CHAPTER FOUR

Mia slammed the door so hard the hinges nearly blew clean off. The sound echoed through the house like a gunshot. Her blood was boiling hotter than Satan”s sauna, and the pounding in her skull made the entire world feel like it was caving in.

Ella”s words kept ringing in her ears. Accusing Martin - her Martin - of being some twisted guardian angel offing their enemies. It was so absurd Mia wanted to laugh until her lungs gave out. But all that came was a scream lodged in her throat, ready to tear the world a new one.

She stormed into the kitchen, snatched a whiskey bottle and took a long pull. How could Ella even suggest it? Sweet, charming Martin who made her feel alive again after the never-ending freak show that was life in the Bureau. He was a goddamn saint, not some deranged serial killer.

And what proof did Ella have? A glance? A hunch? Some half-baked theory pulled straight from her ass? She wanted to march right back outside, grab Ella by the shoulders and shake her so hard her perfect teeth rattled. But a tiny voice in the back of her head made her pause. The one that sounded annoyingly like the hard-nosed agent she was before Martin waltzed into her world and made everything feel shiny and new.

‘You”re an investigator, she told herself. Act like it.’

Mia growled and took another swig, welcoming the slow burn. Investigator. Right. Guess that meant doing the last thing she wanted - looking at this mess through the eyes of an impartial agent instead of a woman ready to castrate her best friend for talking smack.

Fine. She”d do the cop thing even if it made her want to hurl. She”d comb through the facts, wrack her brain for anything that might make Ella”s wild theory more than the ravings of a lovesick fool. Mia slumped into a chair, massaging her temples. She started flipping through her memories like a deranged scrapbook. All the late night conversations with Martin, the pillow talk, the whispered secrets in the dark.

Christ, had she spilled her guts about Ella”s drama? The whole debacle with Ben and how it sent her partner into a tailspin? Mia squeezed her eyes shut, trying to conjure Martin”s honey-smooth voice.

‘Heard things ended badly with Ella”s boy toy. She doing okay?’

Mia”s eyes snapped open. She had told him. Right after the big blowout that left Ella a zombie for weeks. In her defense, she”d been three bourbons deep and in desperate need of an ear. And Martin had been so sweet, so understanding.

No. No way. That proved nothing except her big mouth after too much whiskey. She dug deeper into the mess of memories, trying to unearth more clues in this pile of mental garbage.

Logan Nash. That guy’s name was forever branded in her brain after what he did to Ella”s old man. But had Mia ever told Martin about him? About the history there?

A vague recollection surfaced through the pounding in her skull. Some late night jabber session where the ghosts of their pasts came out to play. She”d spilled her guts about Nash while Martin held her close and whispered all the right things.

Goddammit. Strike two.

And Randall Carter. The smug son of a bitch who’d lucked into a role as FBI director and then treated her and Ella like something he scraped off his shoe. Mia would bet her pension she”d run her mouth about him too during another bitch fest with her boyfriend - no, human security blanket.

But these scumbags had plenty of enemies, a line around the block itching to do them in. Just because Martin knew about the bad blood didn”t make him a murderer. Christ, if she indicted people based on a couple conversations half the city would be behind bars.

Enter Trevor. Her ex-husband. Trevor had blackmailed Mia, tried to siphon fifty grand out of her bank account. Mia had refused, things had gotten ugly. Martin had been privy to every detail.

Mia stood so fast her chair toppled over. Investigator hat. Right. She had to look for facts, not cling to maybes that would send her world into a tailspin.

She needed those files Martin was digging for last night. Maybe they”d have some answers or at least a breadcrumb to follow out of this mess.

Without a second thought, Mia began tearing through the house like a woman possessed. She ransacked the kitchen, upending drawers and rifling through the stack of papers by the phone.

Nothing but bills and old grocery lists.

She moved on to the bedroom, tearing through the closet and peeking under the bed. Just a few lacy scraps she”d been saving for a rainy day and a thick layer of dust bunnies.

The office was next. Martin”s sacred space where he”d spend hours poring over paperwork and doing whatever the hell retired feds did to keep busy. Mia always gave it a wide berth out of respect and a healthy dose of self-preservation. Nothing killed the mood faster than wading through a sea of redacted files.

But desperate times and everything. She started with the desk, yanking open drawers and flipping through binders. Lots of blacked out pages and cryptic notes in Martin”s chicken scratch. Nothing that screamed suspicious. She moved on to the filing cabinets lining the walls, combing through each one with rising desperation. More of the same - old cases, expense reports, a few newspaper clippings with either Mia”s or Martin”s name amongst the column inches. The only thing out of place was the empty space in the bottom drawer where files used to be. The ones Martin had been elbow-deep in last night.

‘Damn it.’ Mia slammed the drawer shut.

Martin had taken something. He’d never leave it like this. The man was military to the bone, never a hair out of place.

She collapsed into Martin”s huge leather chair and stared at the ceiling. Her head felt ready to pop, and her gut churned like a blender set to pulverize. She was running on rage fumes and nowhere closer to unscrewing this situation.

Mia fumbled in her pocket for her phone and re-read Edis’s text message.

He wanted her in the office immediately.

Her eyes caught the framed picture of her and Martin on the desk. Grinning like loons at some beach, she couldn”t remember. He had his arms around her waist, and she looked happier than she had in years.

No. Mia wasn’t going to work until she had answers.

Mia closed her eyes, sending up a silent prayer to a God she wasn”t sure she believed in but was ready to get chummy with if it unfucked her life.

‘Please, let this be some comedy of errors,’ she said.

Then she jabbed the call button before she lost her nerve.

It rang once. Twice.

‘Ripley?’ Edis” familiar rumble filled her ear. ‘Are you on your way in?’

”No, I”m not. I have an emergency back home.”

‘An emergency? Mia, I’ve got a situation in Delaware and no agents to...’

‘Will,’ Mia interrupted. ‘You can threaten me with suspension or offer me a million dollars. I’m not going anywhere.’

A pause. ‘If you insist. Is everything okay?’

‘No, it’s not,’ Ripley said. ‘In fact, I need you to do something for me.’