“Emily.”
Slowly, Emily turned to face Justine. “Yes?”
“Did you forget something?” Justine waited expectantly.
Emily’s fingers tightened on her purse. Justine couldn’t know. “Did I?”
“I need your address,” Justine said. “So I can mail you a new necklace if I locate one.”
“Oh. Right.”
Emily gave her the address, thanked her again, and somehow managed to walk, not run, to her car. Justine waved as Emily backed out onto the street. As she drove away she passed a black car that looked vaguely familiar. Emily did a double take. Was that Misty Briggs? Too late to tell without driving past again. She damn sure wasn’t driving back that way again.
Emily didn’t breathe easy until she had gotten back to her room at the inn. She’d had to make a stop by the office for a key, since she’d given hers to Clint.
She took the photo from her panties, grimaced. She’d taken a hell of a risk going into Justine’s bedroom.
And the pictures. Talk about unexpected. Not that Justine’s sex life was any of Emily’s business. Still, she was almost sure she knew one of these two guys in the photo. She peered at the photo in her hand. But she couldn’t be positive. In this one a naked, younger Justine watched two men. One had his back to the camera; the other’s profile was visible. The whole setup was very similar to the other photos. Emily shook her head. Some folks were just kinkier than others, she supposed. But it was the photographing of the activity that struck her as odd.
But what did she know? Maybe the photography was part of the excitement for some. Whatever the case, she had to hide this photo. She had no idea how she would get it back to Justine and she certainly couldn’t leave it lying around. Glancing around the room, she realized there weren’t that many good options for hiding anything. In the end, she tucked it beneath the bedside table. Her throat felt like sandpaper. She needed water. As she got to her feet, the light blinking on the telephone distracted her.
She snatched up the receiver and went through the procedure for listening to the message. If this was Clint, that could only mean things had gone worse than expected. The voice that rasped in her ear was one Emily knew well. Her chest tightened.
“Emily, this is Troy. I need to talk to you. I’m desperate, Em. I need your help.” Silence. “Please help me, Em. I’m at home all by myself.”
Her fingers trembling, she dropped the receiver back in its cradle. She knew Troy was hurting. Keith had been his best friend. Ray had been like an older brother to Troy.
If Troy needed her, she had to see what she could do to help. He was Heather’s brother. Emily couldn’t let him down. Maybe this would make up for the way he’d been hurt by her change of heart where Clint was concerned.
She wadded the old note she’d written to Clint, then hurriedly prepared another telling him where she’d gone so he wouldn’t worry if he got back here before her.
As she drove to Troy’s she kept replaying the way his voice had sounded. Definitely drinking heavily and definitely desperate. She hoped she wasn’t too late.
First she went to the front door and tried the doorbell. She knocked a couple of times.
No answer.
He’d said he was home. His truck was here.
The possibility that he’d hurt himself had her going around to the end of the house where a garage door stood open.
She wove around the lawn mower, tricycle, and mountains of beer cans and made her way toward the door that led from the garage into the house. The smell of oil, gas, and stale beer wasn’t a pleasant mix. Cabinets and shelves lined every wall—all cluttered with stuff from Christmas decorations to old buckets of paint.
Rapping her knuckles sharply on the door that led into the house, she shouted, “Troy! It’s Emily!” She knocked again and again, pausing to listen each time. Still nothing.
She should just give up, but he’d sounded so desperate. She reached up to knock again. Pain exploded in the back of her head as she slammed face first into the door.
She crumpled onto the cool concrete steps and the darkness closed in on her thoughts.
Her mind fought the plunge toward unconsciousness. She heard the sound of a car engine starting. Heard the rasp of rubber against concrete and brakes engaging tire tread. The smell of exhaust brushed her senses.
Wake up!She couldn’t.
Open your eyes!Too heavy.
She was moving ... sliding across the floor. She bumped something and cans rattled. Hands pulled at her, lifted her, then dropped her. Her face pressed against something soft ... fabric?
What was happening?
