It doesn’t make sense and it bothers me the whole drive home. Why would Trevor go that far out of his way to get his car to a repair shop, actually make the payment for said repairs, and then just forget about it? The only thing I can think of is that he had a back-up vehicle to get around in.
The car that clipped me in the hit and run the other day was an old Ford pickup. Witnesses saw it happen, but as far as getting a description on the driver or the registration of the vehicle goes, we came up empty. One of the street cameras on Dorchester caught the pickup speeding by, but the image quality was shit on a biscuit.
And with the backlog in the image rendering lab, we’ll be lucky to have it cleaned up before the end of the week. I gave them a call first thing this morning and tried throwing my ‘Chief of Police’ weight around in the hope of getting them to put a rush on it, but nobody’s going to prioritize a person of interest in a stalker case when there are actual murders to solve. As far as everyone else is concerned, any asshole could’ve forced me off the road. Of course, the text messages Emily has received say otherwise.
It’s all of this—dead-end after fucking dead-end—piled on top of the way Emily was with me last night; it’s got me feeling totally unsettled. I was in the office, but unable to focus on anything, not even the case.
Strangely enough, my mind has no problem putting all of its attention on the way Emily pulled away from me last night. Or how when we made love, it felt like she was waiting for it to be over.
The apartment is encased in an eerie silence when I get home. Usually there’s some soft music playing or the TV on.
“Emily?”
I duck my head into our bedroom, half expecting to find her lying on our bed with her nose in a book. But she isn’t there.
Part of me knew that, because I can sense that the apartment is empty. No signs of life aside from me. My footsteps sound awfully loud as I go through the place, checking each room in turn. I know I won’t find her, but I do it anyway.
I passed Ted on my way up and he didn’t mention anything to me about Emily being out. I know that she’s snuck out before, but I’ve always gotten a text or phone call about it so that at least someone knew what she was up to and where she was headed. I get that she feels frustrated and cooped up, so I grant her those flights of freedom when the feeling is just too strong.
But I didn’t get a phone call or text today. And Ted is blissfully unaware of her leaving. This knowledge sends my mind racing to all kinds of dark places as I finish up in the bathroom. This is so unlike her.
The kitchen is my last stop, and that’s where I find her note. Of course she’d leave it right next to the coffee machine and not somewhere like the bedside table or whatever. Emily knows my routine, and she knows that when I get home, my coffee is the first order of business.
I don’t know what to think when I pick it up to read it, but there’s a heavy sensation filling my chest, like I’m drowning.
Peter,
I gave Ted the slip. Don’t be mad.
Be home soon.
Emily XO
P.S. I left you the last brownie
I stare at her neat, printed handwriting for much longer than is necessary. It’s as if the words will multiply and give me more information.
They don’t.
I put the note down and start a fresh pot of coffee. Then I go over to the refrigerator. The brownie she promised is there, but I don’t take it. I don’t really have much of an appetite right now. I don’t even want the coffee.
It’s weird how strange the apartment feels without her in it. How empty and lonesome. And that in itself is weird, too. Because I’ve been alone my whole life and not once was I ever lonely. In fact, I used to love it.
But all that changed the minute Emily came into my life. Now I’m wandering around our apartment, not knowing what to do with myself. It’s embarrassing how much I’ve come to need her.
Distraction. That’s what I need. It’s the only way I’m going to survive the time between now and when she gets home. I hope that it’s soon.
Chapter Twenty-One
Emily
I was expecting to be led to an abandoned warehouse, somewhere where nobody would hear my screams. Imagine my surprise when Trevor texted me to meet him at the Convention Center.
The Convention Center.
That’ll teach me to stereotype my stalkers.
When the cab drops me off, it’s just after 6 p.m. Peter will be getting home soon. He’ll walk into an empty apartment and find my note. Hopefully he’ll take it for what it is, watch a bit of Netflix, and wait for me to get back.
This isn’t the first time I’ve gone off on my own, so there’s a good chance things will play out that way. What I’m nervous about is what could happen if they don’t work out like that at all. If Peter freaks out and calls in the cavalry to find me, things could get really bad. For both of us.
Convention Center aside, I already know that Trevor isn’t exactly one hundred percent stable. I’m going to have to be really careful about how I handle him. One wrong move, and it’ll be over. Whatever ‘over’ means.
Although, I have to admit that I’m not too stressed out about this meeting, because despite all the crazy, Trevor was the one who suggested we talk after all. This resolution was all his idea. I figure he must be feeling the heat from the investigation closing in on him and that’s why he wants it over with. Or he could finally be getting tired of having a plaything that never comes out to play.
Whatever his reasons, I’m just relieved to have an opportunity to end this thing and restore some sense of normalcy to my life. I keep the vision of Peter’s face in my mind. I’m doing this for him. And our baby.
“Hi, Emily.”
It’s him.
Trevor walks over to where I’m standing on the sidewalk. He’s wearing blue jeans and a matching hoodie, looking like any average college kid.
But looks are deceiving; I know this. So, even though he’s smiling at me, I don’t smile back. No matter what happens, or however much he acts like he’s my friend, I have to remember who I’m dealing with. I can’t let my guard down.
“You like nice,” he says once he’s reached me. “I like your jacket.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, and fold my arms across my chest in an effort to block his gaze.
I suddenly feel extremely vulnerable and exposed in front of him, and for the first time since I left home, I’m beginning to think that maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to keep Peter in the dark about this meeting.
There isn’t a single person who knows where I am right now.
“What do you say we head over to Drink? I’m parked just up that way,” he says, pointing somewhere over my shoulder.
“I don’t drink,” I say.
I don’t tell him why I’m not drinking. That would probably be the fastest way to piss him off.
“That’s okay,” Trevor says. His tone is light and breezy. In a creepy way.
Or maybe it’s only creepy to me because I know him for what he is: a creep.
“They have non-alcoholic options, too, you know. I’ll join you even. Guess it’s not a good idea to load up anyway, with the driving and all.”
“What do you want, Trevor?” I can’t take the pleasantries anymore. I just want this over and done with.
“To talk,” he says simply. “Some place comfortable, instead of out here on the street.”
His reasoning makes sense to me in the moment. Besides, as long as we’re in a public place, he can’t do anything to me.
“Fine,” I say, finally giving in. “But just for a few minutes. I can’t be late getting home.”
The bar isn’t packed, but it’s not quiet either. The majority of the crowd here looks like people passing through on their way home from work. Loading up, like Trevor calls it, before having to face whatever mundane life awaits them at the bottom of the glass.
I run off to the bathroom for an emergency break as we walk in. When I co
me to our table, Trevor has ordered me a bottle of water and a beer for himself. So much for not drinking and driving.
“So, I’m here,” I say, trying to get the conversation started since it’s clear he’s doing his best to drag this whole thing out. “Let’s talk.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t be in such a hurry, Emily.”
I unscrew the bottle and pour myself a glass. “I told you, I don’t want to get home late.”
He purses his lips. “Why? You don’t want to upset your boyfriend?”
Just then, I notice a flash behind his eyes, and it startles me. In an instant, it turns him into the kind of guy you watch yourself around.
“How much longer are you going to keep up this charade?”
I’m confused. “What charade?”
“You and this guy,” he says. “I know you’re just doing it to get my attention. Well, you have it now. So you can stop.”
I nearly choke on a big sip of water. “Get your attention? Trevor, I don’t even know you.”
“Yeah, right. And all those signals you’ve been sending me on campus? You do that to everyone you don’t know?”
“Signals? Okay, look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You obviously have crazy ideas about—”
“I’m not crazy,” he says, suddenly seething, and I realize my mistake a little too late.
“I didn’t say you were.” I try to backtrack quickly. “I was talking about this idea you have of me being into you or whatever. That’s what’s crazy, Trevor.”
“No, the only crazy thing is you denying it. Things would be so much better if you just, you know, admit that you love me.” He lowers his voice on this last part, glancing around to see if anyone’s within earshot.
There are a few people who are, but there’s also this general hum of conversation that makes it virtually impossible to eavesdrop, even if they wanted to.
“There’s nothing to admit because I don’t love you.” My irritation threshold has been reached.
I’m so done with this guy. I have to leave. This thing is beginning to look like it’s on the verge of escalating to a point outside of my control, and I don’t like it.
The hand he’s been using to absently stroke the drops of condensation on his beer now clenches into a tight fist. His lips are drawn tight into a thin line. I’ve upset him.
“I don’t mean to offend you or anything,” I say, playing nice with my stalker. As one does. “I just don’t feel like we have a connection. I’m sure you’re a nice guy, and that plenty of girls would love the—”
My train of thought has come off the rails for some reason, and I find myself lost. What the hell? It’s like there’s hair on my tongue and balls of cotton wool in my head.
And Trevor’s got this creepy grin on his face as he watches me fight to keep my shit together.
“Feeling okay, Emily?”
Crap. I think I’ve been drugged.
“Trevor, what did you do?” My words begin to slur.
“You should really check the glass before using it, Emily,” he says. “People do all kinds of weird shit these days.”
He laughs that cold, bitter laugh and I feel my head getting heavy. Far too heavy for my neck. Trevor swims out of focus in front of me, and I blink to bring him back. It doesn’t work, and that stupid grin is the last thing I see before everything goes black.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Peter
“Anything?”
Ross shakes his head.
I beat the desk with my fist and kick my chair so that it goes rolling across the room. The team stops what they’re doing to witness my mini-tantrum. “We’re not losing enough time, is that it? You think you’re going to find her faster if you look at me?”
They take the not-so-subtle hint and all turn back to their tasks at the same time.
It’s been twenty-four hours. Emily won’t be considered officially missing until the forty-eighth. So, my office has become the ad hoc headquarters for the search in the meantime, and I’ve crammed my entire team inside.
With each of us assigned to an area of the case, we’re bound to find something. We have to. There’s no other option to get Emily and our baby home in one piece. God, the thought of something happening to her makes me physically sick. Having the work to focus on is saving my life right now.
Denise appears in the doorway. “Chief, I’ve gotten through to Mrs. McAfee. Line two.”
Trish. Finally. I lunge over to my desk and grab the phone. I punch the button that answers the second line.
“Trish, thanks for taking my call,” I say, a little out of breath.
“Thank your assistant for hounding me so much it didn’t leave me any other choice.”
The aggravation in her voice sets me even more on edge. But I have to ignore it for now and just push through.
“Listen, there’s a really urgent matter we’re dealing with or I wouldn’t have bothered you.”
“Can we skip the apologies and get straight to the point, please?”
I take a breath to steel myself. I didn’t really think about the implications of this call. I’m about to tell this woman her daughter’s been taken by a stalker I failed to apprehend. I send up a silent prayer and bite the bullet. “Have you seen or spoken to Emily at all over the past couple days?”
The other end of the line is dead quiet. The silence reaches through the earpiece, seeps down my throat, and strangles my heart.
“What the hell is going on, Peter?” she asks eventually. “What’s happened to Emily?”
And as much of a pain as the woman is sometimes, the love and concern for her daughter is painfully obvious in her voice, I have to grant her that.
“We’re looking for her, Trish. She’s been missing since yesterday.”
“Yesterday? And this is when you decide to tell me about it?”
“I’m—it’s still early days. She went out last night and there was no reason to be concerned.”
Even as I’m saying the words, they sound stupid and empty. Making me feel stupid and empty.
“And where the hell were you through all of this?”
“Look, there’s no time to go through all this with you. I just need to know if you’ve had any contact with—”
“No,” she says. “The last time I saw my daughter she was telling me how great you are. I guess the joke’s on her now, isn’t it?”
I bring my teeth down on the inside of my cheek, biting until the taste of my own blood hits my tongue. I have to keep calm. I can’t let her get to me, not now.
“I love your daughter with everything in me,” I say, my voice trembling. I’m aware that the rest of my team is only pretending to be consumed by their tasks, but I don’t care. “And I’m doing everything I can, using every available resource, to find her.”
There’s a pause, and I can hear Trish breathing. When next she speaks, her tone is softer. “Do you have any idea what happened?”
I shake my head even though I know she can’t see me do it. “It’s a long story that I don’t have the time to get into right now. I will, just not now. Now I need to focus on getting Emily home.”
“Well, from what I hear, you’re the man to do it,” she says.
It’s a small thing, but to me, in this moment, Trish McAfee couldn’t have given me a bigger nod of approval. Silver linings, they say.
“Thank you, Trish.”
“Let me know if you hear anything.”
“Of course. Bye.”
A hoarse scream fills the office just as I put down the phone. It’s the sound of a voice that hasn’t been used for too long, and then is suddenly overworked.
I spin around to see Ross has assumed a power stance, waving a sheet of paper in the air. His face is a mixture of relief, exhaustion, and victory.
“For the love of all that is holy, Ross, spill it!”
He grabs another printout from a pile on the chair in the corner and comes over to me. “Look,” he says, holding
the two pieces of paper side by side.
“I’m looking. Tell me what it is I’m looking at.”
His excitement is making the air around him vibrate, and it’s feeding into me as well. For years I’ve trusted his judgement, and I would trust him with my life. Emily’s life. So if Ross is amped about something, I know it’s going to be worth my attention.
He shakes the one page. “This is the mechanic’s inventory list from the cars in his yard. It was part of all the stuff the team pulled while they were out there.”
“Got it.”
Waving the second page, Ross says, “This is the inventory our guys took of the yard on the last day they were there. And look.”
The anticipation and uncertainty are not mixing well with me. I need him to get to the point already. “Ross, they look like the same goddamn thing. Tell me what I’m not seeing.”
By this time, the whole rest of the team has gathered around us, just as curious to find out what Ross is on about.
He stands back so that he can see us all. “Here,” he says, holding up the mechanic’s list, “we have a complete list of vehicles on the mechanic’s property. And here—” He holds up the other one. “Here’s the list you guys made. It’s exactly the same as the mechanic’s list. Except one vehicle is missing on ours. Guess which one?”
It clicks immediately. And of course it makes total sense now that I think about it.
The words fall out of my mouth in an astounded breath, “Holy shit, it’s the Ford pickup.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Emily
When I come to my senses, it’s the smell that hits me first. It’s rank and dizzying, and made all the worse by my contribution to it. I don’t know how long I’ve been unconscious, but judging by the way my body feels, I know it has to have been at least seven hours.
Still dizzy, I pull myself up to sit, the cable ties cutting deeper into my already burning wrists. I’m strapped around a beam or something. I lean my head against it. It feels two sizes bigger. Like it’s been stepped on by an overweight elephant. And I can tell from the way my jeans are especially clingy around my thighs that I’ve wet myself.
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