7. Ridley

7

RIDLEY

Ezra stared at me for a long moment before saying a word, and all I could do was wait. Wait and see just how bad his reaction might be. He could ban me from the establishment, which would be a blow on multiple fronts. He could cuss me out right here. I didn’t read violence in him, but I could be wrong there too.

But I’d seen it all before. Faced it all. I could handle myself whatever came my way.

“What do you want with Em?” Ezra’s voice pitched low, not aggressive exactly, but it held a hint of warning.

I looked him dead in the eyes, hoping he would see the honesty in mine. “I want to find the bastard who kidnapped her.”

Those brown irises flashed in surprise. “You a PI or something?”

“Or something.”

“She’s the host of one of the biggest true-crime podcasts out there,” a voice said as the chair opposite me was scraped back. A gangly teen boy with raven-dark hair and a lip ring sat without invitation, his black clothing completing his goth demeanor. “She’s solved three cases completely on her own and found new leads on almost a dozen others.”

Ezra’s gaze moved back and forth between the teen and me. “He right?”

I fought the urge to squirm in my chair. “Not the on my own part. I’m only successful with the help of the communities I come into.”

That gaze narrowed. “I don’t talk about anything without Em’s permission.”

Curiosity sparked to life. His response seemed too vehement for casual work colleagues. It was possible he was simply protective due to all the media attention on Emerson in the wake of the abduction. Small communities could be insular and their inhabitants bulldogs in the way they tried to protect each other.

“I’d never force someone to talk to me. Victim or otherwise.” That was true. If a family or the victim didn’t want to speak to me, I gave them a wide berth. I understood the pain that came with digging up trauma. How the rehashing of it could be like carving open a wound that had scabbed over.

But I also knew that sometimes reopening that wound was exactly what was needed to bring complete healing. I just hoped one day I could find it for myself too.

Ezra stared at me for one long, hard moment. “Won’t be saying a damn thing until I hear from Em.” And with that he strode away, a pissed-off look on his face.

The boy across from me let out a low whistle. “Takes a lot for Ezra to get pissed like that.”

My focus moved to him, trying to assess his age and get a read. The clothes, hint of eyeliner, and lip ring were a mask. I needed to see beneath it all. But only time would give me that. “It’s fair. I’m nosing into something that’s more than painful.”

I’d take the pissed off, even the rage, over the tears. The tears gutted me every time.

“But you’re trying to help. You always do,” the boy argued.

A small smile tugged at my lips. “So you listen to the show?”

His blue eyes sparked, showing a little more of his age. “Every freaking week. It’s fire. I’m in your forums and on your socials too. When you posted the intro to Shady Cove, I flipped. I’ve been trolling town ever since, hoping I’d see you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh now. “Well, you’ve got me. You going to tell me your name?”

“Shit, yeah. I’m Dean.”

“Nice to meet you, Dean.”

“This is so freaking wild. Sounds Like Serial in my bumfuck town,” Dean muttered. My brows raised at that, and his cheeks flushed. “Sorry. It’s just nothing ever happens here. It’s so boring.”

Except that wasn’t true. Something had happened, and it had marked the town and its residents.

“I can show you around,” Dean went on. “Introduce you to people. But I’m not sure they’ll talk. People are real protective of Emerson. I heard Dateline wanted to do something on the case back in the day, and the town basically locked them out. I get it. I mean she never even leaves her house. Like ever.”

I guess I’d been right about the residents of Shady Cove looking out for Emerson. I was glad she had that, even if it meant my job was harder. But something else Dean had said caught my attention. “You mean she doesn’t come into town very often?”

“No, I mean she never comes into town,” Dean said. “I haven’t seen her since I was like six. My parents were friends with her mom, so they used to come over for dinner sometimes.”

“Were friends?” I asked.

“Her mom died a couple of years after Emerson was kidnapped. Heart attack.”

Hell. I already knew that Emerson’s father had split when she was young. She was all alone in the world.

“Her brother brings her groceries and stuff from town. I heard even her packages and stuff go to him first. She never leaves her place.”

That feeling low in my gut shifted slightly. The unease was still there, but anger was overtaking it now. Rage at the person who had turned Emerson’s life upside down with one careless action, not giving a damn about the agony they'd wrought.

I did my best to keep the fury from my voice. “I didn’t know she had a brother.”

That hadn’t been mentioned in the articles I’d read, but their sparse details made more sense now that I knew Shady Cove had rallied around Emerson. To get them to open up, I’d need to convince Emerson I might be able to give her the closure that could bring healing.

Dean nodded. “Different dads but the same mom. He’s like ten years older, but they’re tight.”

Apparently there was a lot I didn’t know about this case, and that was a feeling I hated. I wanted to be as prepared as possible when coming into something. But in this instance, I wasn’t going to find the information I needed on the internet, that much was clear. I grabbed my laptop, shoving it into my bag.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked, his brows pulling together.

“I need to go see Emerson before someone talks her out of speaking with me.” As protective as this town was and with the fact that I’d sent in my records request, the clock was already ticking.

“I could help you,” Dean offered, so much hope in his eyes. “Be like your intern or something.”

I grinned as I pushed up from my chair and shoved the rest of my belongings into my bag. “I’ll be sure to let you know if I have more questions.”

He slumped against his chair. “That’s a blow-off.”

“For now,” I admitted. I couldn’t have a kid getting mixed up in my investigation. “But you can have my breakfast burrito as consolation.”

He brightened slightly at that. “I could smash one of these. They’re fire.”

I chuckled. “It’s all yours.” Dean grabbed the plate, and I grabbed my coffee. “See you around.”

“See ya,” Dean called, his mouth already full of burrito goodness.

I hurried toward the door but didn’t miss the cool stare Ezra sent me as I went. Somehow I didn’t think I’d be getting any more menu recommendations when I came in.

Unlocking my bike, I hopped on and secured my helmet. I’d already memorized the town’s map and knew exactly where Emerson’s house was. It would be a bit of a ride since she lived just outside of town, but I’d likely be less intimidating showing up on a bike versus in a van. And I wasn’t sure I had time to go back and get my vehicle anyway. I was racing against the clock.

Flipping on the electric power, I started out. Even though I was in a hurry, I couldn’t help but take in the streets I traveled down. Once I was out of downtown, there was a mix of neighborhoods, everything from small older homes to newer builds with more flash. I passed through an area that seemed to be struggling a bit more with overgrown grass and trailers that had seen better days.

But the moment I got outside the town limits, the properties grew in size. The houses here looked like they sat on multiple acres, with sprawling yards and some with accompanying barns. The road became lined with tall pine trees, casting eerie shadows over the pavement.

I caught sight of the sign that read Spruce Lane and guided my bike onto it, the trees growing thicker as I did. The road went from cement to dirt, and I thanked my lucky stars that I’d upgraded the bike with all-terrain tires. A sign on one tree read Dead End—Property Owners Only . It wasn’t an official street sign, but the warning could land me in handcuffs if there was an overzealous cop involved.

The thought had an image of Colt’s face popping into my mind. The grumpy scowl and then that hint of humor as he threatened to write me a ticket. I hoped like hell he wouldn’t be the responding officer if Emerson did call the sheriff’s department.

Just when it felt like the trees were going to swallow me whole, the road opened up into a clearing. The sun poured in through the opening in the trees, shining down on a house that was meant for sunbeams. The exterior paint was a bright yellow, not neon, but like the sun itself. It had a wraparound porch painted white, and every available surface was brimming with flowers. So many I didn’t know how one person could tend them all.

As I stopped my bike, all I could do was stare for a moment. The house didn’t fit its setting deep in the forest, and yet it was perfectly at home here. Slowly, I got off my bike and lowered the kickstand.

I knew I had all the gear I’d need in my pack. I traveled light when it came to necessities. My phone could pair with two wireless lavalier mics I always kept on hand just in case an impromptu interview presented itself. But I’d never go in sticking a mic in someone’s face. Especially someone who’d been through what Emerson had.

Images filled my brain, ones my imagination had painted in vivid horror about what she’d endured. The panic as she was struck, darkness closing in around her. The terror as she woke bound in the back of a vehicle. Only it wasn’t Emerson’s face I saw as she escaped the burlap sack and threw herself from a speeding truck. It was Avery’s.

I squeezed my eyes closed for a moment, trying to force the pictures from my mind. When I opened them again, I focused on the flowers. The beautiful rainbow of them all, no two blooms alike.

Taking a deep breath, I headed for the steps. It took me only a matter of seconds to spot the cameras. The ones tucked just under the eaves and the one positioned above the door. They weren’t a bad thing. Hopefully Emerson wouldn’t see any threat when she looked at me.

Still, I didn’t move quickly. I took my time with each step, hoping I gave Emerson a chance to prepare, to do whatever she needed to feel safe. The doormat had I Hope You Like Dogs scrawled onto it. Before I could knock, I heard a deep woof from the other side, followed by yappier barks and even a howl.

Expert early-warning system.

I lifted my hand and knocked on the door. The barking intensified and then muffled as if the dogs had been put in another room. Then I heard one lock turn, another, and finally a third. Each sound drove invisible ice picks into my sternum, but I did my best to keep my reaction relaxed.

Slowly the door inched open. It was less than a foot of space, but it allowed me to get my first glimpse of Emerson Sinclair in the flesh. My first thought was that she was stunningly beautiful. Her golden-blond hair hung in loose waves around her shoulders, and her eyes were a hypnotic shade of hazel, the gold and green swirling together. My second thought was that she had a very large dog.

Emerson’s fingers gripped the dog’s collar as he stood between her and me. A Bernese mountain dog, if I wasn’t mistaken. And while massive, he wasn’t exactly menacing. But I had a feeling that could change if I made any sort of move against his owner.

Emerson’s gaze swept over me, a mix of wariness and confusion. “Can I help you?”

“Hi. I’m Ridley Sawyer.” I’d gone over and over in my head what I wanted to say to her, but suddenly it all flew from my brain, my tongue growing heavy in my mouth as if I’d just been to the dentist and gotten shot up with Novocain.

“Hello?” She said it like a question, and I didn’t blame her.

“Sorry—I—I have a podcast. I work on cold cases, and yours came across my desk.”

A blank mask slipped over Emerson’s features, as if she suddenly turned the world from color to grayscale. “I don’t talk about it.”

Even the words themselves sounded numb. Devoid of any emotion. I understood it. Felt for her. Felt more than she would ever know. But still, I took a deep breath and went on.

“I get that. I just want to tell you one thing, and then if you want me to leave and never come back, I will. Promise.”

A little life flickered back into Emerson’s face, a hint of color. “Okay…”

“I think your abduction was the first in a string of abductions, assaults, and murders. I think the man who took you went on to kidnap twenty-three others. And he’s never been found, the cases never linked.”

Emerson’s jaw went slack. “Twenty-three?”

I nodded. “I want to find him. I want to make him pay for what he’s done. But more than that, I want to bring the families closure, justice. It won’t bring their loved ones back, but it might help them begin to truly heal.”

It was more than a want. It was a need so desperate, it had almost turned me feral in my single-minded focus. But I didn’t care. I would do whatever it took to find answers. Anything except force survivors like Emerson to talk. It didn’t matter how deep the need to solve this particular case went. I’d never steal someone’s free will, never become a monster like him .

Emerson opened the door a little more. I could just make out the entryway, lined with paintings and sketches of every size, shape, and medium. Her fingers gripped the doorknob tighter. “Why?”

My brows pulled together.

“Why do you want to find him?” she asked. Her voice didn’t tremble, and while everything about her situation here, from the cameras to the fact that she didn’t leave her fortress, suggested she lived in fear, nothing about that voice was weak. “You want more streams on your show? Want to be the one to solve it and get that reward?”

“I want justice .” The word vibrated in the air between us, the force of it linking us together. “And I don’t want him to hurt another soul. Don’t want him to destroy another family. And if he started with you, you’re the one who can help me find him.”

Emerson’s eyes widened in shock, but then a steeliness slid into them. The kind of strength I knew this woman must have had to get free from a monster and launch herself out of the back of a truck, to walk miles on a broken hip to find help, to, no matter what, survive.

She opened her mouth to speak, but it wasn’t her voice that rang out. It was a masculine one, a familiar one. And it was full of fury.

“Get the hell off my sister’s property.”