“Mom,” I breathed, suddenly remembering one of the investigators the day after her death asking if I knew anyone from Alexandria. I’d forgotten that detail until now because I hadn’t known anyone from Alexandria then. But now...maybe I did.
“Your mother’s last phone call was from someone with a registered business address in Alexandria. There could be foul play, the burns aren’t consistent with an accident—”I’d hung up then.
I couldn’t stand to hear anything more about the accident that stole my mom’s life. It was that night that the cramps had begun, lasting through the night and into the next day. One week later my prenatal checkup confirmed that there was no longer a heartbeat. I could have told them as much myself. How could that little baby’s heart continue to beat when mine had all but ceased?
The therapist had upped the dosage on my medications in the days following the miscarriage. And Tav had held my hand as I cried. I cried for the loss of my mom, of our baby, of a future I didn’t know was mine to have. While the tears may have dried on the outside, inside I hadn’t stopped. Maybe that’s what had sent Tav driving into the wilderness away from me. My inability to cope was rearing it’s gnarled head again.
But what did Alexandria have to do with the accident? Nothing? Oreverything?
Thirty-Four
She ordered eggs at the cafe. She pushed them around on her plate after taking one bite, and then let them get cold as she scanned the headline of the local paper again.
She looked worried, rushed, continuing to gaze around, constantly on edge. She should be. This was far from over and she was too fucking naïve to know how bad this could be.
I sighed, hoping she’d wrap up soon so I could get on with it. I checked my watch as she sipped her coffee with a soft frown.
Affected by another man. Burned by love. Women never asked the right questions.
A bright white loading van pulled into the spot obscuring my view of Freya. I grunted, having half a mind to run down there, pull out my nine-millimeter, and tell them to get out of the way, or else.
I groaned when two guys in uniform jumped out and began unloading a dolly and crates of supply boxes before delivering it into the cafe.
“Dammit.” I slipped from the car, moving quickly across the street. My shoe hit the opposite curb and my eyes finally landed on the table where Freya had sat a moment ago.
Empty.
The bus boy was already clearing her table.
Only Freya’s eggs and a half-emptied cup of cold coffee remained.
Where the fuck is she?
My eyes travelled the other faces obscuring my view down the sidewalk. I shuttled forward on heavy feet before I was close enough to see over the heads. Three waiters, a bus boy, the hostess, and a half dozen diners lingered around the small outdoor seating area.
She was gone.
“Where did she go?” I grabbed a waiter by the elbow and growled as I stepped into the suffocating circle of mundane chatter. The group paused, eyes on me. Damn, I hadn’t meant to bring attention to myself, only this was the first time she’d been out of my sight in weeks.
In the blink of an eye, I’d lost her.
“Where did who go?” A waitress entered my vision.
“The woman who was seated right here, where did she go?”
“I guess that depends who’s asking. You some kind of stalker or somethin’?” The waitress was small compared to me, but the threat in her voice was enough to make me step back. She turned and looked at another waitress. “We may need to call the police.”
I held up my hand, anxiety chilling my veins as I realized my cover was blown. I stuffed a hand into my front pocket, itching to run the other way and find Freya before she made a dire mistake. “Ma’am, please.” I lowered my voice. “I’m an informant and that woman is in danger.”
“An informant?” She narrowed her eyes. “And just who the hell do you inform?”
I clenched down on my back teeth, my next words barely above a hum.
“The FBI.”
Thirty-Five
The Third Sunday
