Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Do we know if she had a phone charger in her car?”
“I’ll check the report, but I’m going to assume she did. She was a young woman who commuted to get to school. She wouldn’t want to be without her cell phone.”
“So, she could have shut off her phone.”
“She could have, or she might have disabled the app that her mom used to track her. We don’t have her phone records, and I don’t know if Ceding requested them.”
“Have I told you I fucking hate that we have to wait for the state police to pass us information?”
“A time or two.” I sit back and glare at the TV screen when the girls walk out of view.
With the state police now taking the lead on the case, we are always a step behind and constantly playing catch-up. I’ve never worked a case as frustrating as this one. Then again, I’ve never worked a case where the other officers involved are so set on proving their balls are bigger, who have put their feelings ahead of finding the person responsible for committing murder and getting them off the streets.
“Ceding said they went down Broadway and asked about the girls being at any of the bars, right?” he asks as he starts the video over.
“He said they sent an officer to do it and that the officer came back empty-handed.”
“So, all we know is the girls left their friends after eating at Waffle House, drove into Nashville, and parked in the parking garage. We don’t know where they went, or if they met anyone there, and we still don’t know who the musician Anna might have been dating is. Oh, and we have not one fucking lead, even after this story has been on the air every night.”
“That pretty much sums it up,” I confirm.
“Do you wanna roll with me to Broadway? I’d like to ask around myself and see if anyone saw the girls, or if maybe anyone knows the guy Anna was dating.” He stands and takes a step toward the door.
“Yeah. Let me send Emma a text, and I’ll meet you outside.”
“Sure.” He leaves, shutting the door behind him.
Taking my cell out of my pocket, I pull up the text chain between Emma and me, the last one a message from her, letting me know she picked up Winter from school.
Me: Sorry, Em. I’m gonna be late. Don’t wait for me to eat.
I press Send, and a moment later, three dots appear, and a minute after that, a message pops up.
Emma: It’s okay. We’re probably going to be eating late. I took Winter out for ice cream after school, and we’re just getting home. I probably should have asked you if that was okay, but she was dealing with little-girl drama, and everyone knows ice cream makes everything better.
I type back quickly.
Me: What happened?
Emma: One of her friends who also stays after school told her that she didn’t want to play with her, and it hurt her feelings. I explained it’s okay and that it doesn’t mean they aren’t friends anymore. Sometimes, people just don’t want to play with you, and you just have to find someone who does. She’s doing better now, but there were a lot of tears prior to vanilla ice cream, double chocolate sauce, and sprinkles.
Leaning forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and staring at that text for a long fucking time, as I try to figure out what I’m feeling. I know I’m relieved she was there for my daughter when I couldn’t be, but there is also something else working its way through my chest. Something I’m not sure I like very much, because I like it too fucking much.
Emma: I hope you’re not mad.
Letting out a breath, I push up to stand and text her back.
Me: Not even a little. Thanks for taking care of her.
Emma: You’re welcome. See you when you get home. <3
Fuck yeah. I like all of that… way too fucking much.
CHAPTER 13
emma
Floating to the surface of consciousness, I open my eyes and blink as the brick wall across the room comes into focus. I lift my head and look down at the black silky pillow my head was resting on. With my heart beginning to thunder against my rib cage, I press my hand into the mattress and sit up.
I have never been in Miles’s room before. Every time I’ve been here, the door has been closed—just like it is now, only I’m always on the other side of it. Tossing back the thick velvet duvet covering me, I look down at myself. I still have on the sweater I wore yesterday and my jeans, which makes me feel a little better. But only a little.
Last night, after Winter went to sleep, I laid down on the couch and planned on watching TV until Miles got home, but I obviously fell asleep at some point, and he must’ve brought me in here. How I didn’t wake up to him doing that is something I don’t understand. I have always been a light sleeper. The slightest creek or bump in the night has never failed to wake me.