Page 118 of All the Missing Pieces

I didn’t realize Ridley was crying until I felt the drops hit my arm. Curving around her, I saw the tracks of silent of tears left on her cheeks. But it wasn’t grief in her eyes—it was something else entirely.

“They’re with me. They’re helping,” she whispered.

I pulled Ridley tighter against my chest. “Of course they are. And it’s because of everything you’ve done for others. They see everything you’ve given, and now they’re giving a little of it back.”

Ridley looked up at me, so much hope in those blue eyes. “Do you think it’ll help?”

Just a couple of months ago, I would’ve shot the idea down. I wouldn’t have thought there was any way countless internet sleuths would ever break a case. But that was before Ridley. Before I was reminded of the good in people. That pain didn’t always change us for the worse; it could change us for the better too.

“With all the people you’re reaching, all the people they’re reaching in return? We’re going to have our best shot yet.”

Ridley beamed, the echoes of her tears still glimmering on her cheeks. “We’re going to find her.”

I dropped my forehead to hers. God, I hoped so. For all of us.

My phone dinged, pulling me out of the moment, and I snatched it up from the table, reading the incoming text. My whole body tensed, going solid beneath Ridley.

She twisted in my lap, concern lining her features. “What is it?”

I swallowed, trying to clear my throat. But it didn’t do any good. “It’s Emerson. She wants you to interview her. She wants to tell her story.”

47

RIDLEY

The tensionin the air was a living, breathing thing. An invisible smoke that polluted everything around it, making it hard to take in a full breath. Or maybe it was simply that we’d turned off the AC in Emerson’s adorable home, making the living room stuffy in the eighty-degree heat.

I wanted it to be the latter. Needed it to be that. But as I stole a sidelong look at the woman I now considered a friend, I knew that was a hopeful lie.

Emerson wore an oversized pink T-shirt that had tiny hearts all over it and sweats with a rainbow down the side. But nothing about her outfit matched her demeanor. Her typically fair complexion was even paler than normal, an almost gray hue beneath it.

Her lack of color had her brother asking her at least half a dozen times if she needed to sit or something to eat or drink. Right up until she bit his head off. He shut his mouth altogether, and Emerson picked up her pacing. Back and forth across the living room as she wrung her hands.

Trey simply stood in the corner, watching Emerson mostly, but occasionally his gaze would move to me. It was as if he wasmaking sure I wasn’t hiding weapons or anything else that might hurt Em in the gear I was setting up.

While my microphones weren’t going to start spitting bullets anytime soon, I couldn’t make any promises about the emotional toll my presence and gear might inflict. And that had guilt stewing somewhere deep. I might’ve been willing to cut myself open in search of peace and the protection of innocent lives, but Emerson might not be there yet.

Her gaze locked on mine, and she didn’t look away. “I can do this. Ineedto do it.”

I understood that. There’d been a freedom that had come from sharing Avery’s story, my story—unmistakablyourstory now. Even before I’d seen the outpouring of love from my listeners, I’d felt more empowered by simply sharing my truth. And I could only hope Emerson would feel the same way.

“All right,” I said, doing my best to give her an encouraging smile. “I’m almost set up. You can take that seat there.” I pointed to the overstuffed chair she’d sat in yesterday when we had tea. So much had happened in the past twenty-four hours, that felt like a lifetime ago.

“Here,” Emerson said quickly. “Let me move the yearbooks.” She hurried over and grabbed the stack of books. “I was trying to jog my memory last night, get back to that time.”

“That’s good,” I encouraged. “I’d actually love to take a look at those after we talk. The ones Dean checked out for me at the library went MIA along with my laptop and some other stuff.”

Emerson winced at the reminder of what had happened to me. “Of course.” She moved the yearbooks to the coffee table and sat as I hooked up the final cable.

As I opened Pro Tools on my new laptop, I felt eyes on me. I knew the owner of the gaze without even looking, but when I finally sought out the source, a different sort of shadow greetedme. Pain swirled in Colt’s dark-brown irises, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it. But I still tried.

“Do you want to take a walk while we record?” I asked.

His stare hardened. “No.”

“Dial it back a notch,” Trey clipped.

Colt’s glare moved to his best friend, but he didn’t say a word.

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