“You take care, love.” Liam rested his hands on her shoulders and motioned to Emory. “Keep him in line. We’ll see each other again very soon.”
“I hope so,” Amelia said and took Emory’s hand.
He led the way along the bar where sorrows had been drowned and triumphs toasted. With a twinge of nostalgia, Emory passed the pool table in the back. God only knew howmany nights he spent sinking stripes into the pockets as he and Jack pondered their existence.
Emory reached the heavy door at the back of the room, but Amelia hesitated at the threshold. Her grip on his hand tightened, and they started down the concrete corridor. The musty air was cool and dry, and the amber light struggled to fill the space.
“There aren’t any spiders in here,” Emory assured, half a joke, but he couldn’t promise that scorpions or other critters hadn’t wandered in seeking reprieve from the heat.
Amelia squeezed his hand. “It’s not the spiders I’m scared of.”
She didn’t elaborate. With her head down, the dark hid her face but couldn’t obscure the worry lacing her voice. Emory almost asked what she feared, but the question seemed both trite and obvious. Before he could reframe it, they reached the garage.
Emory squinted against the fluorescent lights. Liam kept the space free of clutter. Carved into a slope at the back of the house, it functioned as a staging area where Moriarty men could covertly come and go.
Jack crammed his and Mirabelle’s suitcases into the trunk of his car. Shapes mismatched, they didn’t quite fit. Jack forced the problem suitcase in place with a violent kick and slammed the trunk shut. With worried eyes, Amelia peered up at Emory, and the color drained from her cheeks.
“I know,” he whispered then approached Mirabelle. She returned the hug he gave her with the stilted rigidity he knew to be fear.
“I love you,” Emory said and rested his chin atop her head. “If you need me, call. Day or night, I’ll come running.”
“I know you will,” she laughed, nervous and tinny, and rolled to her toes to kiss his cheek. “I love you too.”
Amelia spirited Mirabelle to the corner where they could speak in private. Emory turned to Jack and issued a warning.
“Remember what I said.”
Jack stared reproachfully, as if Emory had fleeced him of joy. Poor Jack, swindled in a snake-oil scheme. Never his fault. No, not him.
“Care to clarify?”
“If my sister isn’t being treated right, I’m coming to get her. There will be no more of this.”
Emory gestured to the trunk and the suitcases forcefully wedged inside. With baleful insolence, Jack snickered at the suggestion.
“I would never hurt her.”
“You gonna stay dry then?”
“As a desert,” Jack said with a wink, but his face registered maudlin hurt.
Emory couldn’t smell the boggy peat of scotch or barrel smoke of whiskey on his breath, but, even stone sober, the drink had its reach. He edged closer, feeling as though they teetered on the knife’s edge of a breakthrough. One misstep could gut them both.
“I need you to take care of yourself.”
“I won’t let you down, boss.”
“I’m not talking about my deputy, Jack. I’m talking about my best friend.”
Jack stared at the floor between them, his hair hanging limp around his sallow face. He’d stopped greasing it back, and untamed growth sprouted in the hard part.
“I’m fine.” Jack popped his neck and stretched his arms overhead. He glared at Amelia, who sounded an alarm to Mirabelle in hushed but urgent tones. “We’ll be fine. Back to normal soon enough.”
“Normal,” Emory repeated, though the concept was lost to them, or perhaps they’d never known it at all.
Jack dug the keys from his pocket and flashed an ephemeral smile. “Well, see you on the other side, I guess.”
Emory didn’t like the finality of the statement or what it might suggest.
