The Girl in Dangerous Waters (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 8)

by A J Rivers

  Three weeks into March, the warmth is creeping up a little more every day. I still haven't quite packed away my winter clothes, but most days, a sweatshirt thrown over my t-shirt and jeans is enough. A pair of thick socks keeps a lingering chill off my toes as I reluctantly kiss Sam goodbye in the early hours of the morning. He's working a special event all weekend, which means his hours not on duty are going to be extremely slim. If I know him as well as I'm sure I do, he's going to be catching what little fragments of sleep are available to him either on a cot in the back of the station or curled under a blanket in his squad car when he doesn't have the time to get all the way there. That means I'm not going to see him until Monday.

  But I won’t be alone. I'm taking advantage of the days the best I can by having Bellamy visit for the weekend. It's been months since we've spent more than a couple of hours together. After her participation in Jonah’s and Anson’s apprehensions came to light, she got even busier at work. The Bureau always underestimated her a little. Now that they understand how valuable she is, they are putting her on more cases and getting her more involved. She says she wants nothing to do with being an agent. She doesn’t want to go out into the field on a regular basis and definitely wants nothing to do with going undercover. But her consultant work is plenty to keep her constantly busy. I'm looking forward to some quality time with my best friend, even if I am already feeling a little sniffly over Sam’s leaving.

  I must still have that look on my face an hour later when Bellamy pulls up into the driveway. I'm outside waiting for her on my porch glider, wrapped up in a blanket and holding a mug of hot tea. She hops out of her car, looking excited, but as soon as she and her three overly stuffed duffel bags make it halfway up the sidewalk, her expression changes.

  “Are you seriously pouting?” she asks.

  “I am not pouting,” I protest.

  “Yes you are,” she argues. “There is absolute pouting going on in this area.”

  She circles one fingertip around her eyes.

  “I'm not pouting,” I repeat.

  “What happened to the Emma Griffin, kick ass, independent woman who didn't need a man in her life? All of a sudden, your boyfriend is gone for a couple of days, and you get all weepy over it?”

  “I can still kick ass and be independent and also be in love with a man I happen to miss when he's not around. A very important authority taught me that,” I fire back.

  “Who's that?” she asks.

  “Disney,” I tell her.

  Bellamy laughs.

  “Alright, I'll give you that. As long as you don't suddenly start bursting into song, we'll be fine. Actually, no. You can definitely burst into song, but you have to teach me the choreography first. I don't want to be left out of anything.”

  I stand up with a grin and pull her into a hug.

  “I promise I won't leave you out,” I tell her. “I'm glad you're here.”

  “Me, too,” she smiles. “We are long past due for a girls' night. Three of them in a row should start to lessen the deficit. Let's get inside.”

  Tilting my head to the side, I look at the bags in her hands.

  “Is that all you packed?” I ask.

  “I can never be too prepared,” Bellamy says. “A very important authority taught me that, too.”

  “Girl Scouts?”

  “Phyllis Nefler.”

  Laughing again, I wrap my arm around her shoulders and lead her inside. When she has unpacked everything in the guest room, Bellamy comes back into the kitchen.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask. “That was a long drive for you to do so early in the morning. Did you have breakfast?”

  “Not yet. I didn't know what kind of debauchery we had planned for the weekend, and didn't want to spoil my appetite,” she answers.

  “How does cinnamon rolls sound for debauchery?” I offer.

  “Talk doughy to me,” she sasses.

  “Perfect,” I tell her. “I'll make up a batch, and we can swing some by the station for Sam’s.”

  Bellamy shakes her head adamantly.

  “Nope,” she says. “No men. You get to have phone calls and text messages, but that's it. I came down here under the promise of a weekend without boys, bras, or bad guys, and I'm holding you to it.”

  "I don't think we ever discussed the whole bralessness thing," I point out.

  “It's understood,” Bellamy insists.

  “Fair enough,” I shrug. “I will make a double batch, but I will put his in the freezer to bake them for him next week.”

  “Now we're talking,” she says. “How about dinner? If we're going to really be serious about the sheer volume of gossiping and celebrity trash talk we're going to be doing over at the next three days, we need to be properly fueled for the challenge.”

  “We are two highly educated, self-sufficient women who have had impressive careers in the FBI, aided in the dismantling of terrorist groups and organized crime, and taken down serial killers. And what you want to do is spend our weekend together gossiping and talking trash about the highly fabricated lives of celebrities?” I ask.

  “Absolutely,” she replies with a glint in her eye.

  “As long as we're on the same page,” I agree. “What sounds good to you for dinner?”

  “Let's revisit college,” she suggests. “Like we used to when we were studying. We'll get a bunch of appetizers and snack foods and just spread them out to munch on all day and night.”

  “That sounds amazing,” I grin. I walk back into the living room and get my bag. Digging in it, I pull out my wallet and hand her my customer rewards card for the grocery store along with some cash. “While I make the cinnamon rolls, you go up to the grocery store and stock up on everything we could possibly need.”

  She starts towards the door, but then turns back to me, holding up the card.

  “Wait, doesn't everybody in Mayberry here know who you are? Is anybody going to give me any trouble over trying to use your customer card?” she asks.

  I laugh.

  “It's not quite that bad. But if you want to make sure next week's community newspaper isn't emblazoned with a headline about an FBI consultant getting hassled at the grocery store for identity fraud, go through the line with the young dark-haired man named Gabriel. Tell him you are my best friend, and I sent you,” I tell her.

  Bellamy looks at me suspiciously.

  "Is this some sort of elaborate attempt at fixing me up with someone? You have your sights set on getting me paired off with some cute, sweet guy from around here, so I'll move to your sleepy little town and start popping out babies?" she asks.

  I blink at her a couple of times.

  “Well, Gabriel is about twenty-three, so he is a baby, and he's here taking care of his sick grandma, so... no.”

  “Damn. That would have been nice,” Bellamy says. She looks over at me and grins. “Oh well. You know I love all that hustle and bustle and grime back in D.C. I'll get by.”

  “Good to know,” I tell her.

  Bellamy flashes me another smile and heads out on her grocery mission. She seems perfectly content, but I can't help but wonder if there was more to that joke than she is really putting on. Last year I was absolutely positive she and Eric were on the slope toward being together. I developed my close friendships with both of them separately, and for many years the two of them only really tolerated each other for my sake. Their personalities clashed, they annoyed each other professionally, and for the most part, were very poor candidates for occupying the same space.

  But that all started to shift when Greg went missing. They didn't run into each other's arms or instantly bury the hatchet. It was more of a begrudging alliance, so we could all support each other.

  Bellamy was never very close to Greg, but Eric was good enough friends to be Greg's emergency contact. It was when I was sent to Feathered Nest on my first undercover assignment after six months of desk duty that they really started communicating. They helped me with all the crazy twists and turns
in my life over the last couple of years, gradually drifting closer. Honestly, it seemed a relationship was inevitable.

  But something happened after Jonah and Anson were arrested, and Greg was murdered. Now it seems that brush with a potential future has my best friend longing for something more.

  Chapter Eight

  The cinnamon rolls have the whole house smelling delicious. I'm just drizzling the tops with cream cheese icing when the front door bursts open, and Bellamy comes rushing back inside. Her eyes are wide and her face flush with color.

  “What is it?” I ask. “What's wrong?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Nothing is wrong. You won't believe what just happened,” she says, sounding excited.

  “You found a cute, sweet guy to sweep you off your feet so you can come be my neighbor?” I tease.

  She shakes her head again.

  “No,” she says.

  “You discovered a new flavor of bagel pizzas we've never had before?”

  “No,” she says, shaking her head again, a grin stretching from ear to ear.

  “B, if you keep shaking your head like that, it might fall off. Just tell me what's going on.”

  “You won,” she tells me.

  I stare at her, waiting for her to continue, but she just keeps looking at me with bright eyes and an open mouth.

  “Yeah,” I say after a few silent seconds. “I'm definitely going to need more than that.”

  “You won the big sweepstakes,” she clarifies.

  “And I'm going to need a little bit more than that, too,” I raise an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

  She lets out a sigh of exasperation and sets the several grocery bags she’s holding in each hand down on the kitchen floor. Digging in her jacket pocket, she pulls out an envelope and holds it out to me.

  “The sweepstakes at the grocery store,” she explains. “It's been going on for a few weeks, and you are the big winner.”

  “I didn't even know there was a sweepstake going on at the grocery store,” I frown. “What happened?”

  “I went to the store and picked out everything we could possibly want to eat, just like you said. Then I went and found the register line Gabriel was running. I told him I was there for you. You're right, he's a really nice guy and was perfectly happy to accept the card from me. I swiped it, and he got all excited and told me you won the sweepstakes. The manager came out and gave me this envelope to give you. It has all the information about your prize.”

  “What is it?” I ask, taking the envelope and examining it.

  “You’re not gonna believe it,” she says with a little too much mirth in her eyes. “It’s an incredible prize.”

  “What? A couple of free tickets to the county fair?” I set to work, opening the flaps of the envelope.

  “No. Think bigger.”

  “I don’t know, B. One of those cash gift cards for some high amount?”

  “Even bigger!”

  I let out an exasperated sigh and finally get the envelope open. “Just tell me what it is.”

  “A week-long all-expense-paid vacation for three to an exclusive island resort!”

  “What?”

  I pull the paper out of the envelope and read the words. My mouth falls open in shock. It’s just as Bellamy said. A perfect getaway to a remote island hideaway in the Caribbean. Windsor Palms Resort, the finest in luxury and convenience, nestled on the idyllic island of Windsor Island.

  “Seriously?” I ask. “That's a pretty impressive prize for a sweepstakes I didn't even know was going on.”

  I start toward the front door of the house, and she calls after me.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Up to the grocery store. I need to talk to them about this,” I tell her.

  Bellamy distinctly pouts the entire way to the store, obviously wanting me to share in her jubilant excitement. But something seems strange about this. I need to talk to the manager and find out exactly what it is I won. The last thing I need right about now is getting roped into a timeshare presentation at chez hotel, teetering on a tiny patch of land just enough in the water to be technically considered an island.

  When we get to the grocery store, I go straight to Gabriel's line. He grins at me as he sees me approach.

  “Congratulations, Emma!” he gushes. “I'm so excited for you.”

  “Gabriel, I don't understand what's going on. What sweepstakes are we talking about?”

  “The one for customer loyalty cardholders,” he explains. “There's been an information flyer up on the bulletin board at the front of the store for the last few weeks. Didn't you notice it?”

  “I don't really pay attention to bulletin boards that much,” I tell him.

  “Let me call Gretchen,” he says. “She can explain the whole thing to you.”

  He puts in a call to the store manager, and a few moments later, she comes down from the office. Dressed in gray slacks and a purple sweater with her salt and pepper hair styled in a neat bob, she looks elegant and confident. Her stride is one of authority and ease in her position. Even if I didn't remember her working at the store from the time I was a child, just the way she holds herself would tell me she was in charge.

  “Hello, Emma,” she says as she approaches. “What can I do for you today?”

  “It's actually about the sweepstakes,” I say.

  “Ah, yes,” she nods. “I hear you are our lucky winner. That's very exciting. But I thought you had all the information you needed. I gave the information with the prize details to your friend since she was the one who was using your customer card at the time.”

  “Yes, she gave it to me,” I tell her. “But I don't really understand how I won something I didn't enter.”

  “Nobody needed to enter,” she explains. “The Windsor Palms Resort sponsored the prize. It’s on a beautiful private island in the Caribbean. Everyone with a customer loyalty card was automatically entered.”

  “Alright, but how did I win?” I ask.

  “The contest was designed so that the winner would be selected randomly. The more you shopped, the higher your chances. It was set up so the winner would be selected sometime this week and you had a lucky day. Congratulations. Enjoy your trip!”

  She smiles at me and walks away, headed for the cash register at the end of the row, where a teenage girl stares frantically at the register and waves for help.

  “Satisfied?” Bellamy asks. “Can you just be excited now?”

  I look down at the papers in my hand again. After the kind of luck I've had over the last couple of years, maybe I am due for a shift in the tides.

  Sam agrees when I call him as soon as we get back to the house. Bellamy is placated by a still-warm cinnamon roll. I bring the phone outside to try to coax some more heat out of the sunlight while I talk to him.

  “It'll be great for you,” he says. “You absolutely deserve some relaxation.”

  “I feel like all I've been doing is relaxing,” I tell him.

  “Staying home is not the same thing as relaxing,” he insists. “It will do you a world of good to get out of your routine and get into some new surroundings for a while. No Bureau work. No police work. Doesn't a dose of hot weather and lounging around by the ocean sound amazing to you?”

  “It does,” I tell him. “Especially since it's seeming like summer is going to take its sweet time getting here this year.”

  “I keep trying to tell you summer does not start in March,” Sam replies with a laugh. “You would think after as much time as you spent in Sherwood, you'd remember that.”

  “My heart may be here, but my internal calendar is perpetually in Florida,” I tell him.

  “Then your internal calendar will be very happy with this trip. I only wish I could be there with you,” he sighs.

  “Wait; what? What do you mean you wish you could be there with me? Of course you'll be there,” I say.

  “I can't, Emma,” he says.

  “Why can't
you?” Sadness creeps into my voice. I don’t hide it.

  “You said the dates for the trip are in two weeks,” he points out.

  “Yeah, the information says the trip is specifically for some festival that happens on the island. That's why they did the sweepstakes. Two weeks should be enough time to get ready for a vacation,” I say.

  “Not for me,” he says. “My schedule is absolutely packed. This new investigation we just got into is really complicated. As much as I want to think it's going to be resolved in a couple of weeks, I can't guarantee that. Besides, we have our big trip planned for the holidays this year. If I'm going to have the vacation time to do that, I can't use any now. You have the time, and as much as I hate the idea of you being gone for a week and not being able to enjoy seeing you stretched out on the beach in your bathing suit, I really feel like you shouldn't waste this opportunity. You don't have to go alone. The trip is for three, right?”

  “Yes,” I confirm.

  “Perfect. Invite Eric and Bellamy. The three of you haven't really spent any quality time together in months. And when was the last time you went anywhere together like this?” he asks.

  “Never,” I tell him.

  “There you go. Take this as an opportunity to relax, give your brain a rest, and reconnect with your best friends. I love you. I've got to go.”

  Bellamy is gradually unraveling a cinnamon roll still in the pan when I get back into the kitchen. That's her signature technique. According to her, it only counts as eating a cinnamon roll if you have removed it from the pan. Anything else is just nibbling. That way she can eat her first cinnamon roll, but as long as the other one doesn't come out of the pan intact before she eats it, she doesn't have to cop to multiple rolls.

  “What did he say?” she asks.

  “He thinks it sounds like a really great idea for me,” I say.

  “It is,” she agrees. “You need the time away.”