my back. So very hot. I swiped a little sweat out of my eyes, walked to the car, and forced myself not to hurry. Only when I heard the door close behind me did I break out into a mini jog. That woman gave me the creeps.
I dialed Danny before I even closed the door. Of course the irritating man didn’t answer. When I was calling to ask what kind of chips he wanted from the store, he practically answered on the first ring. When I was calling about a murder investigation? Nada.
I dialed again and impatiently drummed my fingers on the wheel. I reached out and turned up the air so it blasted me in the face as I waited. Even in my lightweight shirt, it felt like I was burning up. I bit my lip as Danny’s gruff voicemail kicked in again. I was briefly flummoxed about what to say. I wasn’t supposed to be working a murder investigation. I certainly wasn’t supposed to be speaking to Margaret Macmillan. And I didn’t think it would matter much that she had called me.
The beep sounded, and I tried for casual. “Hey. Just checking in to let you know I’m back in town. I’m probably going to stay with my sister. Let me….” My tongue suddenly felt thick, and I swallowed a few times. “Lemme know when you get this.” I paused and thought. Wondered if I should say something else.
My brow furrowed as I kicked the air up another notch. Why was I so goddamned hot? And why was my tongue so thick and slow in my mouth? I thought furiously about what I’d eaten recently. I didn’t think I was allergic to anything.
&nb
sp; Two things happened all at once—I heard a soft but distinct sound in my backseat. Click. And I realized that she’d put something in the goddamned tea.
The small noise made me go completely still. It’d been a while since I’d discharged my weapon—hell, probably when I squinted at a QIT-99 silhouette on my last qualifier. But I’d recognize the click of a hammer pulling back in my sleep.
I glanced in the rearview mirror, and my eyes went wide before I even felt the muzzle on the back of my neck.
Margaret smiled. “Hang it up.”
Chapter 32
I SWORE silently. That is exactly what happened when you played Batman with no Robin.
The calm order came again. “Hang up the phone and hand it to me.”
“Listen to me—”
“I’m pretty sure that’s the exact opposite of what I fucking said.” Her voice was cold, and I knew she meant it. I handed her the phone over my shoulder, slowly. I couldn’t help but feel I was handing her my only lifeline as I did so.
She prodded me with the weapon. “The gun too. Nice and slow.”
“I’m not going to hand you my—”
“The gun!” she screamed. “Or you die right here, right now.”
If there was a chance I could get close, I could disarm her. Then again there was also a big chance I might get very, very dead. I had a brief moment of indecision, and then I unholstered the gun. What are you doing? Why are you giving up your only chance to turn the tables?
Shut up! I fought the rebel threatening to burn shit down in my head. Shut up and calm down. Because I was fairly sure the overall point of all those fancy FBI procedures for disarming suspects was to stay the fuck alive however the fuck you can.
“Ankle holster too.”
I reached down and slowly handed her the weapons, butt first.
“That’s good.” Her stare was laser-like as she placed the guns next to her. “Now get out and walk.”
My mind raced as she prodded me along, stumbling, back into the house. It was hard to believe I could even walk steadily as my heartbeat thundered in my ears, but I followed Margaret’s short, clipped directions. My lauded and acclaimed mind had apparently deserted me and run for the hills. As a consolation prize, my mind had left me with every line a hostage had uttered in every B movie ever made.
