Page 111 of All the Missing Pieces

“He’ll never let you stop now,” Emerson warned.

“Just fine with me. I’ve got a cat who’s the same way.”

She slid a beautiful cup and saucer in my direction. “Sugar? Milk? Honey?”

“Just the tea is perfect.”

Emerson studied me again, a little of the levity leaving her. “You’re really all right?”

“I am. Promise. Well, other than the fact that I’ll have to start this season of my podcast from scratch since I left his company.” I slumped back into the chair. I hadn’t really given myself a chance to think about how I was going to continue telling Emerson’s story without the episodes Baker had under his control.

Emerson lifted her cup to her lips, blowing gently on the liquid inside. “Is that so bad?”

I worried the corner of my lip for a moment, mulling that over. “Rehashing what I’ve already covered is bound to lose me listeners who’ve already heard the information. But if I jump in where I left off, I could confuse people who are new.”

She took a sip of tea, mulling that over. “What if you began where you started with me?”

I shifted in my seat, Saber sending me a dirty look. “What do you mean?”

“What if you start by linking the cases instead of with my case alone? That’s bound to get people invested. Then you can weave in the information you’ve already covered little by little. People who have listened already probably won’t even notice because it’ll be mixed in with the new stuff.”

I was quiet for a long moment. “You want a job as a podcast producer?”

Emerson chuckled as she set her tea down. “I think I’ve got enough on my plate.”

I stared at the tea in my cup, watching the deep orange liquid swirl. “I’ve never talked about my sister on the show. Feels like ripping out a piece of myself and putting it on display.”

“It’s going to connect you with your listeners,” Emerson said softly. “Bond you to them. Because you’re brave enough to share that pain.”

My gaze lifted to hers. “I hope it’s the right thing to do. And that I can get through it.”

Emerson reached across the table and took my hand, squeezing it hard. “You’re Ridley Sawyer, taser of douchebags and tamer of ornery brothers. You can do anything.”

I choked on a laugh as I squeezed Emerson’s hand back. I just hoped she was right.

I sat in the back of my van and pulled the absorption panels into place. The hexagonal foam pieces doubled as décor during my travels but were necessary to cut down on echoing and excess noise. Even though I’d recorded a few podcast episodes from Colt’s driveway, this one felt different. Rawer, more real.

An alert for a video call sounded from my brand-new desktop. I braced, hoping like hell Baker wasn’t trying to call, but I relaxed when I saw Sully’s name on the screen. I hitacceptand his lined face filled my monitor.

“How ya feelin’?” he asked, leaning toward his computer’s camera.

I could see the concern in Sully’s face, feel it in his words. That knowledge felt like a warm blanket wrapping around me. I might’ve blown up one part of my professional life, but I still had good people around me.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” But just saying the words out loud had butterflies taking flight in my stomach.

Sully grinned, that small gap between his two front teeth showing. “Hell yes, you are.”

I studied my editor of four years. “Are you sure you want to come with me on this? It’ll mean losing a couple of other gigs.” I was sure Baker would fire Sully the second he realized Sully was still editing for me.

Sully’s face screwed up as if he’d tasted something bad. “That prick can shove it. If I never have to edit another of his shows, I will die a happy man.”

I chuckled. “Tell me how you really feel.”

But Sully didn’t laugh with me; instead his expression went serious. “I’m glad you got out from under his thumb, Rids. You deserve a hell of a lot better than he’s been giving you. I’m just sorry it got to this point.”

My throat burned. “Thanks for having my back, Sull.”

“Always, kiddo. Always. You want me to stay on while you record?”

---