“He didn’t tell me everything,” Emma says, “but he told me enough. He was going to lose everything — his job, his career, his reputation, his money. He was facing some serious charges. He said he needed time to figure things out. Then… he vanished.”
Her voice cracks, but she presses on.
“At first, he sent messages saying he was safe, that disappearing was the only way to protect himself. Then they got less frequent. Months between them. Always vague. Always from different numbers.” She takes a shaky breath. “The police just assumed he ran. They said people like him — rich, stressed, facing public humiliation —disappear all the time. New country, new bank account, new name.”
“And you think that’s not true?”
“No,” she says firmly. “Chris wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t a coward. You don’t disappear off the face of the Earth because of a tax investigation. There’s something else.”
She leans closer, eyes dark and shining.
“I think he found something out about James. And Pete knows more than he’s letting on.”
I swallow. Hard. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, something bad. And I think he went into hiding. Pete… he as good as told me to stop digging. Told me I’d get myself hurt. But how can I stop? He’s my brother.”
“And what did the police say?” I ask.
There’s a beat of silence, and then she shakes her head, almost laughing bitterly. “The police, they were useless. Too much evidence that he left voluntarily. No foul play. Case closed. They think I’m obsessed. Which, okay, fair, but they also believed me when I said I was just sleepwalking when I was found breaking into my neighbour’s garage in my twenties. Long story. Point is: they don’t exactly scream thorough to me.”
“Okay,” I say quickly, because I can hear the edge of hysteria in her voice and I know exactly how that feels.
“So maybe he got involved in something and then had to escape from it?”
She shakes her head. “No, no. I’ve been through this in my head. I talk to Pete sometimes, when he will listen. He always alludes to it being about James, not explicitly. But I can see the fear in his eyes. He knows something.”
I nod. I’ve seen that look of fear.
“But the point is: I know Chris is out there. He’s hiding. And he’s scared.”
She sits back, staring into her coffee. “All I want is to find him. Even if it means following strangers in my car. Even if it means looking crazy. Honestly, looking crazy is my strong suit. I’ve had exes call me ‘chaotic neutral with a driving licence.’”
Emma’s words are erratic, but I still swallow hard as they sit heavy in the air. Suddenly the missing man isn’t a neat story or a Facebook post; he’s a ghost sending warnings from the shadows.
“I know enough to know James isn’t a good person. Pete needs to escape from him and I want to be able to help him do that.”
“Maybe if he’s not with James, he’ll be more open about where Chris went?”
“Then we work together,” I say, surprising myself.
Emma blinks at me, then nods slowly. “Okay.”
Buster jumps up onto the sofa arm, tail flicking like a metronome of disapproval. But I feel something lock into place inside me.
Whatever is happening in that house, whatever secrets James and Pete are keeping, I’m not walking away now.
Chapter 29
EMMA
Emma slides behind the wheel and lets the door thud shut, the sound neat and final, like a stamp on bad paperwork. Tom’s porch light fades in the mirror as she starts the engine.
Sweet Tom. Soft voice, careful eyes.
She pulls away, Clifton’s terraces yawning like tidy teeth, and lets the evening unspool. She runs back through the conversation—the tentative questions, his earnest nodding. He wants to help. Of course he does. He’s a rescuer—one of those men who believes in better versions of people. He loves Pete. Thinks he can save him.
Perfect. Alignment of interests.
