Dick or not, I’m frustrated because I know I should hang back a little when it comes to Emerson. Wait until tomorrow or the next day to call. The fact that she’s with Motorcycle Boy is making me do crazy shit like pace the floor, flip through TV channels, check to see if Emerson’s on any social media sites.
She’s not.
It’s either call Emerson or drop by her place. Or both. I scroll through my contact list and find her number.
“Gabby? Are you okay?” Emerson’s voice has a tight, not-quite-right sound.
I wonder for a Nano-second about what she’s doing. It’s been two hours since I left her place and there’s no way she can still be with Motorcycle Boy at the coffee shop. “It’s Dylan.”
The second she tells me someone broke into her apartment, I’m in motion, grabbing my keys from the dresser and heading to the closet for my jacket.
I take a steadying breath and realize I’m shaky like when Mom called about Dad’s heart attack last year.
At the bottom of the stairs, I’m blocked by my roommate Jordy on his way up.
“Hey, where you off to?” He’s holding a box of pizza. The smell of cheese and sausage fills the air.
“Emerson’s.” What if she walks in to something at her place? I move to go around him.
“Really? Since when do you hang out with her?”
He steps aside and I continue to the door. My hands are clammy. How long will it take me to get to her place? Fifteen minutes? Ten if I floor it? “Since now. Somebody broke into her place.”
Jordy sets the pizza box on the coffee table. “I’ll grab my jacket.”
“I’m in a hurry.” My hand is on the doorknob and the last thing I want to do is wait for him.
“Right behind you,” he says, picking up his jacket from the chair.
We drive out to Emerson’s apartment and Jordy doesn’t ask how I know her address. Of my two roommates, Jordy is the talker. He’s not saying a word and the silence means he’s thinking.
I wait for whatever is filling his brain to spill out. Three. Two. One...
He clears his throat first. Ah hell. Here it comes. I glance over at Jordy.
“You messin' around with Emerson?” The headlights from an oncoming car cast light on his face. “I mean, you’re gonna say who you date is none of my business and I’m going to say you’re right.”
“True. It’s none of your business.” I look back at the road, hoping he’ll drop it. I speed up and pass a car. Maybe I should have Jordy call her. What if someone is still there and her sister didn’t realize it?
“But you’re wrong because Emerson is all our business. I gave her the job and I am responsible for her.”
“You should drop it.” I glance back across the dark interior.
Jordy looks at the ceiling of my car. He does this when he’s serious—which isn’t often—and he’s searching for just the right words, as if little thought bubbles hover above his head. “Why her? Of all the girls coming and going through your bedroom’s revolving door—”
I take offense at the revolving door jab, but I don’t have time to bring up his one-night stand record. We’re approaching Emerson’s street. “Why not?”
He shrugs. “Because she’s a lot more complicated than you think. She’s not going to go for a hook-up.”
“And just what’s that supposed to mean? You’re a mind reader now?”
“No.” He’s silent again, staring at the ceiling of the car. I don’t even have to turn his direction to sense it.
“You don’t know her any better than I do.” There’s a definite challenge in my tone. Jordy thinks he’s every girl’s best friend, champion, protector.
“I hired her, didn’t I?” Jordy looks out the window, hiding his expression and no longer searching for words.
I turn into the apartment complex, wondering if Jordy knew her exact address. Maybe this is what is really at stake here—his personal interest in Emerson that I’ve somehow missed.
I give a stiff nod. “So, you know her work history. The stripper gig. So?”
“Stripper gig?” he asks, disgust lacing his words. “You don’t know anything.”
A police car sits near the bottom of the stairs that lead to her apartment. “Then educate me.”
“Not now.” He leans forward and peers up at the staircase as I park.
“You and Emerson... You two haven’t...”
“No.” His answer is definite.
Relief washes over me in a powerful wave. “Good.”
He shoots me a pissed off look. “She’s a good girl. Don’t let the stripper background make you think she’s an easy lay.”
I open my car door so he’ll shut up. “Get rid of the attitude. Don’t assume you know what’s in my head.”
Jordy gets out and follows me to the staircase. I’m still not sure if he’s been here before and I’m too stubborn to ask at this point.
I knock on Emerson’s door and it takes too many seconds for it to open. Her little sister answers. Gabby looks like she’s been crying, her eyes red rimmed and mascara smeared.
“Hi,” she says, giving me a trembling smile.
“Hi.” I look over her head to scan the room. My gaze stumbles. Sofa cushions on the floor are ripped open with yellowed guts shredded. Plants overturned. Dirt on the floor. The lamp busted.
The book I’d noticed earlier lies on the corner of the end table and may be the only thing intact.
“She’s in her bedroom with a cop.” Gabby steps aside.
I don’t wait for more information but head straight back to her room. The door’s open and Emerson stands with her arms crossed over her chest. The cop is taking photos of the floor.
Her bedroom looks worse than the living area. The mattress is upturned and someone’s ripped it up with a knife. Clothes are piled in a heap in front of the open closet doors. Papers are everywhere.
Emerson turns to me. Her face is the definition of stoic, her body tense as a garden statue. “Why are you here?”
I ignore her question. “Did someone break through your deadbolt? Was your sister at home?” I search her face for some clue that she’s upset, but it’s amazingly calm. Eerily calm.
Jordy enters the room. “You okay?” he asks Emerson.
She nods at him and gives a stiff smile. “I’m fine. The officer has to ask me a few more questions. Can you guys wait somewhere else? Could you take Gabby to get a soda or something? She’s pretty upset. I need to clean up the place.”
Jordy places a hand on her shoulder. “Yeah. We’ll take her. Be back in a few.”
I want to mention that Gabby is an adult, not a six-year-old, but one look at Emerson’s face and I don’t. This is Emerson taking control of the situation, taking care of what’s wrong. Taking back whatever the burglar took from her well-being.
Jordy leads the way out of the bedroom and down the short hallway. “So much of the place is trashed,” he says. I barely hear his muttered words.
I take another step and stall, watching Jordy continue down the hallway and stop to place an arm around Gabby’s shoulders. Something niggles at the corner of my consciousness, delaying my movements until I can grasp the importance of the elusive clue.