Page 19 of The Saint

She’d spoken with Jonathan’s parents. The plans for the funeral had been delayed—his body hadn’t been released from the medical examiner, and the Dumonts would be traveling from out of the country, but they had asked if she wanted to include a ceremony for Hailey during his funeral. Amelia hadn’t been able to say anything except that missing didn’t mean dead.

They were kind and quiet, much like Jonathan. His parents clearly loved Hailey too. They all agreed the investigators were wrong about a domestic-dispute-turned-homicide.Small miracles.She wouldn’t have been able to bear their judgement.

Still, she was depleted, mentally exhausted. But for whatever reason, sleep was elusive.

She’d never had problems sleeping. Now, every noise made her jump. Her mind raced from question to question. Memories replayed. Decisions were doubted.

Amelia glanced at the medicine bottles lined on her nightstand like little soldiers who promised sweet dreams: melatonin, allergy medicine, over-the-counter sleep aids. It was a smorgasbord of medication that had raised the eyebrows of the clerk at the pharmacy’s checkout counter. She hadn’t been able to decide which would be the best option to send her to dreamland and had bought everything.

“Sometimes, a nightcap works best,” the clerk had offered.

“I’ll put it on my list of things to try.”

He finished scanning her purchases with pity in his eyes. The man had no idea how bad it really was.

She checked the time on her phone again. A half hour should have gone by, but only three minutes had passed. She still hadn’t decided which pills to take, so she took none and stared at the bottles in the dark.

“Eeny, meenie, miney, moe…” Sleeping pills scared her. What if she took one and didn’t wake up when she needed to? What if she’d taken one that night at Hailey and Jonathan’s? Maybe she would be dead like her brother-in-law or missing like her sister. Or maybe nothing would have happened because she’d have been in the house and scared away whoever attacked her family.

That was the least likely situation, but it wasn’t a zero percent chance. Guilt squeezed her chest. A sleeping pill might knock her out, or, since they weren’t exactly potent pills, she’d be groggy and awake, wanting to sleep and worrying about when the sun would rise.

Instead of choosing which to take, Amelia grabbed her phone and redialed the number that would eventually reach Camden. He answered on the first ring.

“Do you ever take a night off?” she asked.

The rich roll of his laughter sent an unexpected wave of warmth through her chest. “How’d you get this number?” he asked.

She rolled onto her side and fluffed the pillow under her cheek. “What do you mean? I called the banana-light-bulb-chicken-heart number, and here you are.”

“You got me the first time?”

“Yeah.”

He laughed. “You were routed to my cell phone.”

“What?” She sat up. “What… How?”

“I don’t know. Do you have a pen handy?”

“Why?”

“Well, you might as well call me direct next time.”

The tension in her chest relaxed as she sank back onto her pillow. A small, shy grin pulled at her cheeks. “Text it to me.”

He confirmed that the number on his screen was hers and shot her a message. “There.”

“You think I’m crazy for calling you, don’t you?” she asked.

“I think,” he said, his tone playful, “you’ve got a knack for keeping things interesting.”

The tips of her ears warmed. “That’s a polite way of saying yes.”

“Do you think I’d give my number out to a crazy lady?”

Smiling, she hesitated. “Maybe? You’re one of those sneaky agents that does secret things. So I don’t think giving your number to a crazy lady ranks high on your risk list.”

His easygoing laughter poured through the phone again. “I’m not whoever you think I am.”

---