Last Chance (Emma Last FBI Mystery Series Book 4), page 17
“I heard…” He trailed off, shook himself, then focused his eyes out the window before continuing. “I heard the howling of a wolf. It woke me up. And I felt like something very bad was going to happen if I didn’t go outside.”
He stopped there, but Emma could only stare, putting the pieces of the night together as best she could. They were both being woken up by wolves. And her wolf—the Wolf, as she was thinking of him now, the one who’d come to her bedroom and aimed to rip her throat out—had tried to kill her. Maybe not for the first time, in fact.
And, somehow, Leo had known. He’d stopped the Wolf.
When she couldn’t.
27
Leo stirred his coffee, wondering how many sugars he’d accidentally poured in. But the brew tasted sweet as sin. He’d twice forgotten he’d already added sugar while standing at the counter, chitchatting about absolutely nothing with his colleagues.
Nothing, because that was about all his brain could accommodate right now.
He’d barely slept a wink after that incident with Emma out on the deck, which had happened around one in the morning.
Since the incident with the wolf and that damn howling.
Instead of finding any rest in dreams, he’d lain awake, anticipating the slightest creak of a floorboard to suggest that she or anyone else on their team was being lured outside. Although, he’d mostly been listening for Emma’s door. Things hadn’t been right with her lately, and last night proved it.
They’d been like toddlers, it occurred to him now. Each of them refusing to be truthful with the other. Emma had asked him for more when he mentioned the wolf’s howl. But he’d held back.
For good reason. She’d think I’m crazy if I told her what I’ve been experiencing.
He’d have to at some point, though. And it wasn’t as if Emma could excuse her own actions last night. Nothing she could say would make him forget the sight of her standing up on that rail, leaning into the wind and the dark like a fucking hood ornament.
Forgetting that sight wouldn’t have let him sleep even if she’d been tied to her bed and locked in a room without a window.
Maybe if he was lucky, he’d gotten three or four hours of sleep all night, but he hadn’t dozed off again until the sun had begun rising, his alarm blaring far too soon after that. He’d managed to drag himself into a shower and put on a mask of competence to get himself back to the Randall County Police Station and the blasted conference table, but his mind still whirled with what could’ve happened.
The terror of how things might’ve gone if Emma had started sleepwalking again without him there to stop her—it overwhelmed him, souring the small bit of breakfast he’d forced down.
That is what she was doing, right? It had to be. Sleepwalking’s the only explanation.
Jacinda didn’t wait for Leo’s subconscious to catch up with his waking brain before clapping for their attention. “As you all have probably guessed by now, nothing blew up while we slept, so at the very least, it’s been a peaceful night.”
Leo couldn’t help raising his gaze to meet Emma’s where she sat across the table, but he looked away when she blushed and peered back at her own coffee.
Peaceful, my ass.
“We have reinforcements from the state cops coming in to relieve the officers who were on stakeout duty overnight.” Jacinda tapped at her iPad, then began changing the names of officers assigned to the various stakeout locations on the whiteboard. “This is where we have people now, but all of us know these aren’t definite targets, so we need to move on this case before something forces us to react rather than act. Assuming they’re still alive, the kidnapped victims are likely running out of time. We all know the stats, people.”
Leo pulled up a map of the area on his iPad as he sipped his sickly sweet coffee and listened to the chatter around him. So much of the map was forested ground, their unsub could be hiding anywhere. Where that left them, he wasn’t sure.
As Jacinda wrapped up her notes and told everyone to keep her updated on what leads they were following, Emma leaned sideways to whisper something to Mia. In a few seconds’ time, Mia’s eyes went wide before she managed to check her expression and flatten it.
But he’d seen it. And now, Mia was already rising to follow Emma out of the conference room, over toward the mostly abandoned hallway that led to interview rooms.
Leo downed his coffee. And, although Denae raised an eyebrow at him, he forced a grin and jiggled the empty cup for her benefit. “Quick refill, and then back at it.”
“Okay, Scruffy, you do you, but don’t be vibrating with caffeine when it comes time to handcuff someone.”
“Like you’re one to talk.” The joke left his lips lightly, and she chuckled, but he was already up from the table and moving to follow Emma and Mia.
Standing around the corner from the hall, Leo made a show of leaning on the wall and pulling out his phone. Blankly, he stared down at his weather app as he listened in.
“She was outside Dellington’s pizza place. Angry as hell, and she let me know it. I think the pizzeria may be significant somehow.” Emma paused, and Mia said something quiet enough that Leo couldn’t quite make it out, to which Emma grumbled her own unintelligible response.
What the hell? Why wouldn’t Emma have told me that when I picked her up after seeing Munn?
The app blurred before Leo’s eyes, all his focus on his colleagues and on his memory of the day before. He couldn’t recall seeing any angry woman outside the pizza place—or anywhere else in Dellington for that matter—but why would Emma have kept that to herself, only to share it with Mia now? And why not inform the rest of the team?
His gut had been screaming for a while now that Emma knew things she wasn’t telling them, but had he really believed those pieces of information were case-related? The sting in his chest told him he hadn’t, not truly. She seemed a consummate professional, someone he could trust with cases and to have his back.
But if she was hiding information that could lead to their unsub…
No. She’s not.
His gut tightened with resolve. The howling wolf from last night, and wolves in general, might be getting to him, but he could trust Emma. The last three cases had proven that much. There was something else going on here. For now, he’d trust her. But his ability to keep his curiosity in check and his mouth shut was weakening with every case.
Sooner rather than later, she was going to have to answer his questions.
28
I hadn’t planned on stopping by the old place. The very idea had sounded too painful, seeing Leonardo’s Pies emblazoned on the placard that had once read R&A’s Grill. But then I’d woken up that morning stiff with snot and tears and blood all over and with a burning desire to see the place.
Just once more anyway.
Leonardo’s Pies. Cheesy, compared to what this restaurant used to be. Ha.
Dellington’s main street hadn’t changed much over the last decade, though. The Chinese takeout joint and ice cream parlor had been there for decades, and a new dry cleaner sat at the end of the block where I’d once bought sneakers, but that was about it. The buildings hadn’t been updated, and if I hadn’t remembered those few businesses that’d been switched out, I could’ve been striding along on any snowy day from my high school years.
But things had changed, of course. For Dad, and me, and R&A’s.
Hell, I wasn’t even recognizable compared to my old self.
The old storefront really hadn’t changed much though, making my memories almost feel like reality. Like R&A’s was still in operation.
Almost like Dad’s still alive.
I’d just have to walk through the door, and he’d be there, behind the grill, flipping patties and dropping fries into the fat.
He’d call out, “Hey, Ruthie!” like he always would, and…
But Dad wasn’t alive, and R&A’s wasn’t here any longer. It had been replaced by a pizza joint. They’d painted the door and brickwork in a pattern of red, green, and white as a nod to Italy. But the building was otherwise mostly unchanged from when me and Dad had run the place. Back then, the decor had been blue and green and white. Mountain-esque.
That had been Dad’s idea. He’d wanted the comforts of a home-cooked meal to be served up alongside colors that would remind people why they loved our region. He certainly had.
I thought I’d feel that love at his graveside, with a view of the mountains. And there was nothing. No emotion, no color, just endless white snow. A blanketlike grief.
Truly, Dad’s grave had seemed as cold as this very West Virginia February, but maybe I’d be able to sense his warmth inside this building where we’d spent so many happy hours. The endeavor had seemed worth a trip out into the cold, anyway, and now here I was. Away from, well, away from what amounted to all my problems at the moment.
Gazing at the menu taped into the window along with a few newspaper reviews, I read over the accolades and options. I didn’t exactly consider myself a pizza aficionado, but the community I called home now had some decent options, and this place looked to be on par with those businesses.
To start, I’d noticed that morning that Leonardo’s Pies had a website boasting the best breakfast pizza in West Virginia, and I’d barely even known breakfast pizzas existed. I figured maybe I’d give one a try, assuming I didn’t lose my appetite altogether upon smelling it. Eggs and pizza seemed like a nightmare.
Ridiculous as the fare sounded, though, I couldn’t help but be glad about the differences from our old menu. I didn’t think I could’ve handled the place being a burger joint like R&A’s. Sometimes when I slept, I still dreamed of our old onion rings and burgers, slathered in seasoning and ketchup. If I’d walked into a sight or a smell like that, I’d have had to walk right back out.
And just like the smells, the inside of the pizzeria couldn’t have been more different from what I’d remembered. Even the corner table had been replaced by a big circular booth. Which was a good thing, I told myself.
Instead of seeing my old haunt with West Virginia history in the walls, I took in the maps of Italy, smiling celebrities whom I doubted had ever stepped foot in the place, and memorabilia devoted to West Virginia sports teams.
Inside, I unbuttoned my old sweater immediately. Because my winter coat was spattered with Morty’s blood, I’d had to resort to layering myself against the cold, and I’d been freezing for most of the morning. Leonardo’s Pies was warm, though, despite the mostly empty dining room.
A few brave souls had made it out for breakfast, but not many. Surprisingly, the smell of bacon and potatoes actually made my mouth water. By the time a cheery little teenage server appeared at the host stand, I’d almost forgotten where I stood.
Almost.
Her name tag read, Isabella.
“Welcome to Leonardo’s Pies. Party of one?” She grinned at me, showing off blue-and-green braces. What a choice.
“Right, just me.” I steeled myself for judgment but saw none. The girl, who couldn’t be out of high school, appeared young and perky enough to not know what it meant to eat alone. She only grinned and led me off to a little booth in the corner closest to the front windows.
As I followed her, I wondered if she was working today instead of at school because of a snow day from the storm. That’d happened to me a few times too.
When the server disappeared to get some water, I took my time peering around. Three tables held customers, two already digging into twelve-inch pies that, to be fair, smelled pretty damn delicious. Red-checkered tablecloths set off the kitschy decor, but nothing else remained of R&A’s Grill from when Dad and I had owned the place. The colors were different, the decorations new. The place was another world from what I remembered.
But just as warm. Maybe a bit of my dad’s spirit lives here after all.
When Isabella bounced back, depositing an order of breadsticks on my table, I’d finally perused the menu and decided to bite the bullet. “I’ll take the bacon, egg, and cheese pizza for one, hash browns on the side.”
She gave me a little curtsy and bounced off, almost making me scoff. Talk about young and innocent.
Laughter drifted my way from the kitchen area behind the counter, and I watched a circle of dough fly upward, garnering a loud giggle. My dad would’ve loved that this place was still full of happiness. Jolly employees. Great atmosphere. And so fresh.
I broke a breadstick in half and took a bite, enjoying the whimsy of having lunch or dinner fare for breakfast. The stick was all garlic and butter, with just enough seasoning. My tongue practically zinged with the flavor, enough that I considered becoming a food critic instead of a photographer right there on the spot.
Huh. I actually feel pretty good about being here. Better than I have since I arrived in this blasted state.
Heaven help me, I was even beginning to look forward to my bacon, egg, and cheese pizza.
And then I saw them…the one thing I’d hoped desperately not to see.
My perky brunette server, little Isabella, with the god-awful braces was stacking carryout boxes by the kitchen window, and giving a much, much older man a loving pat on the back as he passed.
The garlic of the breadstick turned to ash on my tongue. I’d seen another older server and a delivery boy in the brief time I’d been waiting, but those two? That young server and older man in a chef’s apron? They spoke of a connection that went beyond employer and employee.
As the man swept by once again, heading for the older server typing up an order in the register, he almost knocked the girl’s carefully stacked boxes over. Instead of getting angry, she laughed and yelled after him, “Watch where you’re going, Dad! Seriously.”
No. Oh no, no, no, no.
The older server giggled and shrugged off the man as he hugged her from the side, whispering something into her ear. Her husband. Smiling her perfectly pink lips, she waved off her daughter. “Izzy, honey, you’re just going to have to accept that your father was born a clumsy man.”
“Not with pizza dough! Or you!” He cackled good-naturedly, and his daughter groaned in protest as I stiffened, my body going hard and angry from head to toe while I listened.
The woman at the register pointed her loud voice toward the kitchen. “Jake, take over those orders so your poor dad can take his morning coffee break!”
A family. A whole damn family.
My lips tingled, my brain shunting options back and forth in disbelief. A whole family ran this place. And while I’d thought nothing could hurt worse than seeing what I’d once had play out before my eyes, I’d been wrong. I’d never had this.
And witnessing what I’d never once had and barely even dared to dream of was twice as painful.
Unable even to see straight, I dropped the remains of my breadstick and fumbled myself up from the table, ignoring the clatter of my water glass as it fell to the floor and rolled, attracting eyes from every other table. Dimly, I heard Isabella call out to me as I headed for the door, but I didn’t turn back. I couldn’t.
Coming here had been a mistake, but I wouldn’t be the one to suffer for it.
No family deserved this much happiness, not by a long shot, and I’d see to it that this family understood that.
When I got to my car, I turned the radio up high, which my mom would never have allowed, and adjusted the heater as my dad’s favorite oldies station blared to life. Some things never changed, like the sound of the Four Seasons and the cold of West Virginia winters and tragedy.
Good ole tragedy.
Frankie Valli started singing “Book of Love,” but as I steered down the road, I could only think of my mother. My abusive, and thankfully, very dead mother. She’d never wanted a happy family. She’d instead ruled with an iron fist, terrorizing me and Dad until we couldn’t even remember what happiness was.
Tears stung my cheeks, and I swerved around a curve, narrowly missing a red pickup that honked at me. I hoped he loved Leonardo’s Pies, and I laughed out loud at the thought.
Dammit, I would’ve given anything for a happy family like what that family enjoyed. Anything. And that was all Dad had ever wanted too.
If Dad and I hadn’t gotten it, nobody else deserved it. I knew that just as far down in my belly as I knew the feeling of a mother’s angry fists.
But I’d make things right. I still had some supplies stored in the camper back on Dad’s old property. No way would I allow Isabella’s picture-perfect little family to carry on right where Dad and I had fought so hard for our dreams.
No. I’d blow their picture all to pieces. That was exactly what I’d do.
29
Collapsing into her chair at the conference table, Emma filled her lungs with sweat-stained air and tried for a minute of mindful breathing. Oren wouldn’t have been impressed with the lame attempt, as her mind kept right on spinning.
Speaking to Mia about the Dellington ghost had been a double-edged sword. On one hand, talking about the encounter meant Emma wasn’t living with it alone. On the other hand, Mia had looked so worried for her, Emma felt a smidge guilty as she attempted to settle down at her laptop. Her colleague was still coming to terms with the fact that Emma saw ghosts at all, and here Emma was, adding encounters to the fire.
But now there are two of us working on that woman’s identity. Can’t forget that.
Emma swallowed the guilt along with her quickly cooling coffee and considered the history of that building where Leonardo’s Pies sat. The ghost woman she’d seen—Mrs. Middle Finger, as she’d begun thinking of her—had been incredibly angry. Angry enough to hover outside a building and curse the air around it, even though she had the whole of the Other wide open to her.
And if Emma had learned one thing about the dead, it was that the ghosts who clung to a certain spot usually had good reason to do so. Sometimes, it was the scene of their death. Emma had seen circus performers haunting their big top. Or, sometimes, it was their community, like the ghosts in Little Clementine’s inn.
