She had no idea what to think at this point. She just kept shaking the keys in her hand. “Is he?”
“Of course not.” The detective stared at her closed fist. “Didn’t Gavin introduce you two?”
Her hand stopped moving for a second and her stomach dropped. “What?”
“Explain what you mean by that,” Wren said at the same time.
“Before he died . . . well, he was understandably a mess,” Rick said. “Can’t blame him. Tiffany’s case has haunted me for years. Imagine what it does to a father.” He shook his head. “Anyway, his drinking kept getting worse, destroying his body faster than the cancer could at some points.”
“You gave him Wren’s name.” Wren didn’t sound too happy about that piece of information.
Rick must have picked up on the tone because he held up a hand in a placating gesture. “I mentioned that I knew a guy who might be able to help.”
“Who could do what, exactly?” It struck her that for a guy who supposedly lived in the shadows a lot of people sure seemed to seek him out. Fake name or not, she’d bet he hated that.
“Fix things.” The detective looked from her to Wren. “Look, I’m not sure if Wren takes on cases like this, and I know I should have asked first. I just wanted to give the guy something.”
“It’s fine.” Without breaking eye contact with Rick, Wren put his hand over hers and the annoying jingling stopped. “It also explains why the name Wren was in that file.”
She slipped her hand out from under his and shoved the keys in her pocket. “Like so much else with you, it feels convenient.”
Wren gave the detective a man-to-man look. “She thinks Wren is dangerous and that, by extension, so am I.”
Rick shrugged. “That’s probably fair.”
Anxious to break the tension rumbling around inside her, Emery started walking. She pivoted around the police officer standing in the middle of her family room and kept going. At the far end of the room she turned the corner and looked into the small alcove that housed her bed. Covers thrown over the pillows, which passed as her way of making the bed. Some clothes stacked on the windowsill. Nothing weird, which was a relief.
She heard the click of footsteps against her hardwood floor a beat too late. She swung around, but Wren was already there, staring at the partial wall directly across from her bed.
“Well, damn. That’s impressive.” He had his hands on his hips and his focus centered on her private work.
Her gaze followed his. She didn’t really need to study anything. She knew every inch of the handmade mosaic. The photos of Tiffany. The newspaper clippings. Her notes. She’d taped it all up there. Stared at it every night before she went to bed. Never let the case move even an inch out of her mind.
Rick traced his fingers over the lines of handwritten notes before facing her again. “You promised me you would stop doing this and leave the investigating to the police.”
“You retired.” She’d trusted him to see it through. He cared, followed the case until he suffered a heart attack and had to back down. Even now he tracked clues, but it wasn’t enough. Too much time had passed without any new leads.
“This isn’t your job. It’s not really Wren’s or his company’s either, but I would feel better with his people, led by Brian, digging around than with you doing it.”
Wren dropped his hands to his sides. “I agree and we’ll take care of it.”
“Do you need to talk to Wren first?” the detective asked.
Wren nodded. “We’re good.”
She tried to take in the concern in their voices and the looks of horror on their faces. Their worry moved through the room and wrapped around her. She expected the reaction from one of them, but not both.
She looked at Wren. Really looked, trying to read him. “You’re stepping in?”
“Believe it or not, the idea of someone snatching young women off the street is pretty disturbing to me.”
She had no idea what to say to that. What he said sounded decent and genuine, but she couldn’t shake the fear that letting go of any part of her personal quest meant letting go of Tiffany.
All those memories of racing home from school only to pick up the phone and talk to Tiffany again. The back and forth to each other’s houses. Them playing while their parents sat around the family room and did whatever grown-ups did back then. Talking about boys and what a loser their biology teacher was. When she closed her eyes and concentrated, Emery could still hear her cousin’s voice. Faint but there. She couldn’t remember much about her mother other than her face and how quiet she was. How she could blend into the background and never contradicted her father. But Tiffany’s memory lingered.
“Is anything missing in here?” Rick asked.
Emery shook her head and answered without really thinking. “Not that I can tell. I can go through the boxes and make sure it’s all there.”