Muttering a thanks, I jogged down the jetway.
The gate agent must have warned the flight attendant I was coming because the second I ducked my head and stepped on board, he stopped me with a polite smile. “We’re about to taxi out. If you’re quick, I have vacant seat in first class. Three B.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it.” And I did. The leg room in first class was double that in coach.
The flight attendant nodded. I stowed my bag, took my seat, and a few minutes later we were taxiing toward the runway.
Glancing at my watch, I leaned my head back and exhaled.
Two and a half hours flight time, half an hour to grab a rental and another twenty minutes to get to the house would put me at twenty-one hundred hours.
I hadn’t warned her I was coming tonight. In fact, I hadn’t texted her once in six days. If I wasn’t dead on my feet, I maybe would’ve thought twice about it, but ten minutes after takeoff, I was out. My next recollection was the seat belt warning ding going off and the captain telling the flight attendants to prepare for landing.
I glanced out the window at the sparkling lights of Miami proper below us and the ocean in the distance. Then, for just a single moment, I allowed the thoughts I kept buried deep to surface.
Me, Emmy, the house she’d grown up in—a house that felt more like a home than anywhere I’d ever listed as my address—and the end of my current deployment. I never allowed myself to think that far in the future, let alone about her in that light.
Emmy.
The girl with the smile who was now a woman with grief.
Ten days ago, I was ready to re-up. Ten days ago, I wasn’t thinking about the best fucking kiss I’d ever had or the soft curves on a barely legal woman who was all but my sister.
Ten days ago, my best friend was alive.
A wave of guilt hit.
Then, like a selfish prick, I rationalized it.
Billy had told me to take care of her. What better way than to be with her? I could get out, get a civilian job, make house, be there for her every day. I didn’t know what the fuck I’d do, but I had contacts and skills. I’d figure something out.
The main thing was that I would be there for her.
And I wouldn’t have to see that look of despair in her eyes ever again when I walked out the fucking door.
By the time the plane had taxied to the gate, I’d convinced myself that she wasn’t too young, that I wasn’t a complete dick and it was a viable plan despite shit timing. I had a week of leave. We’d lay Billy to rest tomorrow, and I’d hold her until her tears eased. Then I’d give her a few days before persuading her to give me a chance.
More convinced by the second that life was finally throwing me and her a bone, I breezed through the terminal, grabbed a rental and sped toward the house.
On edge with nerves I never got, not even on the worst missions, I shoved down grief for the loss of my best friend and pulled into the driveway.
Checking the time on the clock on the rental’s dash, I frowned at the dark house with no cars in front. Maybe she was asleep at twenty-one hundred hours, but I’d never known her to turn in early, not even when she was a kid. She used to say she wanted to stay up as late as me and her brother. It drove Billy mad, but I’d never minded.
Grabbing my bag and pocketing the keys to the rental, I strode to the front door, but before I knocked, I noticed the drawn curtains on all the downstairs windows facing the street.
Instinct catching my nerves, I glanced at the windows again, then knocked.
Nothing.
Turning, I scanned the street, but everything looked like it always did.
Debating whether I should text her, I knocked again.
After another thirty seconds of no sounds coming from inside the house, I grabbed the spare key hidden in a fake rock in one of the front planters and let myself in.
The second I pushed the door open, my earlier instinct turned into alarm and hit me square in the chest.
Still air, faint scent of mildew and deafening silence.
My hand went to my empty hip for a weapon I didn’t have on me.
“Emmy?” I reached for the light switch near the front door that turned on the lamp that was older than me.
Nothing.
Dropping my bag, training my eyes to adjust to the dark, I moved toward the short hall next to the staircase and swept my hand across the original plaster, aiming for the light switch I knew was near. My hand connected, the hall light kicked on and I strode back toward the living room.
Then I stopped dead in my tracks.
Every piece of furniture was covered in sheets.
Whipping out my cell, I couldn’t dial her number fast enough.
My heart racing, adrenaline pumping, I waited for the call to go through, but it never did. Three tones and a recording told me the number was no longer in service.
Anger surged with fear, and I was rushing to the kitchen to the piece of paper next to the house phone.
I dialed Mrs. Jansen.
Five rings later, a tired-sounding elderly woman answered. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Jansen, this is Adam Trefor.”
“Hello, dear. I am assuming you’re calling because you’re in town?”
Biting down my frustration, I spoke with a feigned calmness. “Where’s Maila, Mrs. Jansen?”
The old lady inhaled deeply. “I do believe she left you a note, dear. She said you would know where it is.”
What the fuck? “She’s gone?”
“I believe so, dear. She said I didn’t need to sit with her until you came back because she had something to do.”
“Where did she go?” I demanded.
“She didn’t say, and to be honest, I was a little concerned.” She cleared her throat then her voice turned thick with unshed emotion. “Considering the circumstances… with Billy, with everything.” She paused then inhaled again. “She just seemed a little too calm. That child has been through so much.” Sniffling, her breath hitched. “I’m so sorry, dear, I know you don’t need me crying on you. Please, find the note. That’s the message she said she wanted me to pass along to you in case you called.”
Anger coursed through my veins. “Her brother’s funeral is tomorrow.”
Deep sorrow laced the old woman’s next words. “I know, dear. I know.”
Nostrils flaring, directing all my frustration at a reckless eighteen-year-old instead of at myself, I snapped out a command to an elderly woman who didn’t deserve my wrath. “Get a pen, Mrs. Jansen, and write this number down.”
“Yes, dear. Hang on.” She set the phone down and, a long moment later, picked it back up. “Okay, I’m ready.”
I recited my cell phone number. “You call me immediately if she gets in touch with you.” I scanned the kitchen, looking for a damn note.
“I will. Would you like me to ask her to call you? I can give her the number.”
“She has the number.” She fucking left. Without telling me. “I have to go, Mrs. Jansen. Let me know the second you hear from her.”
The old woman sighed tiredly. “I’m not one to run my mouth, dear, and I certainly don’t put myself in other people’s business. You know this, but we’ve known each other now since you started coming around the Nilsens when you were still growing into those big dreams of yours, so I feel like I can say this to you.” She took a steadying breath. “That sweet girl has had puppy dog eyes for you since the moment you walked into her life. I saw it. Her father saw it, and her brother saw it. We all knew. But what I saw was the way you looked at her too. You were too old for her back then, but she’s not a child anymore.”