Mateo’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Hey, Em. You might want to see this.”
She looked up. He was holding a battered banker’s box, the lid askew. Even before he tilted it toward her, recognition hit. Spiral notebooks, manila folders, loose papers, all marked with his tight, slanted handwriting.
“Case notes,” Mateo confirmed, flipping through one. “There’s enough in here to pitch an entire season ofCSI: Miami.”
Emily stood, feeling the grit of dust against her palms as she brushed off the seat of her shorts. Ethan had become fixated on her dad’s notes after theaccident. She’d kept them, hoping to look through them one day and perhaps understand his obsession. Was it their shared interest in police work, or something more? With distance, perhaps she could now.
“Could you put them in the car?” she asked, heading toward him with the watch, one of the photo albums from before her world had turned upside down, and the book that had once made her heart ache for something she hadn’t dared name. “I’m ready to go.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
She glanced around the unit at the boxes piled high, years of her life she still didn’t know how to unpack. “I’m not sure I ever will.”
Following him out, she pushed the button and watched as the metal door slammed down with a clang.
***
The apartment was quiet, save for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional rustle of Mateo shifting on the couch. After checking every door and window—then peering outside for the hundredth time—he’d made himself a cup of coffee and settled in for the long overnight shift. She’d offered him a pillow and blanket, but he’d waved her off. “I’m here to protect you, babe, not nap.”
The scent of garlic and rosemary lingered in the air. Facing a rare evening off, after class, she’d had him swing by the grocery store. Her signature chicken caprese had been a hit—judging by the empty pan soaking in the sink and the fact that Mateo had three helpings.
She should be asleep. It was nearly midnight, and she didn’t have to be up at dawn to sling hash and refill coffee cups. But instead of catching up on rest, she sat cross-legged in bed, her father’s journals fanned out in front of her. Some sketches were graphic and made her stomach twist. Her laptop cast a bluish glow across the rumpled sheets, tabs open, search results half read. Her eyes burned from too much screen time and not enough blinking.
The journals were a jumble of dates, names, and shorthand she didn’t fully understand. But Ethan’s notes jotted in the margins kept her anchored. He’d been chasing something. So had their dad. And now she was chasing ghosts.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
She hesitated, seeing Alec’s name. Then answered, “Hey.”
“Hope it’s not too late,” he said, voice rough with fatigue. “I just finished up for the night.”
“I wasn’t asleep,” she said, lying back and pulling up the covers. She didn’t mention the rabbit hole of search results or the fact she’d been playing junior detective for the past few hours.
“How’d it go with Mateo?”
“He hasn’t broken anything, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s currently stalking my windows, even though I’m on the fourth floor, and swilling my coffee.”
Alec grunted. “Sounds about right.”
“He’s actually kind of sweet.”
Laughter burst from him. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”
“Why? What am I missing?”
“He’s a club member, sweetheart. Also, one of the few true sadists in our membership.”
“No way!”
“Yeah. Don’t test him. If you think I spank hard—”
“He wouldn’t!”
“I was teasing, Em. He wouldn’t. If he did, I’d knock his teeth down his throat.”
There was a pause. Silence stretched—not awkward but charged. Full of everything they hadn’t said last night.
“I’ve been thinking about us,” he said at length.
