Page 31 of Not Part of the Plan
Beckett pointed both index fingers at her. “No! I know what you’re doing, and as your boss and mayor of Blue Moon, I’m ordering you to stop.”
Ellery pouted.
“We have more than enough work to do that should take precedence over meddling in people’s lives,” he reminded her.
“Should I ask what’s going on?” Niko wondered.
Beckett shook his head and started to unroll the sleeves of his shirt. “Trust me. It’s better if you don’t know. Now, what can I do for you?”
“Emma’s sick, and I’m bringing over some supplies. Gia can’t remember where the spare key is.”
“Keys,” Beckett corrected. “My wife wouldn’t remember where they were if they were glued to her forehead.”
“Poor Gia,” Ellery sighed dramatically. “How would she feel if she heard her husband talking about her that way?”
Beckett glared at her, but Ellery merely batted her lashes at him.
“This is one of those people-drive-me-insane days,” Beckett grumbled.
CHAPTER TEN
Precisely four hours after Niko had left Thrive’s offices on his mission, he finally arrived at Emma’s front door. He found the spare key exactly where Beckett told him it would be, under the squatting plaster frog by the pink azalea. He knocked once on the cottage’s front door and peered through the glass windows of the glossy black door.
The kitchen and living room appeared to be lifeless.
He fired off another quick text.
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair. Never mind, I’ll just use this spare key.
There was no response, and he figured the thirty seconds he waited was long enough. Niko let himself in and closed the door behind him. Neat as a pin was his first impression. He could see evidence of Emma’s urban roots tangling with Blue Moon’s eclectic style.
The drapes were a rich navy and tied back with charming rainbow hued rope cord tassels. The tufted leather sofa that faced the fireplace was adorned with colorful throw pillows. He deposited his bags on the island countertop. Very nice crystal wine glasses hung from the underside of one white kitchen cabinet above a stoppered bottle of Blue Moon’s own Merlot.
“Emma?” he called out. His only response was a faint groan coming from the narrow staircase off the kitchen. “I’m coming up,” he warned.
At the top of the stairs, he saw the second floor was home to two bedrooms and one small bathroom. It was there that he found Emma, curled into the fetal position on the black and white octagonal tiled floor. Her head, arms covering her face, rested on the thick bath mat.
“Why are you here?” she groaned.
“Oh, baby.” Niko stroked a hand through her sweat soaked tangle of hair.
“Just go,” she croaked.
“How long have you been here?”
“One thousand years.”
At least her sarcasm was still functioning, Niko thought.
Emma started to sit up and pointed him toward the door.
“I’m not leaving,” he told her. “I’m here to nurse you back to—”
She interrupted him by throwing her limp body over the toilet and throwing up.
He grabbed her hair and held it loosely behind her neck until the heaving stopped.
She collapsed over the toilet seat and, with a shaking hand, reached up to flush.
