I'm not going to lie. For a while there, that was a distinct possibility. Especially once I found out Creagan, my superior at the Bureau, essentially betrayed me. Not only did he know some of the darkest secrets of my family's past, but he kept them from me for years and leveraged that knowledge to use me as bait for a serial killer.
Compounded with the sudden murder of my ex-boyfriend just shortly after he resurfaced after having been missing for two years, it was a lot. I lost my faith in the FBI and didn't know if I still had a place there. More than once, I picked up my phone, ready to break free completely. It was the experience on Windsor Island that convinced me I still have work to do as an agent.
But that hasn't changed Dean's dedication to the idea of a family business. He’s kept me in the contract, which means all his clients sign off on his sharing every bit of information about cases with me. Talking about them with Sam around is already pushing it. We can get away with it because Sam is Sheriff of Sherwood, and technically confidentiality agreements with a private investigator include sharing of information with law enforcement when that law enforcement could be integral to the resolution of the case.
Granted, Sam doesn't take an active role in any of the cases. But it gives us a backup plan if we happen to share too much. Telling the whole story to Janet and Paul would be going right over the edge.
But it seems I shared just enough. Both stare back at me with slightly open mouths.
“What happened?” Paul asks.
I shake my head. “Doesn't matter. The point is, it's completely bizarre, and I'm convinced the man is dead. I think it was all a scheme, and he was murdered by his new wife, and she's just lying in wait for the time to take all his money.”
“And I think Emma’s way too prone to going right to the scary murder place, and it's entirely possible Mason just didn't feel like dealing with his ex and the rest of his old life anymore, so he went off to start something new.”
“So, what you're telling us is you both have essentially the same theory, but about opposite cases?” Janet asks.
Dean and I look at each other. “I hadn't thought about it that way.”
It's still on my mind when we head back to my house a while later. A hot shower with my favorite orange-scented body wash doesn't take the thoughts away. If anything, it sharpens them. That was one of the best things about it years ago when I first discovered the scent. It came from a tiny custom boutique, and I always felt fancy buying the gold-capped bottles.
It had been years since I used it when Sam surprised me with a stocking full of those fancy bottles. Now I'm rationing them because I want to use them all the time. When people really love something, they like to say they would bathe in it. With this stuff, I actually get to.
The bright, sharply sweet smell has my brain wide awake and firing fast when I load a plate up with leftover Clue board cake and head into the living room. Curling up on the end of the couch, I take a swig of coffee and get a look of judgment from Dean.
He's sitting at the other end of the couch, working on his laptop, and the cup beside him looks more late-night appropriate, with its little paper tea bag tag dangling over the side.
"Aren't you the same Emma Griffin who complains all the time about not being able to sleep?" he asks.
"That has gotten a lot better. And at least this way, if I don't sleep, I can blame it on the coffee." I hold my mug close to my face and breathe in the scent. "The delicious, delicious coffee."
He lets out a snort of laughter. "You're ridiculous."
"So," I say, setting the mug down and digging into the cake. "I was thinking about what Janet said."
"What did Janet say?"
"About us having the same theory about opposite cases. I hadn't thought of that. But you know what? She's totally right. Which means we need to look at it from both angles," I say.
He eyes me suspiciously. "Look at what?"
"Mason's disappearance," I say around a mouthful of library. The tiny chocolate rope crunched between my teeth.
"You're back to believing it's a disappearance now?" he asks.
"I'm wide open," I say, waving my hand to the side over my head. "Let's figure it out."
Chapter Twelve Dragon
Six years ago…
“You know,” he said, brushing the tip of his nose against her neck, “I've never actually sat at the bar.”
“Is that so?” she asked, picking up her drink for a casual sip.
"I have a private table."
She nodded, a slight smile curving her full lips. "I know."
"Most people consider it an honor for me to invite them to sit with me," he said.
Ariella smiled a little wider. Her fingers trailed down the stirrer in her drink as her arms drifted down to fold on the bar in front of her. She turned her intense eyes to him.
"I know that, too."
"But you won't sit there with me," he said.
"I like it here."
Her voice was smooth and silky, with just the slight hint of heat behind it. Like sipping Irish cream.
"That's why I've been sitting here with you for the last week," he said.
"Is it so bad?"
She took the stick from her drink and drew it through her mouth before putting it back into the glass.
"No, but there are people who expect me there."
"So, you're here for them," she
